Captive Bride (13 page)

Huiann knew more comfort and safety living in a stranger’s house than Dora did with the man she was wedded to. The world was an unfair place in which families made arrangements for which their daughters suffered.

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Weeks passed and Huiann’s life fell into a pattern of work and play, quiet days and companionable evenings either playing mah-jongg or practicing English with Alan.

She kept house and worked on her sewing each day—new sheets to replace the worn ones, cotton pads for her monthly cycle, undergarments and, when she felt confident, a fancy gown for Alan to sell at the shop.

The dress she’d made for herself was a simple red-flowered calico with no decorations of lace or ribbons.

The gown for the store was made of blue satin with wide bands of trim and was as close to a copy of the catalog picture as Huiann could make it. When she finally finished it and Alan hung it in the store, he came to her that evening with a grin on his face and a few American dollars in his hand.

“Your dress sold.”

Her heart swelled with pride. She’d been afraid that all her effort and Alan’s expensive fabric would be wasted, that no one would be interested in buying the gown. Yet it had sold within hours of being displayed.

Her mind was already busily planning her next project—a bottle-green brocade with black lace trim on the bustle.

When she tried to refuse Alan’s payment, he pressed the money into her hand. “No. Take it.” Huiann reluctantly accepted the cash and even more reluctantly pulled her hand from his. As she added the paper money to the coins in the jar in her room, she decided she needed to learn the value of Yankee dollars and cents and the price of passage on a steamer to China.

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For the first time it seemed possible she might someday earn enough to return home, but although she was pleased at the prospect, doubt mingled with her joy. She would bring shame on her family for fleeing the agreement her father had made, even though the agreement had been under false pretences. And a man as powerful as Xie might have connections in China who would make her family suffer for her escape. She was a business loss to him, and his retribution might fall on her family whether she returned home or not.

Her ancestors were buried in her home country and her ghost might never find its way to them if she died here—an ocean away. But back home, she could be forced into another marriage not of her choice. Here she was a wage earner with the ability to earn money for herself and live life on her own terms, as much as a woman could.

Besides, there were other reasons for her to stay in America, she thought while picturing her friendly giant, his wide, kind smile and his large, open hands.

She screwed the lid on her money jar and tucked it behind the skirt of the white dress hanging on its hook in the corner. Then she went downstairs to begin drawing and cutting new pattern pieces from the long roll of paper Alan had given her.

Huiann’s English improved each day as she visited with her new friend from across the way. It became their habit to go to the pump at the same intervals every day. Dora enjoyed teaching her new words and giggling at her difficulties in pronunciation. In exchange, Huiann taught Dora a few Wu words which Bonnie Dee

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she twisted into unrecognizable shapes, causing Huiann some amusement too.

As her understanding of English slowly grew, and with the aide of Dora’s extravagant pantomiming, Huiann pieced together some of her neighbor’s story.

The man, Ralph, who it seemed might not be her husband, drove horses or maybe a delivery wagon.

Dora had been pregnant but lost her baby. Ralph wanted her to get a job, but she hadn’t been able to find one. When he drank, he hit her. Huiann didn’t ask why Dora didn’t leave him. She understood a woman’s duty and powerlessness all too well.

Each day as she went through the pattern of cooking meals, cleaning, sewing, visiting with her new friend, part of Huiann’s mind was always on the coming evening and the precious hours she would spend with Alan. He taught her new words and the characters for the Western alphabet. She practiced writing them on paper and making the sounds each letter symbolized.

He told her things about American culture and asked questions about hers. Trying to understand each other often ended in laughter at misunderstandings or concepts too impossible to explain.

He got better at mah-jongg, finally understanding how to build the wall. On the night he at last beat her without any guidance, she cheered and clapped. She watched his hands clear away the tiles and put them in their box and imagined how those hands would feel touching her body. Desire was simply a part of her now, like a toothache that never quite went away. It continued to pulse in the back of her consciousness.

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She knew the attraction between them was mutual.

Sometimes she’d glance up and find Alan watching her. He’d look away quickly and his cheeks would redden. Other times he wouldn’t look away and their gazes would lock for several seconds before one or the other broke the connection. It was only a matter of time before this tension broke. A tooth couldn’t stay throbbing forever. At some point it would have to be pulled.

Footsteps woke her one night. Alan walking down the stairs. He often got up at night and sometimes left the house and came back hours later. She always wondered if he’d been with a woman. The idea was disappointing but not unexpected. Her mother had told her men had needs a woman couldn’t comprehend and she should never show disapproval if her husband should graze in other pastures. At the time, Huiann hadn’t understood what that meant, but after Madam Teng’s detailed explanations, she understood thoroughly what restless men were capable of.

Tonight Alan did not go out. Instead, she heard metallic clangs as he poked up the fire in the kitchen stove, followed by silence.

Huiann lay for a few minutes longer, listening to the silence, and then she got up and put on the robe she’d sewn. Should she disturb him? What if he wanted to be alone? Whatever sadness kept him from sleep at night—the story he’d told her that night in the store that had affected him so deeply—it was very private. He’d only told her because she couldn’t understand him, which was exactly the way she’d felt about her own confession. But what if he was tired of Bonnie Dee

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being alone and wanted a friend to share his burden?

She could be a friend to him. She owed him that much.

She descended the stairs to the kitchen. The kerosene lamp was turned low, casting large shadows on the walls and ceiling that made the room seem unfamiliar. Alan was seated at the table with his head resting on his folded arms, his face hidden.

The exhaustion apparent in his slumped shoulders made her heart twist. He looked so tired she wanted to rub his back and stroke his hair, as a mother would for a child. This was natural compassion, she decided, and walked toward him to give him what comfort she could.

He finally heard her and lifted his head from his arms. Locks of sandy hair fell over his forehead and he looked up at her with deep indigo eyes. Even in the dim light, she could see pain etched across his features.

What horrors stalked his dreams? What could she do to help him sleep peacefully?

For a long moment they gazed at one another and then Huiann rested her hand on his shoulder. At the same time, Alan leaned into her body. They came together like two halves of an eggshell carefully broken. He slid a hand around her waist and pulled her closer. His face pressed against her breast. His arms wrapped around her.

She held him, cradling his head, rubbing his back.

His body was so warm in her embrace. Her heart beat steadily and her stomach flipped in slow, lazy somersaults. The moment she’d sensed coming for so long was here. What would happen next?

For a long time, they remained locked in perfect union, contented, safe, no longer alone. As she 120

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caressed his hair, soft as she’d imagined, he tilted his face to look up at her. His eyes glittered in the lamplight. He wanted more and Huiann realized she did too.

He swiveled his body toward her and drew her between his legs. He was so tall that even seated, the top of his head was level with her chin. She barely had to stoop to incline her face to his. As inevitable as the sun sinking in the western sky, she bent until their lips were so close she felt his breath on her mouth. Her lips parted and she touched them to his, a single caress like the whisper of a falling leaf.

Alan made a small, hungry sound and the noise tugged at something in her breast, which coiled through her body down to the place between her legs.

She felt the gentle pull and the tightening of her sex responding to his desire. He pressed his lips more firmly against hers, warm and moist.

She cradled his face in both hands, feeling the hardness of his jaw, the prickle of stubble, the strength of his neck muscles and the lifeblood coursing through his veins. His soft, exploring kisses made her body melt into his. He nibbled her lips and then his tongue slid over them. She caught her breath as it dipped into her mouth. The sinuous wetness aroused her response, and their tongues twined around one another, two satin ribbons weaving together. Her mouth fused with his, tasting him, breathing his breath.

Her head spun and she pulled away to draw breath.

He gasped for air too and murmured her name. His deep, husky voice sounded like a temple gong resounding. “Huiann.”

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He pulled her onto his lap, his hard arms holding her close. Those soft, sweet kisses grew more demanding, claiming her mouth until she couldn’t think straight and her body was a pulsing bundle of need. His hands pressed against the back of her robe but Huiann wanted to feel them sliding over her naked skin, flesh to flesh.

He moved his mouth to her cheek then nibbled the tender spot just under her jaw. She tipped her chin up and closed her eyes, moaning softly as his mouth skimmed her throat and nuzzled between her collarbones. Alan tugged at the neckline of her nightgown, pulling it lower so he could kiss her chest and the top swell of each breast. The tickling brush of his mouth against her flesh made her body shudder. He bunched up the material of her robe and nightdress and touched her bare leg.

Huiann gasped and pressed her thighs together—

not to shut him out but to ease the ache at their juncture. Her pulse pounded in her ears and she heard a high-pitched keening rising above it. The mundane sound of the kettle whistling on the stove snapped her back to reality.

She opened her eyes and looked at the top of Alan’s head, his face pressed to her breast, his hand moving higher beneath her gown. Her thigh quivered beneath his palm and she wanted more, but this was moving too fast. She needed to stop and think.

And yet she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. His touch and nuzzling mouth felt so good. She could imagine lying beneath his thrusting body or doing other things Madam Teng had told her about, like 122

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fondling his private parts and letting him touch hers.

She tried to muster shame but only felt desperate need.

Alan lifted his head from her chest and gazed at her with glazed, unfocused eyes. He glanced at the steaming teakettle then back to her and, reluctantly, took his hand from beneath her nightgown and smoothed the material over her leg. He ran his tongue over his lips as if savoring traces of her flavor, then kissed her one more time before helping her to rise from his lap.

Huiann felt the precious moments slipping away.

He wasn’t going to take her hand and lead her to his room. He was withdrawing, giving them both time to consider. It was the right thing to do, but she felt bereft, abandoned.

Huiann let go of his hand, steadied her trembling legs and started for the stairs.

“Thank you.” His murmur stopped her in her tracks and nearly brought her whirling about to race back into his arms. Instead, she nodded and continued on her way.

Soon,
her heart whispered.
It’s as inevitable as the
tide.

But the promise didn’t help her tonight when each step took her farther from where she wanted to be and closer to the cold loneliness of her bed.

Chapter Ten

Stopping was the right thing to do,
Alan reminded himself for the hundredth time since the night he’d almost taken Huiann to bed. She was an employee living in his house, a refugee relying on his help. To take advantage of her sexually, even if the gift was freely offered, wouldn’t be right. But days later he couldn’t stop dwelling on the way her body had felt in his arms, her weight rubbing his aching groin, the taste of her mouth, the smoothness of her skin, the soft press of her breasts against his chest. How could he view her as merely the woman who kept his house when her face lit up every time she saw him and her eyes held the same yearning he felt?

“My change, Sommers?” Bert McGuffy’s voice broke his reverie. The grizzled old ex-miner stared at Alan across the counter and his boxes of supplies.

“Sorry.” Alan counted coins into the man’s calloused palm.

“Only two things distract a man like that—

hankering after a woman or trying to win her back after you’ve made her mad—which is it?” Alan smiled at his astute guess. “Neither. Just thinking about a new business prospect. It seems ladies’ fashions are a big seller. I’m considering eliminating some of the general merchandise to make room for more ready-made clothing.” 124

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“Mmm,” the old man grunted. “Didn’t your folks ever warn you against putting all your eggs in one basket?”

“I’m only planning on streamlining a little.”

“Well, don’t stop carrying my tobacco.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. McGuffy.” Although there was a tobacconist shop several blocks away, McGuffy came to Alan for the particular brand of pipe tobacco he liked.

“Good. Then I’ll vote for you when election time comes around. You couldn’t do worse than them that’s already driving this city to the dogs. Maybe an upstart like you is just what’s needed.” The old man lifted the box off the counter and clomped, heavy-footed, out of the store.