Fortune is a Woman (25 page)

"Lilin had to help lay her out and she could not help noticing the bruises on her neck, though the old man quickly covered them, and she felt sure that he had killed her.

"Afterward Lilin was frightened and tried to keep out of his way as much as possible, but with the Number Two wife gone he became even more of a tyrant. Even his sons felt the lash of his tongue as well as the lash of the whip he used at the ponds. But he still claimed his rights with her, though with good joss she did not become with child until some years had passed. Her daughter was already three years old when the next child was born. A son whom she named Ke Lai Tsin."

" 'I have enough sons,' the man said coldly when she proudly showed him the child."

Lai Tsin stopped. He stared down at the floor, his brow furrowed as he remembered his mother. "She was still only seventeen," he continued. "She had no love for this man. He had taken her against her will and she had not wanted his children. But now she loved them. She still kept his house clean, she washed the clothes and prepared their meals, but she gave her love to Mayling and Lai Tsin. Even though she herself existed only on rice and a few morsels of vegetables, she tried to see there was a little fish or meat in her children's rice bowls at night. She taught them games, held them close, and told them she loved them. She called them by their milk-names, Mayling was 'Little Treasure,' and Lai Tsin, 'Little Plum.' They slept close to her at night on her bedmat and they would watch her combing her long black hair as she sang them to sleep.

"I was almost four years old when Chen was born and I remember laughing at his funny little pancake face. Mayling and I loved him and helped look after him, though we were already hard at work in the fields. But little Chen was not destined by the gods to grow to boyhood and the day he died was the saddest of my life. A year later our mother died. I was seven years and Mayling ten." Lai Tsin shook his head sadly. "Even now I do not know what happened, only that one morning our mother did not wake up. I remember looking at her, wondering why she did not answer when I said I was hungry, and I noticed that even in her death-sleep she looked tired. Ke Chungfen had worked her to death.

"Our mother was not given a proper ceremonial burial. After all, she was only a
mui-tsai.
Ke Chungfen claimed he was too poor to buy a coffin and she was wrapped in the straw mat in which she had been laid out, tied at the head and the feet, and buried quickly. The loss of face at such a burial is overwhelming and our shame was terrible. The family observed no mourning and we went immediately back to our work in the fields. Mayling and I were left alone to face our father's indifference and anger."

There was a long silence; Lai Tsin's face was drained of expression and emotion, and Francie forgot her own fears. She squeezed his hand. "Poor Lai Tsin. Your world was such a harsh one."

"Our worlds were the same, only your surroundings were rich and mine the poorest of the poor. But the neglect and cruelty of our fathers was the same. You see, Francie, it was only our mothers' love, brief though it was, that showed us life could be different. And that is why you must think of your child. You must give the baby love so that he will be strong inside. Remember it has no father, there is only you to teach it the meaning of love. And if you do not, then it will be damaged the way we were."

Annie listened, thinking of her own life, devoted to caring for her selfish father. He had never given her anything of himself, no word or gesture of affection had ever passed between them. She understood what Lai Tsin meant and knew he was right.

Francie nodded, her heart too full to speak. In his wisdom Lai Tsin had showed her the path out of her despair. She would no longer think only of herself, she would have her child to love and protect. And she would be eternally grateful to him, for she knew what it had cost him to speak of his past. But she also knew he still had not told her everything, and that the rest of his tragic story was still locked away inside him.

CHAPTER 20

Annie's heart sank as the hired gig jolted around the final bend in the long, rutted road and the de Soto Ranch came into view. It was even worse than she had expected. But Francie's face had lit up when she told her about it. She said it was a special place, that her only good memories were the times spent there with her mother. "Mama left it to me" she said stubbornly, "I read it in the newspapers when they published my father's will. I never went to the lawyers to claim it because I was afraid Harry would find out. But he never goes there, no one does! It's beautiful and it's mine and it's where I want to have my baby." And just two days later here they were. They hadn't passed another house in miles and the place looked as though it were about to fall down.

"Oh, Annie," Francie said with a contented sigh, "isn't it just the most beautiful house you've ever seen?"

Annie stared gloomily at the weatherbeaten gray clapboard house with its broken windows and sagging wooden porch. "I suppose we can fix it up all right," she said grudgingly.

Francie climbed from the gig and ran up the steps. She turned to look at the long valley view, at the green paddocks and low sun-dried hills. In the distance she could hear the cackle of geese and the whinny of a horse and she felt the soft breeze on her skin.

"It's just the same," she said happily. "I've always felt free here. And it's the only place that ever felt like a real home to me, all those long summer days spent with my mother and the cold winter evenings together by the fire."

The door was unlocked and she stepped inside, wandering slowly through the dust-covered rooms, smiling as it came back to life in her memory. She saw the parlor in the warm glow of the old pot-bellied stove and her mother lying in the chaise longue and herself sitting at her feet while Princess snoozed on the braided hearthrug. In her memory, the big kitchen with its long scrubbed pine table and its old cast iron pots and pans was full of the delicious aromas of baking bread and roasting chicken, of rosy, fresh-picked apples and green walnuts and black wine grapes.

There was no lingering sadness about her mother's room: the warm afternoon sunshine filtered through the broken windowpanes and she could see her now, rosy-cheeked and sparkling-eyed, lying on her embroidered white pillows in the carved wooden bed, bringing her the gift of love and happiness.

"It's just the same." She sighed, content. "It's just as perfect as it always was."

Annie raised a skeptical eyebrow. All she could see was a broken-down old house whose roof probably leaked. It was hard to tell what it might look like after twelve years of dust and grime had been removed. But at least now Francie was happy. "We'll have it fixed up again in no time," she said cheerily enough, but her heart sank as she wondered where to start. She glanced up, startled at the sound of horse's hooves on the drive.

"I know who it is," Francie yelled, racing for the door. The small, wiry nut-brown man hitching his horse to the porch rail turned to look at her in astonishment.

"Zocco," she cried, leaping down the steps toward him, "don't you remember me?"

"Francie?" he asked disbelievingly.

She laughed and flung her arms around him. "Oh, Zocco, yes, it's me, after all these years. I've come home again."

She looked into his face; Zocco was no longer the young man of her memories. He was in his forties now and there were a few more lines around his eyes and his skin was a bit more weather-beaten. His English was as faulty as ever.

"I tell Esmerelda," he said quickly, "she help clean up the place. No one is here for so many years, we not do nothin'. But now I fix her up. Right away, Miss Francie. And I'm real glad you are back, Miss Francie, real glad the de Soto Ranch comes alive again."

Annie watched as he unhitched his horse, leapt agilely into the saddle, and galloped away in a cloud of dust. "Who was that?" she demanded.

"That's Zocco. He's been here as long as I can remember. When I was six years old he taught me to ride bareback so I would never fall off. He is my friend," she added simply.

Zocco was back within half an hour with Esmerelda, his wife, at his side in the pony trap, laden with brooms and buckets, planks of wood, nails, saws, and hammers. And on her lap was a big basket of food.

"Am I glad to see you, Esmerelda," Annie said, thankfully unpacking fresh tamales, a pot of refried beans, corn-bread, pickled chilies, and an enormous apple pie from the basket. Esmerelda, as brown and smiling as her husband, spoke no English but she nodded, understanding that Annie liked what she had brought. And then Annie sent Francie out for a walk while she and Esmerelda put on their aprons and began sweeping up the dust.

Forbidden to help, Francie strolled lazily down to the pond, laughing as the geese flapped their wings threateningly at her, remembering them skidding and slithering on the frozen pond that final winter of her mother's life. She found the old deserted chicken coop where she had searched for her mother's brown Christmas egg, and she promised herself that tomorrow she would buy more hens so they could have fresh eggs for their breakfast. She wandered through the empty stables, breathing in the sweet familiar scent of hay and strolled down the grassy paths remembering how she had pushed her mother's cumbersome wheelchair. With a sigh, she told herself firmly that this would not be just a house of the past, it was a house for the future, her own and her child's. There was just one thing missing. There was no dog trotting at her heels. And she made another promise that the very next day she would find another dog to take the place of her Princess.

After a week the old house sparkled with cleanliness. The wide-planked chestnut wood floors were scrubbed and waxed, there were glistening new panes in the windows, the sagging porch had been fixed and every piece of furniture had been polished until it gleamed in the sunlight. The braided rugs were washed and hung out to dry in the sun, the pine kitchen table was bleached and scrubbed, the old iron range cleaned and fired up. Once more the smell of applewood and Annie's baking hung in the air. The de Soto Ranch was a home again.

Sammy Morris scarcely noticed the fire-blackened buildings as he hurried, head down, along the narrow streets on the fringes of Chinatown. The wind blowing direct from the Pacific Ocean was damp and chill. It brought tears to his eyes and he shivered, tucking his bearded chin deeper into his woolen muffler. He turned left then right through a maze of streets and finally stopped outside a derelict building. Setting down the basket he was carrying, he turned and looked around him. He waited a few minutes, listening and watching until he was satisfied no one was following him, then he picked up his basket and hurried inside, past the charred wooden stairway leading to a nonexistent second floor, through the hallway full of rubble to a room at the back of the building. The doorless entry was covered with a piece of sacking and he glanced quickly around once again before he entered.

The room was freezing, not just the damp temporary cold of the ocean wind outside but the penetrating marrow-chilling cold of an abandoned place. Setting down his basket he hurried to the little stove, took a box of matches from his pocket and relit the charcoal. He had been gone longer than he intended because he had imagined he was being followed. He'd had that feeling in his bones; he had felt eyes on him, heard footsteps behind him, yet every time he turned around to confront his shadower there had been no one there. Sweating with fear he had led his imaginary followers a dance, dodging through alleys and racing down shadowy lanes, losing himself in the process. Eventually he had found himself back at the relief kitchen. He'd eaten a meal there, acting as though nothing was wrong, keeping an eye out all the time, but no one had shown any interest in him.

As he left he'd turned at the door to check. People were eating, drinking, talking, no one was looking at him, but still he kept a cautious lookout as he walked back home.

Wisps of smoke sprang from the freshly lit charcoal and he put his hands to his mouth and blew on it till it glowed red. Then he turned to look at Josh.

He was lying on the rough pallet bed exactly where he had left him. He thought bitterly that that wasn't surprising, since Josh was paralyzed. His blind eyes stared vacantly upward, and if he had heard Sammy come in he did not show it. Josh had not uttered a sound since the night Sammy had dragged him from the flames roaring along Pacific Avenue and carried him in his arms to the hospital.

Sammy put his strong arms around Josh now and lifted him to a sitting position, chafing his icy hands to get the circulation going. "I've got something that'll warm you up," he said cheerfully, taking his purchases from the basket. He uncovered the bowl of beef stew and held it under Josh's nose for him to savor the aroma. "Just like your Annie used to make," he said, putting a little broth in Josh's mouth.

"That's a good lad," he said, feeding him spoon by spoon, like a child. "Aye, that's good, Josh. You can't ever say your friend Sammy didn't look after you proper. And I'll keep right on looking after you till my dying breath, just like we promised each other. Right, Josh?"

Josh's head lolled sideways and Sammy put down the bowl and took his friend in his arms again, moving him into a more comfortable position.

"I'll get meself a job soon," he promised, sitting back and lighting a cigarette. "There are plenty, with all the new building going on. And then I'll find us a nice room— on the ground floor, so it'll be easy to get you in and out. And when I'm earning a bit we can buy you a wheelchair and I'll take you for walks. Mebbe down to the ocean? You'd like that, wouldn't you, lad?"

His black eyes burned with pain as he stared at Josh, remembering the vital golden boy he had once been. And now he was talking about pushing him around in a wheelchair, about showing him places he would never see, about taking him to an ocean he would never swim in.

He pulled the bottle of cheap whiskey from his pocket, opened it and drank deeply, shuddering as the harsh liquor hit his stomach. Then he leaned forward and tilted the bottle to Josh's mouth, nodding, satisfied, as Josh swallowed. "That's better, lad," he muttered. "It'll ease your pain for a while."