The Paper Daughters of Chinatown

by Heather B. Moore

  After Ah-Peen Oie sought and gained forgiveness from Mei Lien, the former slave owner had repeated her plea for forgiveness to each and every girl in the mission home who had been afflicted by her. For some of the girls, their healing finally became complete as they were able to forgive their former slave owner.

  Ah-Peen Oie worked in the kitchen, serving those who had once been her slaves. She had married a Christian Chinese man three weeks ago, but she still came several mornings a week to the mission home to help prepare breakfast.

  The soft glow of dawn finally dispelled the gray in her room, and Dolly’s memories faded like a fine mist. She heard a few sounds coming from below, likely in the kitchen. She wouldn’t be surprised if Tien was awake and already ordering breakfast to be started, with Ah-Peen Oie at her side fulfilling those orders.

  Dolly stifled a yawn. She looked forward to this evening, when much would be accomplished, and she hoped that meant she would be able to tumble into bed with a satisfied heart. After today, she would be able to help with the upcoming wedding for Yuen Kum, one of their residents whose life had undergone a remarkable change. In three days’ time, she would be marrying her sweetheart. The glow about the young woman after escaping her life of abuse was such a joy to see. Dolly’s heart could only be full at such a time as this.

  A deep rumble interrupted her thoughts. If Dolly had lived closer to the train station, she might have thought the sound was an approaching train—it was too deep for it to be an early morning streetcar. Then her bedroom seemed to shift, and Dolly’s stomach dropped like a stone. Before she could comprehend what was happening, she had tumbled off her bed and smacked into the dresser.

  Earthquake!

  She scrambled to her feet, her nightgown in disarray, her hair spilling over her shoulders. The room had stopped moving, but every part of her was shaking. An eerie silence descended.

  It seemed the entire house was holding its breath.

  Then the first cry came, a child’s cry, followed by another.

  The girls.

  Dolly snatched her robe with trembling hands and hurried out of her room. Other girls had left their rooms, wandering the hallways or staring about in dismay. Some were crying, others were stunned, and a few held onto younger girls, comforting them. As Dolly made her way through fallen plaster, shattered glass, and broken debris, she checked each room, verifying that no one was harmed.

  “Take the little ones downstairs immediately,” she said over and over after doling out hugs and reassurances. She met Tien at the top of the stairs. The young woman’s eyes were round with fear.

  “Are you all right?” Dolly asked.

  “Yes,” Tien said in a rush. “But look outside.”

  Dolly moved past her to look out one of the cracked windows. The buildings surrounding them had suffered significant damage, and fallen bricks littered the ground. People were congregating in the middle of the street in the early morning light. Down the hill, wisps of white smoke climbed the sky like a ladder.

  “There’s fire,” Tien said in an awed voice.

  Dolly released a breath as she watched the smoke climb higher and turn darker. Right now it was far enough away that there was no threat to their building. But what would time and wind do? She turned and surveyed the walls of the mission home. Nothing significant had fallen or caved. Yet . . . “We might need to move the girls.”

  “Where?” Tien asked.

  “I don’t know.” Dolly’s thoughts were too scattered for her to think of a solution. “We’ll speak with the board members who spent the night.” As she descended the stairs, she stopped on each level to check on the girls who were trying to make sense of what had happened. She ushered them downstairs to the main parlor where everyone was gathered.

  Her heart broke a little when she saw the shattered ornaments, the overturned plants, and the kitchen in complete disarray. Things could be replaced, though; everyone was safe and alive, which was what mattered.

  As Dolly stood before them, wide eyes and dusty faces peered back. “Let’s account for everyone first,” she said. They went around the room, verifying that every person was in attendance, except for Miss Ferree.

  “Where is she?” Dolly asked.

  Lonnie pointed toward the front door. “She went to get bread.”

  “Bread?” Dolly turned just as Miss Ferree entered the front door, carrying a large basket of food.

  “I found bread for our breakfast,” Miss Ferree said in a triumphant voice. “I got to the bakery before the rush. When I left with the bread, others were starting to argue over the remaining food.”

  Dolly was incredulous, but Miss Ferree acted as if it were a regular morning. With the help of a couple of girls, she set out the bread. Tien and Lonnie scrounged up apples for everyone, and after setting the tables and chairs to rights, they all sat down to eat.

  “Miss Cameron,” Ah-Peen Oie said in her soft voice, “might I go and check on my husband?”

  “Of course,” Dolly said, meeting the woman’s gaze. The worry ran deep in her eyes, and Dolly didn’t blame her. “We’ll be fine here. You take care of your home and husband.”

  Ah-Peen Oie clasped her hands together. “Thank you.”

  After she left, Dolly ate a bit of bread, but her stomach wouldn’t allow anything more. While everyone else ate and discussed the earthquake, she returned to the windows that looked over the street and kept a vigilant watch. The white wisps of smoke had turned darker, and now thicker smoke billowed from the lower levels of San Francisco. She couldn’t imagine what was going on in those lower neighborhoods.

  Sacramento Street had become a viewing spot. People had climbed the hill to watch the approaching smoke, and as the spectators filled in, so did others who weren’t exactly watching the destruction below. Some of them seemed to be scanning the people instead, looking for opportunities in the uncertainty. The unpredictable crowds were making Dolly nervous. She knew that people took advantage of destruction by looting. Might that extend to recovering their slave girls as well? With the chaos of the neighborhoods, all of her girls would be more exposed, and would Officer Cook even have time or the forethought to think of the death threats against Tien?

  “What are we going to do with all these girls?” Mrs. Meyers, one of the board members who had stayed the night, asked, joining Dolly at the window. She released a small gasp. “Look at that smoke.”

  Dolly nodded, transfixed. Then her attention was diverted by a group of cavalry on a lower street, crossing Sacramento.

  “Martial law,” Mrs. Meyers whispered.

  “The damage must be significant,” Dolly said. It also meant that violence and looting had already started. A man across the street looked toward the mission home, and in the light of the rising sun, Dolly recognized him. A member of the tong—a slave owner who had come to their mission home just a few months ago, insisting on seeing one of the girls. Tien and Dolly had turned him away, but not before he spat at Tien’s feet. This, of course, was reported to Officer Cook.

  Now, martial law and desperation meant that the Chinese girls might soon have no protection at all. If the police force were compromised, the slave owners would no longer fear being apprehended for an attempted break-in. What was to stop all the tong from Chinatown from descending on this mission home and recapturing the girls?

  “What about the First Presbyterian Church?” Mrs. Meyers said in a quiet voice. “It’s eight blocks farther up from Chinatown.” Dolly knew the one she referred to, on Van Ness Street.

  Just then another aftershock raked through San Francisco. Dolly moved away from the window, grasping onto Mrs. Meyers.

  Some of the girls started to cry again, and many of them hid under the breakfast tables.

  “We need to leave,” Dolly whispered, and Mrs. Meyers nodded.

  Dolly clapped her hands together and spoke above the cries and whimpers
. “Girls, we need to stay calm. Until we know that we are safe, we are going to the First Presbyterian Church to take refuge. We must take only what is necessary, and only what we can carry.”

  No more orders were needed from Dolly as the other staff members jumped into action, organizing and helping the girls prepare to leave. Hearts were heavy, eyes were wet with tears, but everyone focused, and soon they had all assembled in the foyer.

  Dolly motioned for Tien to join her, and they both gave out instructions, in English and Chinese, for the girls to stay together at all costs. The adults were to keep everyone corralled and keep a watchful eye. All were instructed not to stop and speak to anyone. They would travel as quickly as possible, and everyone would do her part. Even the smallest child, five-year-old Hung Mui, carried two dozen eggs.

  Dolly unlocked the doors of the mission home, wondering if this was the last time she would stand within these walls. She led the way out of the double doors into the now-bright sunlight. The calm and sunny weather mocked the devastation surrounding them. Buildings on both sides of the street had tumbled-down walls, collapsed roofs, and floors exposed to the elements. It was like peering into a destroyed life-sized dollhouse to see beds and tables and chairs in a jumble with no surrounding walls. Rubble of brick and glass littered the streets, intermixed with clothing and shoes and various items of trash. Yet when Dolly looked back at the mission home from a half block above it, she marveled that only the chimney had collapsed.

  There was no doubt a higher power had watched over them. As their group of girls and women passed by crumbled mansions on Nob Hill, bricks and stones were scattered like twigs and leaves. Dolly felt humbled at the blessing her daughters had received.

  Inside the First Presbyterian Church, the coolness of the dim interior was immediately calming. The church had received minimal damage and felt much safer than 920. The threat of fire was farther away, and no tong members had followed them.

  Mrs. Meyers’s eagle eyes picked out the immediate tasks to be done. “Why don’t we use the church pew cushions for beds?” she suggested. “We can take them to the basement area and begin setting things up. That way, the younger girls and babies can take naps.”

  Dolly knew the girls might be nervous about sleeping in the basement, so she went downstairs in advance to make sure all the lights were turned on. By the time the girls came down with their makeshift pallets, everything was as bright as possible.

  The day crept slowly by as the staff members made multiple trips outside to watch the events in the city below. The dark, billowing smoke took up the entire skyline now. When evening approached, instead of fog rolling in, as might be the case on an early summer night, it was smoke.

  As Dolly stood with Tien, smoke stung their eyes even at this distance. All around, ash littered the streets, floating from the sky like snowflakes.

  “What is happening to the world?” Tien said, her tone full of disbelief. “Has the end come?”

  Some of the sermons they had heard in church discussed the last days, the end of times, and the destruction the earth would go through before the second coming of the Lord. Dolly could understand how Tien would ask such a question. As Dolly now had a firsthand view of her beloved city disintegrating before her very eyes, it made her wonder too. Was this the wrath of God?

  A shiver trailed its way along her spine. So much destruction had already happened, and now the fires. She couldn’t imagine the chaos taking place in the areas where the fire was surely driving out human and animal alike. Where would everyone go? One part of her wanted to head down the hill, to find out how she could help. Perhaps people needed rescuing. Perhaps it was a good time to find more slave girls whose owners would be more concerned about their own lives than about their “property” in the face of such devastation.

  She placed a hand on Tien’s shoulder. “I don’t know the answer, dear Tien, but I do know this is larger than all of us. May God have mercy on San Francisco.”

  Throughout the day, more people arrived to take refuge at the First Presbyterian Church, and Mrs. Meyers and Dolly evaluated each arrival to make sure they didn’t have a dual agenda. Despite anyone else’s misfortune, her priority was the safety of the girls of 920. She could only guess at the looting and increased desperation that might be taking place below in Chinatown as people competed for shelter, for food, for water, and for refuge.

  As the sun finally set on the awful day, the smoke had filled the air with a bitter tang. Orange flames created a glow in the area of Chinatown, and Dolly’s stomach turned to lead at the thought of the many businesses and livelihoods destroyed. Where would all the Chinese people go?

  Officer Cook showed up at the church. He wore no suit coat or hat, but instead looked as if he had spent all day working on a railroad, with his sweat-stained shirt and rolled-up sleeves. “Are all the girls all right?” he asked as Dolly led him into the cool interior of the church.

  “Yes, no injuries,” Dolly said. “And the mission home is fine, only minor damage.”

  “I passed by there,” Cook said. “One of the neighbors told me where you’d gone. Some people are refusing to abandon their homes and seek shelter.”

  It worried Dolly a bit that people knew where they had fled.

  “What about you, Miss Cameron?” Cook asked next. “How are you faring?”

  “As well as can be expected,” she said. “But you look like you need a dunk in the bay.”

  Cook chuckled and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Ash floated down. “Sorry, I’m making a mess.”

  “I think a little ash is the least of our problems.”

  His brows pulled together. “You’re right. It’s been a long day, and the night will be even longer. Keep the girls and women inside and the church doors locked. Looting has already started, and—” He broke off. “Where’s Tien?”

  “She’s in the basement with the others,” Dolly said. “It takes some effort to convince them that there aren’t demons lurking beneath the basement floor.”

  Cook grimaced. “As if they haven’t been through enough.” He exhaled. “Tien might be in more danger than before.”

  “I saw some tong members on Sacramento Street before we left.” Dolly folded her arms. “Is that what you’re referring to?”

  “Exactly. They’re taking advantage of this situation,” Cook said. “You’ll need to relocate soon. Tomorrow, if possible. I’m afraid that the entire infrastructure of San Francisco and Chinatown has collapsed.”

  “I understand,” Dolly said. “We have some options we’re looking into.”

  Cook seemed satisfied with that. “I’ll stop by again tomorrow.”

  After Officer Cook left, Dolly paced the foyer of the church, questions plaguing her mind. They needed to leave, and then what? How long would they be gone? When could they return? As darkness settled over the city, the flames of the massive fire created a surreal orange glow over the streets and shattered buildings. It was only a matter of time before the fires continued their climb up Sacramento Street. There was no doubt that, like so many other buildings, the mission home would burn.

  But where could she relocate more than fifty women and girls?

  The night dragged by minute by minute, and finally Dolly drifted to sleep on a pallet she had positioned closest to the basement steps, only to wake up a few hours later with dread squeezing her chest. All was silent, and there was no reason she should have awakened. But the pounding of adrenaline would not subside. And then she remembered.

  The papers—the guardianship papers—were at the mission home. If they burned, the tong could claim that Dolly held no legal rights to her Chinese daughters. What other papers might be lost or burned in the fires? Surely the legal system would be thrown into chaos. Yet, if Dolly had those guardianship papers, then no one could contest any of the cases that she had won.

  She rose from her pallet and felt around in
the dimness for her shawl. She didn’t need it for warmth but to keep from inhaling too much smoke. Without waking a soul, she crept up the basement steps and through the main part of the church. Keeping as quiet as possible so as not to disturb others who had taken refuge in the building, she let herself out of the side door.

  The night air boiled with ash and smoke, and Dolly’s eyes immediately burned. She wrapped her shawl about her shoulders, then positioned it to cover her mouth. Continuing to the middle of the street where the debris littered the ground, she hurried toward the smoke and flames.

  The closer she got to 920 and Chinatown, the heavier the devastation. Blockades had been set up, and guards had been stationed to prevent people from returning to destroyed neighborhoods. The night echoed with cries of desperation. Shouts. Men fighting.

  Death. Rats. Smoke. Cruel heat.

  She skirted around crumbled buildings and destroyed alleys until she was stopped on Sacramento Street by an armed guard.

  “No one is allowed on this street,” he said, peering at her. The guard was shorter than she was, but his shoulders were broad, his body stocky.

  “I’m Donaldina Cameron, and I must return to the mission home to fetch important documents.”

  The guard scoffed. “Sorry, ma’am. The fires are nearly to that street, and we don’t have the manpower to pull everyone out.” He shrugged. “Letting it burn, they are. The fire brigades are busy with Nob Hill. The officials have decided to let Chinatown burn.”

  Chinatown was dispensable, it seemed. Dolly didn’t have time to be incensed. Her girls came first in all matters. “Please, sir. The documents are guardianship papers I have for the slaves and prostitutes that came to us for protection. Without those papers, their slave owners can claim I’m harboring them illegally.”

  The guard studied her. “Where on Sacramento Street are you going?”

  “The Occidental Mission Home at 920. It’s the large building on the corner. It was barely damaged in the earthquake.”