The Paper Daughters of Chinatown

by Heather B. Moore

  Dolly watched the woman go. Yes, there would be more risk involved . . .

  The mission home had already stopped all visits from sponsors and donors. Visits gave the chance for the girls to show off their talents, including singing and recitations. The donations were often generous following a performance. The quietness of the mission home had been unsettling.

  “She might be right,” Yuen Qui said in a tentative voice.

  “Should we turn down pleas for help?” Ah Cheng asked.

  This was not a question for Dolly, even if Mrs. Field might disagree. Dolly met the gazes of her two interpreters. “We will do as we’ve always done,” she said in a firm tone. “We will find a way around any obstacles.”

  “I will go,” a voice said from the kitchen doorway.

  Dolly turned to see Tien. The girl had become a young woman now. Her legs were longer, her eyes bigger, her curves softer. But she was still much too young to go on rescues. There was too much potential risk that she would draw the attention of the tong in the wrong way.

  Yuen Qui smiled at the girl. “Thank you for the offer, Tien. Right now, we don’t know what kind of help we’ll need. We don’t know how the plague will affect us all.”

  Tien’s face reddened, and Dolly worried that the girl felt affronted. But Yuen Qui had a way with Tien and brought out her softer side.

  “But if we need you, we’d be happy for your help,” Yuen Qui continued.

  At this, Tien gave a satisfied nod, then left the doorway. Without a sound. As always.

  Dolly exhaled. “Well, it appears that not everyone at the mission home is afraid of the plague.”

  Her own words haunted her a few days later when a young girl, no more than nine years old, arrived on their doorstep.

  Dolly was preparing to scout the streets and find out which areas in Chinatown were in quarantine, when she opened the door to discover Leung Kum Ching. At least that’s what Dolly deciphered through the girl’s hysterical sobs.

  Dolly drew the crying girl into the house and shut the door. Ah Cheng appeared almost immediately. Mrs. Field didn’t even open her office door to investigate.

  “You need to take deep breaths,” Ah Cheng said, placing her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Tell me what is wrong.”

  In between broken sobs, Leung Kum Ching said, “My sister is dying. Our owners left her on the street to die. They say she has the plague, but she doesn’t have all the symptoms.”

  Dolly met Ah Cheng’s doubtful look over the girl’s head. “Ask her how long her sister’s been sick.”

  Ah Cheng asked the question, and Leung held up two fingers. “Two days. She will die if you do not come.”

  Dolly didn’t need to know why Leung had come to the mission home for help. She could only assume that the Chinese healers were afraid the girl was sick with the plague, and therefore would have nothing to do with her. Quarantines were in effect in most of Chinatown’s neighborhoods. It broke Dolly’s heart to know that anyone sick would be left outside to die.

  Bodies had been reported hidden all over the city because people feared their homes being quarantined. Immunizations had been sent from the U.S. Surgeon General in Washington, D.C., but Chinese superstitions about being stuck with a needle they believed contained poison stopped most of them from getting immunized. Besides, some of the early vaccinations had caused several side effects, including fevers, pain, and even death.

  Now, Dolly could see the hesitation in Ah Cheng’s eyes.

  “We must go,” Dolly said in a quiet voice. “It doesn’t sound like the plague, so maybe we can help her.”

  Ah Cheng pursed her lips, but she nodded all the same.

  Dolly grasped the young girl’s hand, then told Ah Cheng, “Ask her on which street we’ll find her sister.”

  Dolly couldn’t conceal her height, but she brought a cotton umbrella and dressed in dark colors to be less conspicuous as the late afternoon light settled over the city, throwing orange-gold patterns on the walls of the buildings.

  With another staff member feeding Leung, Dolly and Ah Cheng headed down Sacramento Street and turned on Sutter. The location given to them was in the heart of Chinatown, and Dolly knew she would have to be creative to get around the barriers. But when she reached the next street, she stopped. New barricades had been set up, and guards were stationed in front of them.

  Without clearance from the Board of Health, Dolly couldn’t get past them, especially to fetch a sick girl. She turned to Ah Cheng, and the woman nodded, already knowing what Dolly was thinking.

  The pair of them hurried in the opposite direction, not meeting anyone’s eyes as they traveled, until they reached an herbal shop run by a man whom Dolly knew. His wife used to live at the mission home.

  When the herbalist opened his door, Ah Cheng quickly explained what they needed.

  He asked a few questions about the symptoms they’d been told about by Leung. Then he waved them inside. “You can go up here.” He pointed to an opening in the roof that let in light from the sky.

  Dolly looked up at the skylight. It would have to do.

  The herbalist brought over a stool, and, with a boost from Ah Cheng, Dolly climbed through the skylight and arrived on the roof. When Ah Cheng joined her, they thanked the herbalist and said they hoped to return soon.

  He nodded, and then Dolly scanned the rooftops of Chinatown, determining where they needed to go. “Come,” she told Ah Cheng.

  The interpreter kept up as they scurried along the rooftops and leapt from one building to another. Fortunately, the housing was so congested that leaping from house to house wasn’t too hard.

  But as they neared the neighborhood, they would have to find a place to jump down. Dolly eyed their choices and finally settled on a narrow alley. Its walls were made of protruding bricks, and Dolly knew she could use them to scale down until she could jump to the ground. How would she return this way with a sick little girl, though?

  “Over here.” Ah Cheng pointed to a skylight on the next rooftop over.

  Dolly followed. The women pried up the skylight and descended into a shop. No one was about, and they unlocked the door from the inside, then slipped into an alley.

  The alley was bathed in twilight shadows, and Dolly had to ignore the hairs standing up on her neck. No place was safe for women after dark in Chinatown. But it was too late to seek the help of the police. Besides, not even the squad members most loyal to her cause wanted to risk exposure to the plague.

  Without a word, Dolly led the way through the alley until they connected with Commercial Street. She used her cotton umbrella to keep her face hidden away from curious onlookers and, more importantly, the white guards or police officers. She was familiar enough with the street that she knew which tenement building Leung had been referring to.

  When Dolly saw the young girl lying across three wooden chairs, curled up like a rag doll, she rushed to her side. Dolly knelt beside the girl and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her body was still warm. A good sign.

  Ah Cheng knelt on the other side of the girl and leaned close. “We are here to help you,” she said in soft Chinese.

  The girl didn’t stir. Dolly guessed her to be about eleven or twelve, although she was severely undersized. Dolly rested a hand on her forehead. Her skin felt cool to the touch, but still she didn’t move or wake up.

  “Let’s take her to the mission home,” Dolly said. “From there we can call the Board of Health.” She scooped the little girl into her arms. They returned to the skylight, and with both Ah Cheng and Dolly working together, they were able to climb through it with the girl. Once they reached the herbalist’s shop, night had fallen over Chinatown, pierced with glowing lights.

  Leung was waiting just inside the door of the mission home when they arrived with her sister.

  “Don’t touch her until we know what’s going on,�
�� Dolly immediately said, and Ah Cheng translated.

  They settled her onto the couch in the parlor, and Tien took it upon herself to make sure everyone stayed away from the room.

  “Mrs. Field wants to see you,” Tien told Dolly.

  For an instant their gazes connected, and Dolly knew Tien was not happy about the request.

  Dolly needed to use the office telephone anyway, so if she had to deal with Mrs. Field at the same time, so be it.

  “What are you doing?” Mrs. Field said the moment Dolly walked into the office. The woman’s eyes seemed to be on fire. “If that girl is sick, you’ve just given the entire mission home a death sentence.”

  Dolly clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “I am calling the Board of Health right now, and I will follow their advice. No one needs to touch her except me.”

  Dolly could see the argument in the director’s gaze, but Dolly wasn’t about to back down.

  “If the girl has the plague, I will see to it that you’re dismissed,” Mrs. Field said. “Are you ready to take that risk?”

  “I am,” Dolly said, keeping her voice steady.

  Mrs. Field turned on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving silent disapproval in her wake.

  Dolly crossed to the desk and telephoned the Board of Health. Thankfully, the doctor who answered the phone was much calmer than Dolly felt. “I’ll send an ambulance to 920,” he said. “You can come with the little girl, and we’ll do our best to help her.”

  Dolly thanked him, then hung up and wiped at the new tears in her eyes. Next, she hurried into the parlor to tell Ah Cheng and Leung the good news.

  Leung pleaded to come, but Dolly told her that she didn’t want her around more sick people. Besides, Dolly knew there was a risk of Leung being taken away or quarantined. Dolly wrapped an arm about the girl’s shoulders. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Ah Cheng translated, and Leung threw her arms around Dolly’s legs. She patted the girl’s head, already feeling a great deal of affection toward this child.

  When the ambulance showed up, Dolly bundled the sick little girl into it. The ride to the house at Jackson Street in the dark seemed agonizingly slow, but once they arrived, they were ushered inside without delay. The same doctor she had spoken to on the phone led her to one of the rooms set aside for examination.

  As the lights cast a warm glow about the room, Dolly silently prayed, telling herself that everything would be fine. The doctor would know what to do. She gripped her hands together as she watched the doctor check for signs of bubonic plague, then press down on various areas of the girl’s body. When the little girl cried out as the doctor pressed on the right side of her stomach, he lifted his hands, then looked over at Dolly.

  “It appears that she has acute appendicitis,” he said in a quiet tone.

  Dolly’s mouth went dry. Her mother had died from appendicitis. Perhaps medical science had advanced enough to treat this little girl. “What can be done? Will she need surgery?”

  The doctor hesitated. “It’s too far advanced, I’m afraid.”

  Dolly stepped away from the examination table and sank into a nearby chair. “No,” she whispered.

  “I’m very sorry.” The doctor’s voice held compassion and regret.

  His kind words could not prevent the pain for the little girl waiting at the mission home for news of her sister. “What . . . can I do?” Dolly asked.

  The doctor rubbed at his face, then sighed. “We’ll move her to one of the other rooms with a more comfortable bed. I’m afraid she won’t last more than a day or two. Perhaps bring her sister to say good-bye to her?”

  “Yes,” Dolly murmured, numbness spreading through her. “I will bring Leung.”

  The doctor nodded, then picked up the little girl and carried her to another room, where he laid her on a clean bed.

  Dolly followed and helped to adjust the covers. “I’m very sorry,” she whispered, resting a hand gently on the little girl’s forehead. “I’ll bring your sister so you can be together.”

  The child didn’t respond.

  “The ambulance can take you back,” the doctor offered.

  Dolly nodded and rose to her feet. Facing Leung with this news was going to break both of their hearts.

  The ride back to the mission home in the dark felt oppressive, as the night seemed to not only surround her but press its way into her heart. When she knocked softly on the front door, she waited for Ah Cheng to unlock all the bolts.

  Leung stood just inside.

  One look at the girl’s tear-stained face only made Dolly’s task seem more monumental. “Did the doctor see her?” Leung asked through Ah Cheng’s translation.

  “Yes,” Dolly said, clasping the girl’s hand. “Let’s go sit down.”

  Ah Cheng followed them into the parlor, and Dolly sat on the sofa with Leung, still holding her hand.

  The nine-year-old’s dark eyes were so trusting, it made the news even harder to deliver. “Your sister is very, very sick,” Dolly said, and Ah Cheng translated.

  “Will she die?” Leung asked, her chin trembling.

  “Yes,” Dolly whispered.

  Tears filled the girl’s eyes.

  The lump in Dolly’s throat turned painful. “But you still have time to tell her good-bye.”

  “I don’t want to say good-bye.”

  “I know.” Dolly pulled the little girl close, and Leung moved onto her lap. Dolly rested her chin atop her newly shampooed hair, which was still damp. “When I was a young girl of five years old, my mother got very sick too with the same disease as your sister.”

  Leung lifted her face, her eyes wide. “Did she die too?”

  “She did,” Dolly said, her throat hitching. “But she is in a very lovely place now called heaven. She will never be sick again, and she’s always happy.”

  “Oh.” Leung blinked slowly. “That sounds nice. My sister will like that. Are there flowers there? My sister loves flowers.”

  Tears burned in Dolly’s own eyes. “Yes, I believe there are flowers in heaven. Your sister will be very happy, and she will miss you too. But you won’t have to worry about her being sick anymore.”

  Leung tightened her hold on Dolly.

  Dolly ran her hand over the little girl’s back, hoping to soothe her as much as possible.

  Leung’s next words were mature beyond her years. “I will tell my sister where she’s going. I will tell her how beautiful heaven is.”

  Dolly had to smile, although fresh tears had started. “Do you want me to come with you to say good-bye to your sister?”

  Leung nodded emphatically.

  “Then I will come,” Dolly said.

  Ah Cheng reached for Leung’s hand. “I will come too.”

  “I was kidnapped in China and brought over here. The man who kidnapped me sold me for four hundred dollars to a San Francisco slave-dealer; and he sold me here for seventeen hundred dollars. I have been a brothel slave ever since. I saw the money paid down and am telling the truth. I was deceived by the promise I was going to marry a rich and good husband, or I should have never come here.”

  —Testimony of Paper Daughter, 1892

  1903

  Click.

  The night was not yet over, but the tong leader Zhang Wei had already left Mei Lien’s room. The sound of the door shutting behind him echoed in her mind. Had others in the house heard him leave? Had Ah-Peen Oie?

  Mei Lien didn’t know if she had pleased him. It had been different with Zhang Wei. There had been no caring, no gentleness, no tender words. In fact, he’d spoken very little. And when he left, tears slid down her cheeks. She was no innocent, not after Huan Sun. But the difference between the two men made her feel as if she’d betrayed Huan Sun. She had crossed an irreversible line, and she’d betrayed herself. Betrayed her soul.


  From the deep purple outside her window, she guessed that dawn was still hours away. Sleep would not come, she knew. Climbing out of bed, she located the pearl bracelet, then slipped it on. Curling up on her side, she pulled on her blanket, then rested her cheek on the pearl beads. This was how she would sleep, remembering Huan Sun—the man who had cared about her. Who had seemed sorrowful to leave her.

  Click.

  Mei Lien opened her eyes, wondering if Zhang Wei was back. Perhaps he had merely gone to fetch food and water?

  But the figure walking into her room was too small to be Zhang Wei.

  “Ah-Peen Oie,” Mei Lien murmured and rose from the bed.

  She didn’t get very far because Ah-Peen Oie brought a switch down on the side of her face.

  Mei Lien fell back with a cry. Her cheek stung, and she wouldn’t be surprised if blood had been drawn. But Ah-Peen Oie wasn’t finished.

  Mei Lien tried to ward off the blows from the switch, but Ah-Peen Oie’s strength and ferocity were unmatchable.

  Turning away from the violence, Mei Lien shielded her face. The blows kept coming, striking her arms, her shoulders, her torso, her hips.

  “Stop,” Mei Lien cried. “I did nothing wrong. He came to me.”

  Ah-Peen Oie screamed something in her fury, but Mei Lien couldn’t understand the words through her seething pain.

  So this was her punishment. And this was her life. Assault, opium, men, fading memories of her home and family.

  When Ah-Peen Oie finished, Mei Lien didn’t even hear her shut the door because her mind was numb. She felt nothing. Thought nothing. She was nothing.

  Three days passed.

  At least, she thought it had been three days. Mei Lien didn’t move for hours, and when she finally did, it was to find that her water was mostly gone. No food had been left in her room. And her door was locked from the outside.

  As that first day slipped into night, then morning again, no food or water was brought. And her door remained locked.

  When Mei Lien heard voices in the corridor, she called out for answers, for help, for food, for drink. No one replied.