Dreams of the Red Phoenix (21 page)

“Thank you, my dear, dear friend,” Shirley said. “You are so
kind to have come to tell me this important news.”

Kathryn raised her head. “So you will pack up and leave with
us? We have a few days to prepare, but no more, perhaps less,
depending on how the arrangements are fulfilled. As it turns out,
Reverend Wells is excellent at this, too. Who would have guessed
it?”

Kathryn finally smiled as Shirley lifted her up and they stood.
She held her friend's hands in hers. “Yes, I will discuss it with
Charles right away, and we will make a sound decision.”

“But there is no decision to be made. You must simply do it,”
Kathryn said. “This is not something to
discuss
with a teenaged
boy. You are his mother. You must tell him what to do.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Shirley said and turned toward the
young nurses. “I'll be with you in a moment, good ladies,” she
called to them.

“I see,” Kathryn said and removed her hand. “Well, I can't say
that I didn't try.”

“No,” Shirley said, “you did more than that. You have con
vinced me.”

“I have?” Kathryn asked.

“There are just a few things that I must put in order first.”

Kathryn appeared skeptical but said, “Well, I'll be damned.”

Shirley adjusted her friend's adorable pillbox hat. “Wherever
do you find such perfect accessories?” Shirley asked as she escort
ed her to the door.

Kathryn beamed, her good nature bringing color back into
her cheeks. “You know how my mother loves to shop. When we
get back home, she wants to take us both out for a rousing expe
dition to F. R. Lazarus. We really will be rising from the dead
then, won't we?”

Shirley loved a good pun and laughed, then bade her friend
good-night. She opened the door quickly for Kathryn, glanced
around, and felt relieved to confirm that the major and his sol
diers were gone. When the door shut again, Shirley made a bee
line for the waiting helpers and was just reaching for a patient's
chart when she felt something tug at her linen skirt.

Dao-Ming appeared before her, stranger than ever, her cheeks
flushed, her eyes practically swollen shut, her socks mismatched,
and her rotund body wrapped in several layers of dirty Chinese
robes. Shirley noticed a new item that weighed her down: a thick,
heavy belt with the Red Army star on it. But then Shirley spotted
something even more peculiar: the girl appeared to be wearing
Caleb's driving cap.

“Where did you get that?” Shirley asked, forgetting momen
tarily that the child could barely speak, or chose not to.

“Did Charles give it to you?” she tried again.

Dao-Ming shook her head.

“You found it yourself downstairs?”

Dao-Ming nodded.

Shirley stepped away from the other ladies and took Dao-
Ming by the hand. She hustled her over to the stairs that rose to
the upstairs quarters. With some effort, she lifted the child onto
the second step so that they might speak eye to eye.

“Where is Lian?” she asked.

Dao-Ming pointed down the hallway toward the kitchen de
pendency.

“I see. Is she is helping to prepare food?”

Dao-Ming nodded, and then, as if speaking had never been a
problem, Dao-Ming whispered the words, “Hsu down.”

“You mean Captain Hsu?”

The girl nodded.

“What do you mean by ‘down'?” Shirley asked.

Several loud and insistent knocks sounded on the front door
just then. Dao-Ming's eyes widened.

“It's all right,” Shirley said.

But the girl's head shook frantically as she whispered, “Jap
devils.”

“Lian,” Shirley called down the hallway, “would you mind
answering the door for me, please?”

Lian came swiftly from the kitchen, followed by the young
woman, Li-Juan, who had recently come to help. Behind them
were the Japanese grandfather and his daughters. And after them
hobbled Tupan Feng, body bent over his cane and sword swaying
with each halting step. What they were all doing in the kitchen
with hardly any ingredients for supper was a mystery to Shirley.

On her way to the door, Lian whispered harshly to Dao-Ming,
“You took him?”

Dao-Ming nodded, panic making her limbs stiff and more
awkward than ever.

“So,” Shirley asked, “Captain Hsu is hiding in our basement?
Is that it?”

Lian wheeled around and hissed at Shirley as Dao-Ming
shook her head madly, tears starting to stream down her face.
“Great man must be kept safe,” Lian whispered.

“Absolutely,” Shirley said, standing straighter. “I will not let
them touch a hair on his head. I promise.”

She hurried to Lian's side and reached the door just in time to
open it herself. “What is it now?” she asked Major Hattori and
his two soldiers. “I believe I said I wasn't available this evening.”

They stormed past her and into her home. Shirley leaned
out and took a quick glance at the dark courtyard for her son. It
wasn't like him to stay out this late. “Charles is upset with me,”
she whispered to Lian. “We need to keep an eye out for him.”

Lian did not reply, but her expression only made Shirley more
anxious. She turned to join the others in the front hall and asked,
“Now, Major, what can I do for you?”

As she spoke, she pulled back her shoulders and offered a
calm, even serene visage. They had barged into her home, but
she intended to behave like a lady of sound intelligence, a Vassar
graduate with a good head on her shoulders, and not someone to
be trifled with. She thought of her husband's handy phrase,
stiff
upper lip
.

“Mrs. Carson,” Major Hattori said in English, “you, madam,
are under arrest.”

Shirley let out a high, alarmed laugh, which was quickly sti
fled by the two soldiers, who snatched her wrists in a firm grasp.
Lian stepped forward and tried to wrench the soldiers off her.

“That's all right, Lian,” Shirley said. “You mustn't upset your
heart. I'm all right.”

Li Juan began weeping, her arms wrapped around Dao-
Ming, who positively wailed. Lian tried to stop the men for a sec
ond time by planting her considerable body in front of the open
doorway. The soldiers simply pushed the older woman aside. She
stumbled and sprawled on the wood floor.

Old Tupan Feng doddered forward and, with some effort,
pulled his long, ornamental Japanese sword from its lacquered
sheath, almost toppling as he raised it up toward the ceiling.
“Halt,” he said. “Unhand Mrs. Carson.”

Major Hattori had been standing back with his hands on his
hips, but he now strode toward the old Chinese man and laughed.
“Where did you get that saber, grandfather?” he asked.

Tupan Feng blinked several times and brought the sword
back down to his side. “Tupan Feng Number One Student at
Tokyo Military Academy. Top of class. Excellent training.” He
bowed.

“That's right,” the major said without bowing as he took it
from Tupan Feng's trembling hand. “I recognize this as one of
ours.” He held the sword out before him in his open palms. The
silver blade shone handsomely in the dim light of the front hall.
“You have taken good care of it.”

Tupan Feng raised his chin as high as he could. “We were
taught many important things. Discipline and virtue above all. I
tried to bring this superior Japanese standard to my people here
in my province. But they were lazy and would not obey.”

“Of course.” Major Hattori chuckled. “They are Chinese.
What did you expect?”

“But,” the old warlord continued, his voice growing stronger
than Shirley had ever heard it before, “they were never cruel,
evil, or heartless. They are not barbarians like you!”

The major swiped the saber in the air, and the others skittered
back, but Tupan Feng stuck out his chest and kept his firm gaze
forward. “If you must take a prisoner,” he said, “I volunteer. I
am highest ranking of these people. I am the only military here.
They are civilians. We do not attack civilians. We are civilized.”

The major signaled his men. As they pushed Shirley out onto
the porch, she called over her shoulder, “Please find Charles and
reassure him that his mother will be all right.” Once out on the
porch, she planted her feet on the red-painted floorboards and
shouted, “Let go of me! I am perfectly capable of walking with
out assistance. Major, tell your men to release me.”

The major nodded to his men, and they let go of her arms.
Shirley straightened her skirt and blouse and looked down upon
them with fiery eyes. “My riding coat, gentlemen. I never go out
in the evening without proper outerwear.” Lian instructed Li
Juan to bring the coat. After it was placed over Shirley's shoul
ders, she said, “Do get word to Reverend Wells, though I hate to
bother him in the evening when he likes to read.”

“Enough instruction,” the major shouted. He motioned to his
men, and one of them prodded her forward with the butt of his
rifle to her shoulder blade.

“That is completely unnecessary,” Shirley said as she started
down the steps. But then she stopped: there he was, tromping up
them, looking as bedraggled as a boy his age could. “Charles,” she
asked, “are you all right?”

It took Charles a moment to come out of his haze, but then he
looked up and saw Japanese soldiers standing behind his mother,
their rifles pointed at her. He clutched the railing and stepped out
of their way. “Mother! What's going on? Where are they taking
you?”

“Don't panic, darling,” she said. “It's just a misunderstanding.
We'll get it straightened out.
Steady hand and cool heart
, as Father
used to say.”

Charles then surprised her, and perhaps himself, by speaking
directly to the Japanese officer as he passed. “This is a clear viola
tion of the Geneva Convention. The legation in Peking will hear
about it. We'll get the American forces involved if we have to!
Don't even think of hurting her, and I mean it!”

The soldiers nudged Shirley onto the mission grounds. Lian
threw her arms around Li Juan, who held on to Dao-Ming. The
major gestured for Shirley to move, and she set off. Fear swirled
and tangled her thoughts and made her legs weak and heavy, but
her heart was calm.

C
ook set Caleb's head down on the straw pillow and wiped
watery porridge from his chin. “Sun out today. Reverend
feel better,” he said.

Caleb tried to smile.

“Han-Boy brings news.”

Caleb frowned, which for some reason was easier to accom
plish than a smile.

“No worry,” Cook said. “He not tell others. Family does not
follow. They carry on without Reverend. Very good!”

Cook's upbeat voice echoed against the damp cave walls. Ca
leb's eyes shifted to the opening, where the sky hung like a perfect
blue cutout made by a child.

“American Mrs. Carson joins Red cause.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow.

“You do not believe?” Cook asked with a chuckle. “I not be
lieve, either. But very sorry,” he shook his head, “Reverend can
not see to believe.”

Caleb looked up into the man's lined, yet cheery, face.