by Alana Terry
“You know. Secret Seminary students ... The missionaries?” Benjamin turned away from the bookshelf for a moment. “You don’t know?”
“Guess not.” Mee-Kyong had always considered Benjamin either too quiet or too stupid to offer much by way of conversation, but she’d take just about any excuse right now for a break from her transcription work. “What’s so secret about them?”
Benjamin leaned forward slightly in her direction but remained planted by Mr. Stern’s theological library. “Last year, the Sterns took in other people like us.”
“Us?” Until then, Mee-Kyong had assumed Benjamin was one of Yanji’s countless Korean-Chinese citizens.
“Refugees.” Benjamin held her gaze, and for a moment, Mee-Kyong recognized something in his eyes, something she might have noticed sooner if she looked for it. Emptiness. Fear. She tucked her hair behind her ear. He folded his arms across his massive chest and leaned against the bookshelf. “Kept them here for almost a year. Gave them lessons. Then sent them across the border.”
“They did what?” Mee-Kyong knew her hosts were fanatics, but she didn’t think they were actually insane.
“Over the border. Smuggle Scripture, things like that.”
“So that’s what I’m doing here?” Mee-Kyong gestured toward her Bible and half-empty paper. “Do they really expect me to agree ...?”
Benjamin held up both palms. “Don’t worry. They were volunteers. All of them.”
“Who would actually want to go?” Mee-Kyong understood trading Bible-study sessions for room and board, but she couldn’t fathom stealing over the border like an undercover spy, armed with nothing but Western propaganda.
Benjamin fingered his chin as if tugging an imaginary beard and sat down across from her. “Because they believe.”
She narrowed her eyes at the security man, trying to read whatever mysteries were hidden in his expression. “You’re still here. Don’t you believe?”
Benjamin shrugged. “I believe.”
“But you didn’t cross the border?”
He put his elbow on the desk and leaned his cheek against his fist. Mee-Kyong gawked, wondering how much more difficult her life would have been if Pang had hands like that. Benjamin blinked once. “No.”
“Well, it sounds like you were the only one in your right mind, then,” she declared. He grimaced slightly, the corners of his eyes drawing into themselves. “I still can’t believe the Sterns just let them go,” Mee-Kyong continued. “Do they have any idea what happens to ...?”
“They know,” Benjamin mumbled.
“So they send them out without any guidance, any defense, any provisions ...”
“Gave them three months’ wages.”
“Three months’ wages?” Mee-Kyong fiddled with the pen in her hand, forcing her face to remain neutral. “And how long did you say their training lasted?”
“About a year. Don’t remember exactly.”
She pouted. A year of training. She had been doing that for the past several weeks at the Sterns’ anyway. What was wrong with more of the same? The work was tedious, but it paid well. She had never eaten so much before. She had a closet filled with clothes from the Sterns’ daughter and could take hot baths several times a day if she wanted to. For a year’s worth of food and shelter, plus a nice cash bonus at the end, she could put up with the Americans’ extremism. And then she’d be gone. She didn’t know where, but twelve months would give her plenty of time to come up with a fool-proof plan.
She pictured Pang’s expression right before he died. You didn’t think I could make it on my own, did you? You didn’t think I could survive if you weren’t there to watch out for me. She smiled to herself. If she could just stomach twelve months locked up in this house, sitting in this den and pretending to care about Mrs. Stern’s benign deity, she could leave here with enough money to start a new life. No more selling her body or her soul. No more living by someone else’s agenda or schedule. The next year would prove horrifically dull, but if Mee-Kyong could endure labor camps and the hotel district, she could put up with a little boredom.
She picked up the pen and glanced back at the Sterns’ Bible. The pen danced on the page.
***
Roger hated coming home so late, but his schedule probably wouldn’t change any time soon. Sales had increased steadily for the past eighteen months, but the number of employees and machinery remained constant. He hadn’t told Juliette yet, but he was toying with the idea of taking an entire month off in the spring so they could go back to the States and see Kennedy and some of their extended family on the East Coast. It would take a decent amount of planning, and Juliette would probably complain about leaving Mee-Kyong and their house staff, but their marriage could use some serious time away from Yanji.
He half expected Juliette to be asleep by the time he came in, but she was sitting up in bed reading when he swung their bedroom door open. She put her bookmark in place and looked up. “Hey, there.”
“Hey, yourself.” Roger loosened his tie and sat on the side of the bed to kick off his shoes. “You’re up late.”
“I was solving a little mystery.” Juliette’s smile hinted mischief as she laid her novel on the end table.
“And what mystery might that be?”
Juliette dangled Roger’s watch like a prize from one finger. He unbuttoned his shirt and grinned. He hated thinking their new guest was a thief, but until he had evidence otherwise, he couldn’t just dismiss his suspicions. “And where exactly did you find it, then, Mrs. Holmes? No, let me guess. In the kitchen with the butcher knife. Am I right?”
She chuckled. “No, it was in the trash downstairs.” Juliette told him about going to Eve’s room. “Her place was such a ridiculous mess — junk and candy wrappers all over.”
Roger couldn’t hide his amused smile and wondered how tidy their own room would be if Eve didn’t clean it up twice a week for them.
“I saw a Hershey’s wrapper over by her bed, and I remembered I had been eating a chocolate bar last night when you got up to take that phone call.”
Roger sat on the bed and let his mouth drop open in mock surprise. “A chocolate bar?” he gasped. “I thought you were on a diet!”
Juliette looked aside but continued to smile. “Well, I wanted you to keep thinking that, so when I heard you coming back in, I swept the wrapper off the nightstand into a little bag. I carried it out first thing in the morning and dumped it in the kitchen trash. And that’s where I found your watch.”
Roger let his fingers play up and down Juliette’s back. He loved the silky feel of her nightgown. “Sounds like it’s a closed case, then.” He wrapped his arms around his wife, but she tensed her muscles up and rolled over to face him. Roger sighed. “I’m sorry for thinking the worst about Mee-Kyong. You were right. She’s no thief.”
Juliette relaxed in Roger’s embrace.
CHAPTER 35
“May I borrow a needle and thread?” Mee-Kyong hated asking Mrs. Stern for anything, but she forced herself to look into the American’s eyes.
Mrs. Stern stood up from her computer desk. “Of course. Is there something you need help with? Do Kennedy’s clothes need some more adjusting?”
Mee-Kyong wasn’t worried about her wardrobe right now. “They still work fine. If you don’t mind, I just need to fix something up.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Stern’s expression was duly curious, but she adjusted her glasses and backed away from the computer. “Is there a certain color thread you’d like?”
“Red,” Mee-Kyong answered. “If you have any.”
Once she was alone again in her room, she took Sun’s torn dress down from its hanger. She fingered the clingy nylon, toying with the lacy hem at the bottom. It wouldn’t fit her anymore. Even on near-starvation rations at the Round Robin, she had barely managed to squeeze herself into it. The dress had been made for someone much smaller.
Mee-Kyong threaded the needle. She had only been trying to help Sun. She hadn’t planned to
make Mr. Lee so angry. The child didn’t want to get married. What was wrong with manipulating the situation? Everyone could have had their way ... Everyone. She tied the thread in a knot at the bottom. This is the perfect time to get sentimental. You’re the one who stood by and let that man slaughter Sun right in front of your own eyes. Mee-Kyong clutched at the torn section of fabric. She had tried. No one could accuse her of not trying.
Could they?
She stabbed the material and yanked the needle through the blood-red cloth. Stupid dress. She pulled the thread through until the end nearly snapped, and then she pierced the fabric once again. Stupid hotel. She closed up the knife tear with one tight jerk after another. The stitches were uneven, obvious, ugly. Stupid, stupid girl.
Half an hour later, Mee-Kyong sat hunched over the torn fabric, crying like a baby stolen from its mother.
***
“You’re the one who keeps telling me what a great student she is.” Roger had lost count of how often he and Juliette had rehashed this exact same conversation. He figured it could be another dozen times or so until anything really sank in.
With light from the setting sun pouring in through the window, Juliette sat across from her husband and eyed the Scrabble board. “I know, I’m just worried, that’s all.”
Roger put down a twenty-point word. “You’re worried that she’s going to leave like the other Secret Seminary students, and you’re not going to know what happens to her, right?”
Juliette nodded and rearranged the tiles on her letter tray.
“I know, Baby Cakes. I know.” Roger reached his arm across the table, his sleeve grazing one of the letters near the side of the board. The game was almost over. He had nearly twice as many points as his wife.
“I keep telling myself I’m going to bring it up to her,” Juliette confessed, “but each time we come up here to study, I just fumble over the words. I guess I don’t want anything to change. I don’t want to think about sending her away. I want her to stay safe. She’s been through enough already.”
“Has she ever even talked to you about her past?”
Juliette shook her head. “No, but it’s obvious. And I keep second-guessing myself. I don’t want to push her too hard and have her agree and fly across the border, and I don’t want to bring it up and scare her away so she never wants to spend another afternoon here with me.”
Juliette’s eight-point word did nothing to even the score. Roger was already prepared with his next move. “You can second-guess yourself until you’re blue in the face, but Mee-Kyong needs to know if she’s saved or not. It doesn’t matter if she goes back to North Korea, if she heads off to South Korea or America or some other safe place, or if she stays here. All that matters is whether or not she’ll be prepared to face her Creator if she were to die right now.”
“She’s doing so well in her studies ...”
“You’ve said that before,” Roger reminded her and looked up from his tiles. It wasn’t like Juliette to stall this way. “I know the lessons are going smoothly. And I’ve seen her work. You’ve got her in this den doing Bible studies and copying Scripture for, what? Four hours a day? But no matter how well she does with it all, it’s not going to matter if it hasn’t changed what she believes.”
“She believes.” Juliette’s voice was strained.
“Have you asked her?” Roger stared straight at his wife and clasped his hands in front of him. She shook her head. He laid down a six-letter word. “You might want to get on that, Baby Cakes.”
***
Benjamin had worked his hands raw, but he refused to slow down. He grunted with each heave of the shovel before hefting the load off to the side. Mr. Stern didn’t need the fence completed until springtime, but Benjamin welcomed the physical activity. He paused once to wipe his forehead and noticed Mee-Kyong coming out the back door. “I thought you might be thirsty.” She passed him a glass of water. Benjamin drank the cup dry. “You’ve been out here all afternoon,” she remarked.
“Just working.” Benjamin set the glass down, suddenly forced to admit how tight his muscles were. He stretched from one side to the other and then arched his back until he was looking up at the bright sky. Self-conscious, he straightened up. “Need something?”
Mee-Kyong was still leaning against the side of the house, her arms crossed over her chest. She cocked her head to the side and eyed Benjamin’s shovel. “Do you want an extra pair of hands?”
He squinted at her, not sure he had heard correctly. “You want to help?” He couldn’t decide if he should decline her offer politely or laugh her away outright.
Her eyes were dead serious. “I’m tired of copying. I could use a distraction.”
“Only one shovel.” He shrugged.
“So we’ll share.” Mee-Kyong stretched out her hand. “You’re not like other Christians, are you?” Mee-Kyong started to dig without even asking for directions.
“Meaning what?”
“The Sterns ... they’re always talking about Jesus and heaven and prayer and salvation. But you, you don’t really talk about anything.”
“Not much to say.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” Mee-Kyong was huffing. She had only been at it for a few minutes, maybe five at most, before she passed the shovel back to Benjamin. Even as he worked, he felt her intense, curious stare. “Where do you come from?” she asked.
This time, Benjamin didn’t slow down at all. “Does it matter?”
“Would I have asked if it didn’t?”
Benjamin glanced once at Mee-Kyong before slicing the soil with the tip of the shovel. “Closed book. You know that.”
“Maybe it’s closed between us and the Sterns. That doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it with each other.”
Benjamin looked back to his work. “Rather not.”
Mee-Kyong shrugged. “Well, then, I have a different question for you. If you’re a Christian, why do you go out drinking so often?”
Benjamin’s back stiffened. He wiped a dirty hand through his sweaty hair. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not stupid.” Mee-Kyong crossed her arms. “Given what you know about me, don’t you think I can smell booze from half a kilometer away?”
Benjamin shrugged. “Everyone’s got secrets.”
She turned her head to the side, the way girls do when they want to flirt. “What secrets do you think I’m carrying around?”
“Closed book.” Benjamin resumed his work.
***
Eve dragged the vacuum down the hallway and into the guest bedroom. She knocked once but didn’t pause before opening the door. Mee-Kyong had been in the den all afternoon, working on her Scripture assignment. Eve heaved the vacuum in and shut the door behind her. It wasn’t fair that the new girl got the big bed, when Eve’s mattress was no larger than a child’s. Mee-Kyong was only a few centimeters taller than she, certainly not enough to merit double the sleeping area.
She skulked to the closet and fingered the clothes on the hangers. Some of them she remembered Kennedy wearing. Of course, at the time she never questioned why that spoiled American brat had dozens of spare outfits, some she only wore a few times a year. Kennedy was the Sterns’ daughter. Obviously she would have a nice wardrobe. That didn’t explain, however, why Mee-Kyong was wearing all the leftovers Kennedy didn’t take with her back to America. Wouldn’t they fit Eve just as well? When was the last time the Sterns had given her anything new?
Eve took a sheer blouse off the hanger and held it up to her shoulders. Turning from side to side in front of the ornate mirror, she imagined how she would look in it. Her figure would certainly fill it out better than Mee-Kyong’s. She turned to put the blouse away, and something draped over the chair in the corner of the room caught her eye. She walked over and fingered the soft nylon fabric. She picked it up by one of the stringy shoulder straps. She had seen that kind of dress many times before.
Mrs. Stern thought she knew all about Eve and her past, but the fat
American was completely clueless. Mrs. Stern had spent all her energy lately clucking over Mee-Kyong like an old mother hen, but whatever the new girl went through, it couldn’t measure up to what Eve had suffered. Torn from her family, ripped from her old life, used up by men who didn’t care about her and would never love her. She clutched the red dress so tightly her knuckles were white. It didn’t matter where Mee-Kyong came from, or how sorry Mrs. Stern was for her. Whatever she thought she had suffered would pale next to the misery Eve had endured, and nobody would convince her otherwise.
Compliments paid in hushed whispers. “Your daughter has so much potential. It would be a shame to waste a talent like hers.”
Tears ignored in the darkness of night. “Please don’t send me away, Mama. I don’t want to go with him.”
Threats and coercion. “You’ll go with him because your father and I told you to.”
Eve needed to get to Benjamin. She flung the red dress back over the chair and retreated from Mee-Kyong’s room. Benjamin would understand. It had been so long ...
With old memories warming her fluttering stomach, she scurried down the stairs on tiptoes and rushed to the back door. Her hand was already on the handle when she saw them. For a moment, Eve froze, and then she flung the back door open. “What are you doing out here? Did you finish all your copy work?”
Mee-Kyong leaned back against the house and lifted her gaze just enough to give Eve a passing glance. “I decided to take a break.”
Eve fixed her hands on her hips. “Did Mrs. Stern say you could?”
“You can mop a floor whether or not I’m out here, can’t you?” Mee-Kyong turned toward Benjamin, who heaved shovelfuls of dirt over to the mound next to him.
“We’ll see,” Eve growled, but Mee-Kyong wasn’t even looking at her. “We’ll see,” she repeated to herself. She stomped back into the house and up the stairs to the intruder’s room.
***
Roger was right. Juliette had to stop comparing Mee-Kyong to the Secret Seminary students. She had spent hours each day worrying Mee-Kyong would slip over the border and never contact the Sterns again. But Mee-Kyong wasn’t Hannah, or Simon, or any of the others. She was a battered woman who obviously had come to them from horrific circumstances, a rescued girl who deserved a new chance at life — a chance Juliette had been loath to mention.
