The Paper Daughters of Chinatown

by Heather B. Moore

  Huan Sun’s contract would run out, and he would not be expected to renew. In fact, it would be highly unusual. Would another man contract long-term with Mei Lien, or would she serve as a one-night girl? The shudder that rippled through her body made her miss the next stitch. Mei Lien unpicked the stitch, then surveyed the embroidered pillowcase she was making for Huan Sun. A farewell gift.

  The thought of saying good-bye to him should not make her cry, but despite her resolve, a tear slipped out. She was a woman of the night, and here she was, crying over a man who paid to spend time with her.

  She did not love him. Could not love him. Mei Lien knew that the opium she took every day had altered any logical thoughts. She began each day resolving to not take any opium, but by the afternoon, she gave into the craving.

  The knock at her door startled her, and Mei Lien set aside the embroidery. She crossed to the door and opened it only to find Huan Sun on the other side. It should have brought her happiness, but his eyes were somber, his mouth unsmiling.

  “Oh. You are . . . here?” she said.

  Huan Sun stepped inside the room with a nod, and Mei Lien shut and locked the door. When she turned to him, she found him standing before the grated window, pulling aside the drape. He gazed out at the fading light.

  Mei Lien waited a few moments for him to speak, but when he said nothing, she asked, “Did you close your shop early?”

  He shook his head. “Someone robbed the store last night. Took all my savings.”

  Mei Lien gasped. “All?”

  “I can salvage the goods and the fabrics, at least.” Huan Sun looked over at her. “But I have nothing . . . for you.”

  “I don’t care,” she said in a rush. “Take your gifts back. Perhaps you can sell them.”

  Huan Sun’s brows shifted. “I don’t want to take the gifts back.”

  “You don’t?”

  He crossed to her then and took her small hands in his larger ones. “I cannot pay for another quarter with you. Not even another night. Not until I can recover my business.”

  She looked deep into his eyes. That was what he was worried about? Her?

  “You do not have to pay.” She hadn’t intended to make that offer, but she was more afraid of which man might claim her next.

  His gaze showed only sadness. “Ah-Peen Oie would never allow that.”

  Mei Lien knew this. Of course she knew this. She looked away from Huan Sun because a crack had started growing in her heart, spreading fast.

  “I am sorry,” Huan Sun said in a tender voice.

  Mei Lien nodded, unable to speak. Her throat burned with threatening emotion. Today might be the last time she ever saw Huan Sun.

  “I am sorry too,” she said at last.

  Huan Sun’s smile was gentle, sad. He cupped her face with both hands, then leaned forward and kissed her.

  The kiss felt like a good-bye, and that was exactly what it was. When he released her, she felt as if the earth had opened beneath her. “I have made you something,” she said, “although it’s not quite finished yet.” She moved to where she had set down the embroidery. “I can complete this, and when you come again—”

  “I’m afraid it might be a while before I can afford luxuries such as visiting this house,” he said. “I don’t mind taking it unfinished.”

  She hesitated, then handed over the piece, trying to smile even though the crack in her heart had splintered.

  Huan Sun examined the embroidery, running the tips of his fingers over the intricate stitching. “It’s beautiful, Mei Lien.” Then his gaze met hers, and he smiled that smile she had become fond of. “I must go. I cannot let Ah-Peen Oie think that I am able to renew any contract. But first, I have one more gift for you, my blossom.”

  Mei Lien wanted to tell him no, but she was also curious about what he could have possibly brought her. When he produced a bracelet of pearls, she brought her hands to her mouth. She had never owned jewelry this beautiful.

  “This was my mother’s,” Huan Sun said.

  As beautiful as the pearls were, she could not keep the bracelet. “I can’t take your mother’s pearls.”

  Huan Sun refused to take them back, though. “She told me to save them for someone special.”

  Mei Lien fought against the tears burning in her eyes. His mother had died many years ago in Hong Kong before he came to San Francisco. “Huan Sun . . .”

  He closed her hand around the bracelet, then wrapped his fingers over hers. “I promised my mother I would, so they are yours.”

  She opened her palm and gazed for a long moment at the pearl bracelet. Then she slipped it on her wrist. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Huan Sun leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Good-bye, Mei Lien.”

  When the door clicked shut behind him, Mei Lien didn’t move for a long moment. The soft weight of the pearls on her wrist somehow made the pain of Huan Sun’s departure more palpable.

  She wished she could help him find his stolen savings. Another knock on the door sent darts of hope through her. Perhaps Huan Sun had returned after all. But the door opened before she could reach it.

  Ah-Peen Oie swept into the room wearing an elegant silk dress. Her hair was pulled into a high twist, and she smelled like a garden of roses.

  Mei Lien moved her hands behind her back to hide the pearl bracelet, then lowered her eyes so that her mistress wouldn’t think her defiant.

  “I sent Huan Sun on his way.” Ah-Peen Oie crossed to the bureau. She sorted through the few things upon it, and Mei Lien tried not to bristle or complain. “He is no longer welcome in my house until he has recovered his fortune.”

  Mei Lien knew better than to speak, but listening without replying was like sitting on a jagged rock.

  Ah-Peen Oie stopped in front of Mei Lien. With a long fingernail, the mistress lifted Mei Lien’s chin. “Zhang Wei has requested your presence tonight at the banquet.”

  Mei Lien had no doubt that if Ah-Peen Oie had been a living dragon, smoke would be coming out of her nostrils right now.

  “Do not encourage him,” Ah-Peen Oie warned. “If he speaks to you, reply as little as possible.” She leaned so close that Mei Lien could smell the cinnamon on her breath. “He is mine. Don’t forget it.”

  Ah-Peen Oie lowered her fingernail, but not before scraping beneath Mei Lien’s chin.

  Her skin burned with the scratch.

  When the mistress left, Mei Lien sank onto her bed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she curled up on her side and let the tears fall. Tears for the loss of Huan Sun. Tears for the changes coming into her life yet again. Tears for a mother she was slowly forgetting.

  Time pulsed forward, and when darkness fell, Mei Lien reluctantly prepared herself for the banquet. Walking down the corridor felt like she was leaving a life she had reconciled herself to and stepping toward one she feared.

  The cloying scent of smoke, rich perfume, powdered faces, and oiled hair was stifling, and Mei Lien wished that she could have stayed in her room tonight. But business came first. And Mei Lien had a long way to go to pay off her contract.

  Zhang Wei sat in one of the high-backed chairs, puffing on his pipe, his eyes half-lidded as he watched Mei Lien. His gaze hadn’t left her all night, and although he had yet to speak to her, she knew that Ah-Peen Oie was furious. The mistress flirted and chatted with all the other men, including Zhang Wei from time to time, but the red stain along her neck told Mei Lien enough.

  She would not escape punishment for this.

  And then it happened.

  “Mei Lien,” Zhang Wei said from across the room. Somehow his low voice cut through the din of conversation and laughter.

  She turned from where she had been speaking to another courtesan.

  The edges of his mouth lifted. “Tell me a story of your home.”

  It w
as a trick question, one in which she would be tested for her cleverness and quick wit. Zhang Wei didn’t really want to hear about her widowed mother and the hours spent working in the fields. He wanted to be entertained.

  A hush had fallen over the group, although no one seemed to be paying attention to them. Mei Lien was not fooled. The Chinese courtesans used both ears—one for the person they were speaking to, and one for the person they were spying on.

  With no other choice, unless she wanted to embarrass everyone and bring down the reputation of the house, Mei Lien crossed to Zhang Wei.

  He nodded at the nearby chair, and she sat, folding her hands in her lap. She had hidden the pearl bracelet beneath her mattress. There was no way she wanted the others to see such a precious gift.

  Mei Lien sorted through many tales she had heard, some from her childhood, and others she’d heard recited by other courtesans. She settled for the girl on the moon—Chang E—and told how she was exiled from heaven with the Jade Emperor’s son, Hou Yi, for displeasing the emperor. Chang E and Hou Yi worked together to find the elixir of life so they could regain their position in heaven. Chang E drank it all, and she became too buoyant for earth and instead floated up to the sky and landed on the moon.

  “Chang E still lives on the moon,” Mei Lien said. “And that is why we eat mooncake every autumn.” As if to prove her point, Mei Lien lifted a mooncake from the silver tray in front of her and took a delicate bite.

  A few of the men clapped lightly. The courtesans giggled behind their fans. Ah-Peen Oie said nothing. Then everyone waited for Zhang Wei’s pronouncement. He smiled, then chuckled. It might have been a delayed reaction, but there was no doubt that he was showing his pleasure at the tale. Mei Lien had never seen the man smile, and she could see why Ah-Peen Oie was possessive of him.

  “You are a dainty thing, aren’t you?” Zhang Wei’s gaze slid over her.

  Mei Lien didn’t know how to respond. Was he giving her his approval? She didn’t dare look over where Ah-Peen Oie stood, likely pretending to be interested in another conversation.

  Zhang Wei leaned forward slightly, but it was enough to catch Ah-Peen Oie’s attention. Mei Lien found she was holding her breath. What would he do? What would he say?

  “Do not accept any other offers tonight,” he said. “I paid dearly to get rid of Huan Sun.”

  Mei Lien stared at the man. “What?” Her throat was suddenly bitter. “What did you do?” But she knew.

  Zhang Wei was a powerful tong leader. He could do anything he wanted—including ruining another man’s livelihood.

  Zhang Wei’s dark eyes narrowed. “I wanted you to myself.”

  One moment his eyes were on her; the next moment, he had risen from his chair. The knowledge of what Zhang Wei had done to Huan Sun for her shoved guilt into her heart like a dagger. She sat perfectly still while her stomach tried to rebel from the anger and disgust battling inside her. Anger at Zhang Wei and disgust at herself. How had she become the cause of Huan Sun’s downfall? This was her fault. She wanted to flee the room, wanted to scream out her agony. Instead, she barely breathed as she watched Zhang Wei cross to Ah-Peen Oie. The mistress graciously accepted a kiss on the cheek, then listened as he spoke into her ear. The woman’s face pinked, and her gaze cut to Mei Lien.

  The hatred in Ah-Peen Oie’s eyes sliced through Mei Lien like lightning. When the mistress looked back at Zhang Wei, she smiled prettily, then nodded.

  The transaction had been agreed upon.

  “The citizens of San Jose in mass meeting assembled denounce the late outrage committed at Palo Alto by officers of Santa Clara county in the name of the law upon Miss Cameron of the Presbyterian Mission of San Francisco and the Chinese women in her charge.

  “We admire the fearless, heroic, and womanly action of Miss Cameron in her efforts to prevent the abduction of her ward, which was accomplished under the guise of law.”

  —“Palo Alto Resolution,” San Francisco Chronicle, April 3, 1900

  April 1900

  “Are you ready?” Attorney Weigle asked Dolly as they stood outside Turn Verein Hall, where the hearing for the Palo Alto scandal would take place. And scandal it had become.

  The lawyer for Chung Bow and Wong Fong had been identified and accused of hatching the abduction plot.

  “The rumors are just rumors,” Weigle told Dolly.

  “The gang bosses are using their people to intimidate the judge,” Dolly said. Word was that people had been recruited in support of Attorney Herrington, the lawyer who represented the Chinese owner.

  “True,” Weigle agreed. “But we have used our power as well to combat the supporters of Herrington.”

  She stared into the lawyer’s eyes. “Such as?”

  Weigle leaned close, the musty spice of pipe smoke about him, reminding her for an instant of Officer Cook. “Paul Dinsmore raised five hundred dollars to charter a train from Palo Alto. They filled it with Stanford students, and they’re in the center section of the great Hall.”

  Dolly’s pulse skipped. “They’re here? Right now?”

  Weigle grinned. “Yes.”

  She would not cry. She had to be strong and eloquent as she faced the judge. Clutching her hands in front of her in a tight grip, she said, “I am ready.”

  Weigle nodded and opened the door leading to the corridor that led to the Hall. As the pair of them stepped inside, the hushed murmurs of the gathered audience went silent. Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched Donaldina Cameron walk with Attorney Weigle to their places.

  She knew her face had flushed, but she kept her chin lifted and focused on taking steady breaths. Weigle gave her a nod of approval and encouragement as they took their seats.

  The chairman, Colonel Whitton, wasted no time in beginning his opening remarks, in which he explained that the meeting had been called to denounce the actions that had taken place in Palo Alto by the officers of the law.

  His speech was frequently interrupted by applause and calls of agreement from the student body. Dolly’s heart expanded at each utterance from the supportive audience. There was no secret as to which side of the issue they all supported. Whenever Whitton mentioned the Palo Alto justice, the audience groaned, bringing laughter to the inane situation they all found themselves in.

  Then, Colonel Whitton called upon Miss Donaldina Cameron.

  With her heart beating in her throat, Dolly rose. All eyes were on her again, and she knew that her words had never had such impact as they would now. With the eyes of her supporters on her, as well as those who wished her to disappear from the face of the earth, Dolly stood before the chairman and began to speak.

  She started at the beginning.

  Her words might have started out a bit hesitant, but soon her passion thundered in her chest, and she told the captive audience every detail of the journey, including the final moments of seeing Kum Quai dragged away by the jailer, then carted off with two Chinese men who thought they were above the law and God himself.

  “Lo Mo,” Dolly said. “Those were the final words I heard Kum Quai say. Lo Mo is what a Chinese daughter calls a beloved mother, for I am Kum Quai’s mother.”

  When Dolly returned to her seat, it was to the thunderous applause and foot stamping by those who had called for justice and change weeks before in the streets of Palo Alto while they had stoked the flames of the bonfire.

  Chairman Brun of the Palo Alto investigation committee was next up on the docket, and he read the statement, which perfectly corroborated Dolly’s story. Then Attorney Weigle took his turn conveying his agreement with Miss Donaldina Cameron and the need to find and liberate Kum Quai.

  The doors at the back of the room banged open, and a tall man walked in. He might have been considered handsome, with his piercing eyes and determined jaw, but with his entrance, Dolly felt only a foreboding. Attorney Herrington had the gall to attend the meeting.
It was as if she were facing a member of the leering tong—men and women who did not see Chinese girls as humans but as chattel, to be used for monetary profit.

  Herrington grinned broadly at the hissing audience and those who were insulting him. He continued to stride up the aisle toward the chairman, who indicated that he could speak next.

  Herrington turned toward the jeering audience. “I’m here to announce the marriage between Kum Quai and her new husband, Chung Bow.”

  Dolly couldn’t hold back her gasp. She gripped Weigle’s arm as they both stared at Herrington.

  “The happy couple were married last Saturday on Pacific Street,” Herrington continued. “Justice Dunn performed the honors, and Chung Bow’s friend Wong Fong was the witness. The marriage license was legally obtained by Attorney H. H. Lowenthal. There was no objection to the marriage, and the newly married couple are traveling to their new home to start their lives together.”

  Dolly had so many questions, but the horrific news had drained her body of all reaction. She could not believe for one moment that Kum Quai had been a willing participant in the marriage. Like many Chinese girls before her, she had been forced to enter into such a contract.

  When Herrington triumphantly left the meeting, ignoring all the disparaging comments sent his way, Dolly felt as if she had fallen off a cliff and everything inside her was broken and useless.

  “Miss Cameron,” Weigle said in a gentle tone, “we’ll find out where they are headed. We can still stop them. We can still free Kum Quai.”

  “It’s too late,” Dolly said, her voice cracking.

  “It’s never too late,” Weigle said.

  He was saying the words that she should have been saying, had been saying . . . yet the pompous image of Attorney Herrington had somehow weighed her down like a ship’s anchor.

  Weigle produced a handkerchief, and Dolly wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Onward,” she said in a whisper, but the word fell flat in her heart.