All the Tea in China (20 page)

He sighed. “I admire your courage and your enthusiasm, not to mention your faith, but I do not think your time in China would be well served trying to be a missionary.”

“I would not be aboard this ship if I were not convinced of my destiny. I find it odd that you accept Julia Whipple’s self-proclaimed destiny in China and yet you repeatedly chastise me for my biblical mission.”

“Ah, Miss Whipple,” he said, smiling. “Though she is oddly fond of you, and even more oddly, you profess to be so of her, I wondered what your true feelings might be.”

I felt a small wave of regret for my hasty words. “I did not mean to criticize her, only to point out the inconsistency of your words and actions toward her and me. I find her quite intelligent, and I wish a better life for her.”

“You cannot change the world, my dear Isabella.”

“Oh? Isn’t that what
you
are trying to do? Have you ever thought about letting God have his way with China instead of settling upon your own revenge?” I studied him closely. “What
are
your beliefs toward God?”

“I was baptized in the church, much to my mother’s disapproval. She believed me coerced, but it was my choice. For that, I shall always be grateful to my father and his family.”

“Then you must understand how I feel. I want to share my gratefulness with others. Perhaps if they know that God so loved the world—”

“And gave his only begotten son . . . yes, I know, Isabella. But imagine that a Buddhist in China desires to travel to Britain and convert everyone to Buddhism. Would you call him wise?”

“Of course not,” I said. “But this is different.”

He folded his arms.

“But it is. It is truth!”

“I agree, Isabella, but you cannot march into a country and simply announce that you have the answers to all their problems.”

“But I do,” I said stubbornly.

“They will not listen. They will not believe you.”

“St. Paul was a great evangelist,” I said. “He went to different countries.”

“Yes, and he said that he was made all things to all men that he might by all means save some.”

“Then that is what I shall do. Have I not endeavored to learn the language? Do I not have the tracts in Chinese? Phineas, I want to serve.”

He shook his head, sighing. “That may be difficult. China is very different from your way of life. I hope that you are not disappointed by what you find there.”

“And I hope that you are, for though your intentions may be noble, I cannot believe that your method of revenge is pleasing to God.”

“Well, then.” He smiled. “It will be interesting to see whose expectations are met.”

“‘All things are possible to him that believeth.’” I smiled in return. Phineas Snowe was not the only one who could quote Scripture!

As though nothing had changed between us, that night Phineas picked up the story of Wo-Ping and Mei. The two had become romantically involved, but they still kept their weapons a secret from each other. When the villain convinced each of them that the other was plotting the village’s destruction, Wo-Ping retrieved his sword and Mei hers.

At last I would see them fight! I could see the intricate scrollwork on Wo-Ping’s sword and feel the delicate balance yet razor sharpness of Mei’s. When sword met sword, I saw sparks fly.

I forgot all about the
Dignity
and my own plans for China. I had fully entered the believable world Snowe spun, and it was as though I were an eyewitness to the battle. So it was with no small amount of bewilderment on my part when Wo-Ping suddenly ran, weightless, up the wall, and Mei followed him.

“What?” I cried aloud. “How can that be?”

“It is the story, Isabella. Accept it as it is. May I continue?”

I gave my consent somewhat unhappily. I had thought the story real. Yet more magical feats occurred than running up walls. Wo-Ping and Mei could all but fly, Wo-Ping made himself invisible, and Mei hurled balls of fire from her palms. Sadly, I stopped Snowe in midsentence. “I do not wish to hear any more.”

“For just tonight or any nights hence?” he said.

“I am not certain.” I felt shaken.

He was silent on his side of the canvas curtain. “It is but a story, Isabella. Do you believe that King Arthur truly tossed Excalibur into water, only to have it caught by the lady of the lake? Is Britain allowed her myths, but not China?”

I had no response.

“We are but a few days from Cape Town, where we will pass several nights. Perhaps we can resume the tale once we are aboard ship again.”

I rolled over, turning my back to the canvas. I could not explain my disappointment, but it was there nonetheless. “Perhaps,” I mumbled.

Other than the sound of water bumping the ship and the perpetual creak of timbers, our cabin was silent. At length I said, “You have yet to procure my sword, Phineas Snowe.”

He groaned. “Go to sleep, Isabella.”

The next morning I saw Miss Whipple strolling alone about the deck. The weather had indeed grown warmer as we sailed farther south, and she had abandoned her shawl. I thought that she looked quite respectable in a lovely blue muslin dress with a deeper blue ribbon in her hair. Mr. Gilpin did not seem to share my sentiments, however, as he passed her, barely acknowledged her presence, and moved on.

Flora would have boxed my ears for such behavior, but I could not stand to see Miss Whipple slighted. I fell in step beside her.

She glanced at me with surprise. “I was not certain if you would speak to me today.”

“Why ever not?” I said, smiling. “Perhaps it is Phineas who will not speak to you.”

“It would be of no consequence.” She shrugged. “I could not stand another moment whereby I knew he lied to you. You two have spoken?”

“Indeed we have.”

“The expression on your face indicates that the conversation was to your advantage.”

“I believe it was to both our advantages. Phineas knows that I will keep his secret, and now I do not have to worry about being left behind in Cape Town.”

“You should be careful, Miss Goodrich. He might yet find a way to change your plans.”

“Thank you for the counsel, but I believe not.”

We walked together in silence. Men overhead climbed the rigging, tending to some matter of a sail. Mr. Gilpin frowned at us, and I took Miss Whipple’s arm in my own and turned us aft. “Let us go astern.”

“Have you a peculiar desire to see the chickens on the poop deck?” she said, smiling. “Or do you hope to avoid Mr. Gilpin?”

“Both, if you must know.”

We climbed up to the poop deck. Mr. Swinney, the poulterer, was nowhere to be seen. The number of chickens and ducks had diminished since we set sail from England, and I thought somewhat guiltily of our past dinners.

Miss Whipple sat near an empty cage and studied the wake behind the ship. After a moment, she spoke. “I have thought about your offer to teach me, Miss Goodrich.”

I tried to conceal the smile from my face. “Indeed?”

She nodded. “If it would help you, I am willing to learn what you have to teach.”

“Is there anything in particular you wish to study?”

“I can read well enough, but I know little of history. I know little of Napoleon, for all the talk I hear of him.”

I sat beside her. “Is it the French who interest you?”

“To begin with. I would learn the history of England, of course. And the . . . what do you call them . . . ancient civilizations?”

“Mr. Gilpin loaned me some books on that very subject. We could start with those.”

Miss Whipple was silent for a moment. “I imagine you wonder how I came to be the type of person that I am.”

“It is not for my speculation, Miss Whipple,” I said, lowering my gaze.

“I did not choose my life. I made a foolish mistake in trusting a man to lead me from Portsmouth to London, but he abandoned me.” She paused. “I could not go home after that for fear of completely ruining my family.”

I touched her hand, moved by her plight. “I am sorry.”

She smiled bitterly. “Perhaps my story will have spared you from following after a man foolishly, though I think not. I believe that Phineas is not quite the same as the man who misled you originally, but he has misled you all the same.”

“Yes, he has. But I do not plan to stay with him once we reach China. I intend to find an established mission or someplace where I can serve, but I certainly will not travel with him.” I brightened. “Will you not go with me, Miss Whipple? I am certain that two ladies can help as well as one.”

“I am afraid that I am only suited for a life with men. That is why Phineas confided his plan to me, even though we never—” She looked away, coughing into her hand. “I would still like for you to teach me, if you are willing. But perhaps you do not want to be seen with me. Gilpin—”

“Mr. Gilpin is not master of my soul,” I said. “I would be delighted to teach you, but please . . . you must call me Isabella.”

She looked at me fully for the first time since we had sat down. She smiled. “Only if you will call me Julia.”

Mr. Calow solemnly informed me one morning that ships approaching the Cape of Good Hope were often besieged by violent winds. I could not imagine going through another storm. Indeed, he must have thought my expression particularly alarmed, for he hastened to add that hardly ever were the ships wrecked, though he repeated “hardly ever” as though reassuring himself as well. Fortunately for us all, we encountered no problems and soon sailed into Cape Town, docking at Table Bay.

I knew a little of the town, of course, but nothing prepared me for the joy I would feel at the sight of land again after so many days at sea. Particularly land as beautiful as this historic town. Phineas and I stood together on deck to watch as we docked, and I could scarcely say a word.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” I murmured, glancing at the crystalline beach and a large mountain in the distance towering overhead.

“That is Table Mountain,” Phineas said. “It appears clear today, but at times the top is shrouded in mist and fog.”

I fanned myself with my hand. “I cannot believe that we have traveled so far and to find the weather so changed. I have read that the climate is different below the equator but never dreamed I would experience it for myself.” I turned my attention from the scene and smiled. “But you must find me silly, for you have traveled this course many times.”

He smiled down at me. “I have not seen the journey through your eyes. I find the view most enjoyable.”

I caught my breath in hesitation. His dark eyes seemed to shine, and I thought that I had never seen him look so attractive. The outdated queue he wore now seemed quite familiar and . . . handsome.

I turned away, forcing myself to watch the seamen perform the laborious tasks of docking the ship. I did not quite know what to expect when we were ashore, but Cape Town seemed modern. I had pictured grass huts, perhaps, and natives running about in who knew what manner of dress (or undress!), but many solid buildings, some appearing British and some Dutch, comprised the city. The British buildings were easily recognizable, reminding me of home with their brick, pitched roofs, and sash windows. The Dutch buildings, on the other hand, had thatched roofs and high gables and were whitewashed with lime. The combination of the two styles was not displeasing, however, and seemed a reflection of the various peoples we encountered.

Phineas acted as a guide as we strolled around town, taking in the sights while he supplemented my knowledge of the area. He purchased bananas for us to eat, a strange yellow fruit. Laughing as I attempted to bite into it, he took it from my hands and showed me how to peel back its skin. The true fruit within was delightfully firm but easily chewed, the taste warm and golden.

We saw many people of all skin colors because so many different people had inhabited the area. The Dutch influence was prevalent because the town had been established by the Dutch East India Company, whose sailors used it—as we were now—to acquire provisions and, if necessary, mend their ships. They traded with the local native villagers, then sent Dutch colonists of their own several centuries ago to establish a town. Soon afterward they were joined by Huguenots, Protestants who fled France during an un-successful Reformation. Sadly, too, the area had known its share of slaves, not only those who labored there but those who were but mere cargo bound for other destinations.

Over the centuries, the town had been in the hands of the Dutch, the French, the British . . . in various order. Fortunately it had been controlled by Britain for the past few years, and though the town and its people bore signs of many cultural influences, it felt somewhat like home.

It was also good to be on land again. It occurred to me that I might actually have a real bed to sleep in tonight, as opposed to a hammock. “Where will we pass the night?” I asked Phineas.

He looked down at me again with his unfathomable brown eyes. “I know a husband and wife who accept lodgers.”

A peculiar thrill tingled my stomach. We had been cabinmates for so long that I scarcely thought about it anymore. Particularly when everyone on board ship thought us related. Being on land reminded me that we were back in civilization. “We will . . .” My mouth went dry. “We will no doubt need to keep up the ruse about brother and sister.”

“It is preferable,” he said. “Were we to run into anyone from the
Dignity
, it might not bode well otherwise.”

We would be in Cape Town for several days, but the remainder of that first day was spoiled for me. I worried about Snowe’s intentions. I worried about my own, as well, for I did not trust the curious attraction I felt toward him. I would never betray my place as a lady, of course . . .

My fears were put to rest when we arrived at the lodgings, a home that could have been plucked from one of the finer sections of London. A lovely elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Eaton, were our hosts. They were British and had evidently known Phineas for a long time. “But you never mentioned a sister,” Mr. Eaton said, smiling at me.

“How lovely you are, my dear.” Mrs. Eaton turned to Phineas. “She must have Mary’s room, of course.”