Captive Bride (11 page)

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started shaking her head even before he tried to hand them to her. But he grasped her hand and pressed the coins into her palm, closing her fingers around the cool metal. He pointed at the bleached muslin curtains hanging above the sink and then at the stove, the table and the broom in the corner, indicating all the housework she’d done.

Huiann understood he was paying her for her service, but she couldn’t accept money when she owed him her very life.

Alan squeezed her hand lightly and looked into her eyes. She didn’t need more than his potent gaze to understand what the words
thank you
meant. She felt she was tumbling into the blue pools of his eyes. Her body yearned for him and the phoenix inside her rustled its feathers once more.

Huiann cast her gaze down and stepped away, pulling her hand away from his. She murmured her thanks for the payment. She would not hurt his pride by refusing, but it was time to put some distance between them before the phoenix and dragon bridged the gap between them. Such a union would not be good—not for her in her precarious situation and not with this foreign man.

Huiann hurried upstairs and felt his gaze burning into her back as she climbed them. In her room, she stacked the coins on the little table next to her ivory combs then removed her clothes and lay down in her drawers and chemise. It was her third night in Alan’s house and once more she lay in bed listening for him to come upstairs. He didn’t spend time in the parlor tonight, but went straight to his bedchamber and closed the creaking door behind him.

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She knew his room intimately now that she’d cleaned it and pulled up the covers on the bed herself.

Heart fluttering at the wrongness of it, she had pressed her nose into his pillow and breathed deeply, smelling his scent. Now she could picture him moving about the room, sitting on the bed to take off his boots and tossing them in the corner, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off his shoulders. She imagined his hands unfastening the front of his trousers before she forced her mind to abandon such a shameful game.

Did he think of her in the same way as he lay in his bed at night? The look in his eyes tonight had been hungry. Did he think of her with desire and consider coming to her room? What would she do if he did?

Protest and fight against him or yield and welcome him into her bed? She shivered, her body feeling hot and cold at the same time.

Pulling the blanket tighter around her, Huiann turned her mind to sending up her nightly prayers to her ancestors. She asked for Grandma Mei’s guidance, believing she of all people would understand the power of attraction and could give wise counsel about how to combat it.

Govern yourself and you can govern the world.
The proverb floated into her mind like an answer, perhaps not an easy one, but a wise one nevertheless.

Slowly Huiann’s tension ebbed, and the thick, hot feeling between her legs lessened. Her nipples became soft again instead of sharp points. She drifted into a dream about a hungry tiger stalking a rabbit which suddenly turned and attacked the tiger.

Another night in a foreign land slipped away.

Bonnie Dee

97

The following morning Huiann prepared breakfast and bid Alan goodbye when he left for work. Her mother had seen her father off to work like this every day of Huiann’s life. It was a warm and friendly ritual that made her feel like a wife, for a moment. But that was an illusion she mustn’t give in to.

After Alan left, she decided she could no longer put off washing clothes and bedding. No one had come looking for her since that first day so Alan had indicated it was safe for her to use the water pump and outhouse without fearing the neighbors would spread tales of her whereabouts all the way to Chinatown. But after one horrifying visit to the smelly outhouse, she preferred to use the indoor commode and only spend enough time in the privy to empty the basin.

Now Huiann took a large, cobwebbed washtub from a hook on the wall outside the back door and carried it inside. Laundering in the kitchen might leave dampness on the floor by the time she was finished, but at least she’d have privacy.

Filling the tub took many trips to the pump, carrying heavy buckets of water that strained her arms, and then heating the water in kettles and pots on top of the stove. At last she had enough water in the tub to submerge Alan’s sheets. The water sloshed over the edge and puddled on the floor. There was no washboard so she scrubbed the cloth as best she could with the lye soap from the sink. Soon her hands were red and raw from the hot water and harsh soap. Her knees hurt from kneeling on the hard floor and her back ached from bending over the tub, plunging and scrubbing. Washing was much harder than she’d anticipated. She understood now why her mother had 98

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sent theirs to a laundress. Huiann and her sisters had done light housework, cooking and sewing, but there’d been servants to perform the heavy, rough work.

It was hard to rinse the sheet clean of the slimy soap and as Huiann squeezed out water and coiled the sheet beside the tub, she suddenly realized there was no clothesline on which to hang it to dry. She lifted the heavy, wet bundle and carried it to the stairs to drape over the banister. When she was finished, she pushed a stray lock of hair from her sweaty cheek, blew a long breath and added another heated kettle of water to the tub before immersing one of Alan’s shirts.

Laundering took much longer than she’d anticipated. Her clothes were soaked and her body streaming with sweat by the time she’d made it through only a few of Alan’s clothes. She wouldn’t get to clean any of her own today.

As she leaned over the washtub scrubbing a pair of drawers, the kitchen door opened and Alan entered the room. He stared at the chaotic kitchen. Every chair, the table, the curtain rod and banister were festooned with dripping clothes. Puddles covered the floor, and there was no lunch ready.

Huiann scrambled to her feet, leaving his drawers floating on the scummy surface of the water. She bowed deeply in apology. “I’m so sorry. I lost track of time. I don’t have your meal ready. I’ll make something right now.”

The loud explosion of his laughter snapped her gaze up to his face. His eyes sparkled like the sun shining through raindrops and he laughed so hard his body shook.

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Huiann’s mortification evaporated under licking flames of irritation. She was hot, exhausted, soaked and miserable, and her pride in her homemaking skills was terribly bruised. She didn’t appreciate being the source of his amusement. She pierced him with a dagger glare before squatting by the tub to wring water from his undergarment.

Alan crossed the room, talking. He took hold of her damp forearm and pulled her stiff body upright, pointed at the tub and shook his head. He was telling her that he took his laundry out. Suddenly Huiann realized everyone in the neighborhood must do the same, which explained why there was no clothesline rope hanging between the buildings.

She looked in dismay at the dripping clothes then back at Alan, who was still grinning. The humor of the moment hit her at last and a reluctant smile replaced her frown. Alan’s grin turned to laughter again and mirth bubbled up inside her like water in a dry well.

The sound of her own laughter almost startled her.

It had been so long since she’d laughed about anything.

The last time she could remember was with her sister Bao over Bao’s baby, Lin. The little girl was just beginning to totter on two legs and she’d kept the sisters giggling one morning with her lurching steps.

Sweet little Lin, whom Huiann would never see grow into a young woman or a mother with children of her own. The flash of memory stopped Huiann’s laugher.

Sensing the change in her mood, Alan stopped laughing too. He released her arm, folded his hands together and bowed in apology for his laughter.

“Sorry.”

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A little thrill went through her at his charming contrition, as well as a stab of mortification that she’d shown anger toward her employer. She owed him everything. He owed her nothing, certainly not an apology for wrecking his kitchen and forgetting his lunch.

Alan picked up the tub and carried it outside, his arms straining and water spilling all the way. Huiann hurried to open the door for him and watched as he hurled the water across the dirt and sparse grass. Then he loaded the tub with the wet clothes and piled the dry ones on top. Wiping his hand across the air, he erased the incident.

Huiann was still humiliated by her failure, but as the saying went,
Gold has its price; learning is beyond
price.
She started to get out the skillet, intending to fry up some vegetables, but Alan stopped her with a hand on her arm. Her sleeves were rolled up and her bare skin prickled at the heat of his hand.

He led her from the kitchen into the store where the young man named Jeremy was putting tinned goods on a shelf. He stared at her. Alan said something and the clerk went to lock the front door and flip the sign.

Alan escorted Huiann to a chair behind the counter then moved around the shop, collecting items from shelves and bins. He returned and introduced her to the other man.

“Huiann, Jeremy.”

The red-cheeked man started to extend his hand to shake hers then gave a little bow instead as he said,

“Pleased to meet you.” His hair was an amazing shade of orange. Huiann had a hard time dragging her gaze from it long enough to return his bow.

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When all three of them were seated, Alan passed out bits of dried meat, a leathery, salty chew he called

“jerky” that Huiann politely nibbled. There were flat white crackers and pickled cucumbers he’d fished from a large barrel.

“Pickle,” he said, and she repeated the word.

Huiann’s mouth puckered at the taste. It reminded her of her mother’s sour
zha cai,
made from wild mustard tubers packed in brine.

Alan offered her an apple, its sweet juiciness a good contrast to the pickle.

Sharing this meal with Jeremy was a pleasure—like having an uncle or cousin arrive unexpectedly for dinner. She hadn’t realized how isolated she’d felt even in the safety of Alan’s house. It was good to meet someone else. Once Jeremy got over his initial shyness, he did seemed excited at the prospect of teaching her English words.

During the brief lunch, Huiann learned the words
counter, cash register, jerky
and
stool.
She reviewed
chair, floor, ceiling
and
apple.
Then Jeremy enthusiastically began naming body parts—
eyes, ears,
nose, mouth, hands, feet.

It was too many words to remember all at once and Alan seemed to understand that, because he stopped him after a few minutes. Then it was time to open the shop again and Alan walked her back into the kitchen where he hoisted the tub of wet laundry in his arms and headed for the door.

“Laundry,” he told her.

Huiann held the door for him then stepped outside to watch him disappear around the corner of the 102

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building. She hoped he didn’t have to carry the load far.

A few puddles remained in the empty kitchen, but otherwise it was back to normal. She appreciated Alan’s kindness in saving her from laundering and his sense of humor, which prompted him to laugh instead of scold at her disastrous attempt. He was a good man and she would make him the most delicious supper he’d ever eaten.

It wouldn’t be difficult to improve on what they’d had for lunch.

Chapter Eight

To make up for laughing at Huiann’s laundry disaster and then offering her a truly horrible lunch, Alan decided to pick up a few things in Chinatown to make her feel more at home. The streets of that part of the city were steep and narrow. It was difficult to find a place to park the wagon that was accessible to both the laundry and Dong Li’s warehouse. Rather than go to the market, he’d buy from his supplier, whom he could trust for quality merchandise and fair deals.

The long, low building took up a large part of the block. Whatever the wholesaler didn’t sell directly at the wharf, he stored here. The contents included household goods, carpets, fabrics, tin ware, machinery, books in both Chinese and English, footwear, tarps, tools, and—in the back—alcohol and firearms. Few of these items had officially passed a customs inspector.

Alan was a good customer so the dapper Dong Li, whose clothing and manner far outclassed his establishment, escorted him personally through the dimly lit warehouse to choose what he wanted for the store. As the darkness and the musty air closed in around him, Alan felt trapped. He forced himself to breathe deeply and relax.

“Last time we spoke you mentioned a man named Xie Fuhua.”

Dong Li frowned. “What of it?”

“A friend told me he can get some special items.” 104

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Li narrowed his eyes. “Most of the goods he deals in are nothing you want to become involved with.

Nothing you would sell at your shop unless you were considering starting an opium den in back or a whorehouse on the second floor.”

“Oh. But that was a passenger steamer you pointed out to me.”

Even though they were alone in the warehouse, Li lowered his voice. “Passengers, yes, but also illegal contraband and slave trafficking. Xie Fuhua is one of the most powerful, dangerous men in San Francisco.

His influence extends far beyond Chinatown. He is not a man you should become involved with.”

“Thank you for warning me. I don’t know what my friend was thinking of suggesting him to me.” There was no way he could ask more questions about the extent of Xie’s power or which politicians fed at his trough, let alone where he lived. In fact, Li seemed suspicious enough that Alan was showing a sudden interest in Chinese cuisine and cultural items as he made his selections for Huiann.

After they left the claustrophobic confines of the warehouse, Alan paid Li, and the man set his crew to loading the wagon.

On his way home, Alan hit a traffic jam. It took nearly an hour to go several blocks, and the congestion didn’t let up until he’d turned onto a side street. He pulled to a stop in front of the store, inviting curses from drivers of other vehicles that had to pass around him. Jeremy helped him unload as fast as possible.