Dreams of the Red Phoenix (24 page)

As she straightened up, one of the soldiers stepped closer and
addressed her in Japanese. Shirley couldn't understand the words
but looked down into the young man's worried face.

“I'm all right,” she said in the local Chinese dialect.

The young man appeared baffled by her words, too, but
bowed. Shirley bowed in return. The second soldier eyed them
warily, and Shirley wondered if the compassionate younger sol
dier would be reprimanded. He was a boy, just a boy. So like her
son. At the gates of the mission compound, she bowed again be
fore leaving the Japanese soldiers and hurried inside. She needed
to get back to Charles.

At the sight of her home and the stone gate bathed in moon
light, Shirley lifted her skirt and ran. She dashed up the steps
and flung open the ornamental screen, but the iron handle on the
thick front door did not turn. In peaceful times, Caleb had insist
ed it never be locked. She ran her fingers over a colorful bas-relief
statue of a door god that he had nailed to the door frame, the fe
rocious warrior figure put there to protect the family inside from
evil spirits.

Shirley was about to pound on the door when the thick han
dle turned and it swung open. Dao-Ming stepped back as Shirley
entered her home. She glanced around at the peaceful sight of
the patients stretched out on their beds and the nurses curled on
pallets on the floor. Charles sat sprawled in the wicker rocking
chair, his long legs stretched onto the stained coral blossoms in
the blue carpet. He had no doubt waited up for her as long as he
could, but then sleep had overtaken him as he reclined where she
used to rock him as a boy.

Dao-Ming appeared to have been weeping, although her eyes
were always pink-rimmed. Shirley took the girl's chin into her
hands and lifted her sorry face toward the light. Dao-Ming trem
bled all over, and Shirley realized that was part of her condition,
too. She brought the girl closer and wrapped her arms around
her thick, curved back. Dao-Ming did not reciprocate at first but
merely stood like a lump of plentiful flesh. Then the full weight
of her pressed against Shirley, and Shirley did not push her away.
Instead, she held on and whispered into the girl's ear, “It's all
right. I'm back now. I'm here.”

As she felt the distinct pressure of Dao-Ming's breasts hid
den under her many layers of clothing, Shirley realized that the
girl was more mature than she had previously understood. Dao-
Ming might even be Charles's age. Though short of stature, she
was a substantial person, a young lady, in fact—a person to be
fully considered and no longer ignored. Dao-Ming drew back
and stared up at Shirley with serious, knowing eyes.

At that moment, Shirley recalled Caleb's words spoken from
the pulpit:
We have no one if not each other
.
We are united in our
humanity. We are one
. He had meant that we are all citizens of the
world, brothers and sisters, grown from one family tree. As hard
as it had been to fathom previously, Shirley thought now, this
strange young woman standing before her in this strange land
was of the same blood.
And we must keep watch over one another
,
Caleb had said.
We are our brother's keepers.

“Yes, love,” Shirley whispered aloud in English, “that's right.
We
are
our brother's keepers.”

Dao-Ming smiled quite genuinely at that moment, as if un
derstanding the words Shirley had just spoken.

“Mama Shirley no leave?” Dao-Ming asked. “Mama Shirley
stay!”

Shirley stared into those dark, narrow eyes that seemed bot
tomless and saturated in unreserved hope just when there should
have been none.

“That's right,” she said. “Mama Shirley stay.”

C
harles stepped into the too-bright morning to meet Rever
end Wells as he came up the porch steps. The older man's
hair had turned white in the weeks since the fighting had begun,
and he had developed a limp. Always an odd bird, the Reverend
appeared even more so in the Chinese coolie hat he wore to keep
off the sun. Kathryn lagged a few paces behind him, her own
stylish hat worn low and lopsided on her head. They both looked
beleaguered and worse for wear.

“Thanks so much for coming, sir,” Charles said and pumped
the Reverend's hand. “But everything's all right. Mother's back
now. She got home late last night and is still asleep upstairs.”

The Reverend took Charles's hands between his and patted
them. “My poor boy,” he said, “do not consider yourself aban
doned. That's good news about your mother. I was prepared to
visit the Japanese headquarters myself this morning to insist on
her release.”

Charles gently pulled his hands away. “I haven't seen her yet,
but I gather she wasn't harmed at all. They just wanted to talk
to her. And Lian's found
mien
at the market this morning, and
we're planning a feast for later today. Not a feast, exactly, but,
you know, a farewell dinner. No need to worry about us. We're
all quite keen.”

The Reverend glanced at Kathryn.

“I'm glad your mother's safe,” she said, “but Reverend Wells
and I wanted to talk to you, Charles, about your situation. Re
member when I told you that you can always count on me, kid
do? It's true, you know.” She reached across and straightened his
collar. “You've grown up a lot this summer, but we want to make
sure you understand the danger you're in. I'm worried that you
haven't been given a full picture of things.”

Charles nodded warily.

“We don't want anyone confusing you about what you should
do next,” Kathryn said. “You must be prepared to leave at a mo
ment's notice. As soon as we receive word that passage has been
secured on a ship out of Shanghai, we go. Are you ready to do
that, Charles?”

“My bag is packed.”

“You will have only one chance, my boy,” the Reverend insist
ed. “Nothing, and no one, must get in your way.”

“All right, I get it,” Charles said, his voice rising. “I won't let
her change my mind.”

At that moment, he noticed the shadow of his mother in
her white dressing gown standing at the screen door. Through
the metal mesh, she looked like a ghost. Her face appeared un
changed for a long moment, and he felt frightened that while her
body had returned home the night before, her spirit remained
elsewhere.

“Mother!” he shouted and flung the screen open. He took her
hand and led her out onto the porch. He hugged her, and she
seemed sturdy enough in his arms, which gave Charles courage
again. But then she turned to Reverend Wells and Kathryn, and
her warm smile disappeared.

“I'm glad that you and the others know your plans,” she said
to them, “but please don't presume to tell my family what to do.”

Kathryn threw her hands up and said, “But Shirley, you've
already told me you're coming with us.”

The Reverend reached for Shirley's hands and said, “I'm so
relieved you're all right, my dear. I was terribly worried.”

Shirley slipped free of him and stepped back.

“Mother, Reverend Wells and Miss Kathryn are only trying to
help,” Charles offered.

His mother's expression remained stern.

“I know you are aware, Mrs. Carson,” the Reverend said,
“that I'm officially in charge of everyone here in the mission. I
have orders from the Missionary Board in Boston as well as the
American legation in Peking that I must see us all returned home
to U.S. soil.”

Charles moved closer to his mother's side.

“I owe it to the memory of your husband to see that Charles
is safe,” the Reverend continued. “We all know how much Caleb
loved the boy.”

His mother finally lowered her chin.

“And I must insist that you leave with us, too, Mrs. Carson.
Those are my orders.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stood very still.
Charles had seen that expression on her face more times than he
cared to remember. When his mother was backed into a corner,
there was no telling what she might say or do. He stepped for
ward and put his arm around her waist. He had never done that
before. He took her by the hand as if he intended to escort her out
onto the dance floor for a little spin.

“Mother, here's the thing,” he said. “I'm ready to go back to
America. I'll miss it here, but it's time. I think Father would
agree, don't you?” His mother's gaze drifted toward the crowded
courtyard. How, he wondered, could she look out there and not
grasp that they must go? “Shall we pack your bags, too, Mother?
Lian is planning a farewell dinner tonight. We'll say our good-
byes and be ready to leave whenever we get word. America,” he
added, in case she had missed his enthusiasm, “here we come!”

Reverend Wells rocked forward onto his toes and back onto
his heels. But Charles's mother remained mesmerized by the sea
of Chinese before them.

“Thanks a lot for dropping by,” Charles said as he escorted the
Reverend and Kathryn toward the porch steps. “We appreciate
it.” Then he leaned closer and whispered, “She's a little stunned
at the thought of leaving. Just keep us posted. We'll be ready.”

“You're a sound young man, Charles,” Reverend Wells said,
shaking his hand. “Your father would be proud.” He tipped his
Chinese straw hat and said, “Good day to you both.”

He and Kathryn went down the steps, conferring with one
another as they left.

Charles stood beside his mother at the porch railing. “Thank
goodness you're all right. The Japs didn't hurt you, did they?”

“No, Charles, I'm fine.”

Her voice sounded far off, and he worried that she might not
be telling the truth. He wanted to know what had happened to
her. He wanted to take care of her. But he also somehow didn't
want to know. He couldn't bear it if she had been harmed.

She finally looked away from the busy courtyard. “Rever
end Wells is right. This is no place for a child. No place for you,
Charles. But I can't imagine leaving just yet. My patients still
need me.”

He studied the lines around her eyes and her hollow cheeks.
She had lost weight since his father's death, and now she ap
peared almost frail. He had never seen her looking so sallow and
drawn. “You don't look well, Mother. Are you sick?”

“No, not at all,” she said and touched a cool palm to his cheek.
“I feel quite well. Perhaps better than ever.” She brushed hair
from his forehead and let her hand settle lightly on his shoulder.
“I will join you. That's what I'll do. It can be arranged.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I want you to go ahead with the American women and chil
dren. I will come along soon after, perhaps with the men, or some
other way.”

He flicked red paint from the porch railing and then held on
to it. He wasn't dizzy, exactly, but felt mild vertigo. For days, he
had let himself consider the possibility of leaving China without
his mother, and now she was saying that that was how it would
be.

“I need to check on my patients now, darling. You'll be all
right,” she said and stood on her toes to plant a kiss on his fore
head. “Reverend Wells is correct in saying that your father would
be terribly proud of you—as am I.”