River of Dust (18 page)

    The knocking on the bedroom door had continued all this time, and the Reverend's threats grew steadily more hysterical. Mai Lin heard several male voices now discussing in what manner to break down the door. She whipped her long braid off her shoulder, adjusted her many skirts and sashes and pouches. She cleaned the blood from her hands on the bedsheet and finally hobbled to the door. She opened it slowly and stepped aside.

    The Reverend charged into the room, shouting and pointing at her. But at the sight of his wife lying exhausted in a pool of blood, he stopped his nonsense and threw himself forward to hug her and hold her weak hand. Doc Hemingway entered with less fanfare but more purpose. He held his stethoscope out and set down his black bag, the sight of which for some reason made Mai Lin laugh as she flopped down upon the chaise longue.

    The Reverend turned to her and shouted, "What have you done to my wife?"

    Mai Lin let out a sigh and pointed to the baby on the pillows. The blind Reverend had not even noticed his child. He finally grew quiet as he went to the baby and crouched beside her. Mai Lin let out a dis gusted sound as she rose and went to the awkward father who didn't even know how to pick up his own offspring. She swooped up the baby in the swaddling clothes and placed her in her father's arms.

    "A boy?" he asked.

    She waved a hand at him, the dried blood on her fingers catching the light. "Be grateful that both your girls are alive."

    Mai Lin could see a slight wash of disappointment flit over the Reverend's face before he determined to beam. She stepped away. The silly man had no idea of his good fortune.

    At the bedside, she stood opposite Doc Hemingway.

    "How did you save her?" he asked Mai Lin.

    "The only way."

    The Doctor leaned across Grace's sleeping body, waiting for more, but Mai Lin was too tired to talk to ignorant people.

    "I will send over my maid to clean this up right away. You have done more than enough for one evening," the doctor said.

    With the baby held in his stiff arms, the Reverend stepped forward and asked Hemingway, "Is my wife going to be all right?"

    "It appears she hemorrhaged after the birth. Is that right, Mai Lin?"

    Mai Lin nodded from her seat nearby and reached into one of her pouches for more betel quid.

    "A very dangerous condition," Doc Hemingway explained. "I have lost several patients in this way. You are extremely lucky she had such good care."

    The Reverend looked across at Mai Lin, and the man of so many words seemed to have forgotten them all. She held out her arms, and he came forward and gratefully handed her the baby.

    "Your wife will be terribly weak," Doc Hemingway said as the Reverend rejoined him at bedside. "She has lost a great deal of blood, and it will take her months to recover. She will require bed rest and good sustenance, which will certainly be a challenge, but I believe Mai Lin will know best how to handle her condition."

    The Reverend looked across at the old amah, and from his lips finally came an outpouring of gratitude. Mai Lin didn't care about the words that tumbled from the Reverend. As he continued to thank her, she lifted the baby to her shoulder and patted it in the only proper way.

W
e shall move you over this afternoon," Mrs. Watson said. "We insist."   Then she turned and strode from the room, her skirts whisking the floor. She did not glance at Mai Lin, who sat in her customary spot on the spindle chair in the corner. Grace's amah rose and went to her mistress and placed a cool cloth upon her forehead.

    "I am to live with my good friend Mildred," Grace said in a weak voice.

    "Not to worry. It will be all right."

    "I'm not worried," Grace said and tried to squeeze Mai Lin's hand, "so long as you're there with me."

    "Mistress grows stronger by the day. But you must sleep now."

    Soon her mistress returned to dozing, and Mai Lin slipped from the bedroom. Ahcho waited just outside the door, as he had come to do often in the week since the birth.

    Mai Lin whispered, "That two-faced witch is stealing my Mistress."

    "It is as it must be." He shrugged. "Some things are out of our hands."

    She stared at him for a moment and then said, "Nothing is out of our hands. You know that. Mistress would have died had I not been here. She shouldn't be transferred so soon, and certainly not without me. We must do something."

    Ahcho looked suddenly quite old as he said, "We have to accept that we can't save everyone. Some things are beyond our control."

    Mai Lin put her hands on her hips. "Is something wrong with you today?" she asked. "You don't sound like yourself. Maybe you can't save your charge, but I'm stronger than that."

    He shook his head and muttered, "Woman."

    "Enough with the sorry face," she replied quickly. "Go now, bring me Doc Hemingway. I must talk with him."

    Ahcho's brow formed a question. "And the Reverend, too?"

    Mai Lin let out a slight laugh. "Have you no sense at all today?"

    "I'll get the doctor. I see that the old lady is emperor of everyone now."

    "That's right. And you better do as I say, old man," she said and shooed him off.

    Ahcho started down the hall, but then turned back and stepped closer to her again.

    She gazed into his sorrowful face and asked softly, "Are you sure you're feeling all right? Is your heart bothering you?"

    "My heart is fine," he said, but then he bowed his head even lower so that his lips practically touched her ear. "I have heard word of the boy," he whispered.

    Mai Lin pulled away, and he stood tall again. They looked at one another for a long moment.

    "Where is he?" she asked.

"Where we expected."

"The great Gobi Desert?"

He nodded.

"And he's alive?" she asked.

Ahcho nodded again.

"But surely he lives as a slave there?" she asked.

He shook his head slowly from side to side.

"What then?"

"A prince."

    Mai Lin couldn't help the harsh laugh that escaped her lips. "No, it can't be."

    Once again, Ahcho nodded.

    Outside the moon-shaped window at the end of the hall, dull morning light washed over the ochre saddleback roofs and the swallowtail eaves of the mission compound. Mai Lin looked past those familiar outlines to see the plains stretching on and on forever. She didn't like to think about life out there, but in this moment, the distance could not be ignored. Ahcho had traveled across it with the Reverend before the mistress had arrived in Fenchow-fu. He had returned with stories to tell and a puffed-up chest. Afterward, people had asked him questions as if he knew everything now that he had become a world traveler. Mai Lin had barely been able to stand it. But what was worse, when he returned, he had not only a swollen head but a heart condition as well, brought on by stress and the dangerous desert winds. She despised that world out there.

    She looked up at him now. "You can't believe this outlandish report. It's absurd."

"The tradesman claimed he saw the boy himself."

    "And you spoke to this man? When? Where was I? Why didn't you tell me?"

    "Calm yourself, woman. I am telling you. I keep my ears to the ground. I know many, many things."

    "Not that again," she said and waved a hand at him.

    Just then she heard the baby starting to cry in her mistress's bedroom.

    She reached for Ahcho's hand. "Will you tell the Reverend?" she asked. "If he insists on rescuing the boy, you'll have to go with him, and there's no way you'll come back alive. No, you mustn't tell him."

    He gazed down at her with grieving eyes, and she felt certain she had never seen him so burdened.

    "You'll do what's best." She squeezed his fingers before letting go. "I know you. You will."

    Then she hurried back to the mother and child.

    A half hour later, as Mai Lin tucked Rose Baby into her nest of blankets, she heard a tap on the door. The mistress still slept, which was a blessing. Mai Lin went into the hallway, where Ahcho stood with Doc Hemingway.

    "Mai Lin, I understand you need my help?" the doctor asked, setting his black bag down on the hall table. This time, Mai Lin did not laugh at the sight of it. The doctor's silver hair and creased pink face showed his age. He had been practicing for a long time, although not as long as she.

    "No help is needed with the patient," she said. "There is little sign of improvement, but we didn't expect any at this early stage."

    "Quite right," Doc Hemingway agreed. "I would be surprised to hear otherwise."

    Ahcho leaned in, but Mai Lin elbowed him away.

    "Go on now," she said to him. "This is business between medical people."

    Ahcho pulled back and spoke to the doctor. "Be careful, she wants something from you."

    Mai Lin hissed at him to leave again and then wrapped her fingers around Doc Hemingway's arm in his wrinkled seersucker suit. "Mistress is to be moved to the Martins' this afternoon."

    "So I heard. That is probably for the best."

    "You must speak to the Reverend about this. He will trust your opinion," Mai Lin said. "He is not the problem, though. The problem is that lady over there."

    "Mrs. Martin?"

    "Wicked woman."

    "Now, Mai Lin."

    "She does not allow me to go with my mistress."

    "Ah," Doc Hemingway said.

    " 'Ah'?" Mai Lin mimicked, her eyes flashing. "That is all you can say?"

    He bit his bottom lip and looked down at her through smudged glasses.

    "You must tell her that I go everywhere with Mistress Grace," she said.

    "I can't do that. I can't tell a reverend how to run his household."

    Mai Lin crossed her arms.

    "I am sure you will be welcome to stop in anytime to see Mrs. Watson," he said.

    Mai Lin narrowed her eyes at this Hemingway man and sucked harder on the betel quid in her cheek.

    "What do you want me to say to them?" he asked, placing his pudgy hands on wide hips.

    "Tell them the truth. Mistress Grace will die without me."

    The doctor let out a slight laugh that disappeared quickly into the air.

    "You do not believe this?" she asked. "I have saved her four times already. Twice with the unborn babies in the night, once when her son was stolen, and now with Rose Baby's birth." Mai Lin raised her thin arms and shook them, her many bracelets rattling. "I ask you, how many lives can a woman have?"

    Doc Hemingway appeared to be studying her, but she had no patience for his slow-witted response.

    "You know it's true," she barked. "Speak to the Reverend Charles Martin."

    The doctor glanced helplessly over the balustrade to the front entrance hallway below and then across to the closed door of Reverend Watson's study.

    "He is of no use," Mai Lin hissed, nodding down to where the Reverend had locked himself in for days. "He loves his wife, but he is unable to help her."

    The doctor's shoulders sagged. "I will speak with Reverend Martin. Heaven only knows if he holds any sway over
his
wife. She is a force of nature."

"Her?" Mai Lin let out a sharp cackle. "I am a force of nature."

    Later that afternoon as Grace continued to sleep, Mai Lin told the Martins' number-one boy and the number-two boy, his son, to rotate her mistress's bed. Mrs. Martin skittered around and objected, but Mai Lin pointed to her reclining mistress and whispered, "Quiet! Patient is sleeping."

    The men carefully set the bed down precisely where Mai Lin wished.

    "Astounding," Mrs. Martin muttered. "Next thing I know, you'll be rearranging my parlor."

    Mai Lin did not argue but hurried to her mistress as she was opening her eyes onto the vista out the window. The corners of Grace's mouth lifted slightly. She noticed her friend on the other side of the bed and raised a hand, which Mrs. Martin then shook too vigorously.

    "Thank you, dear Mildred, for so thoughtfully placing me here where I can see the courtyard and the plains beyond. I know it will help in my recovery."

    Mai Lin let out a grunt of satisfaction and went to the dresser across the room, where she busied herself setting up her apothecary. She organized bottles of tinctures, a mortar and pestle, pouches of herbs, blocks of incense, cups, and needles. When she finished, she noticed that the Reverend had sneaked quietly into the room. He stood behind Mrs. Martin, who chattered at the mistress as she lay very still with shut eyes. The Martins' young daughter, Daisy, clamored around the bed, too, not helping Mai Lin's mistress to rest at all.

    It was time to shoo them out, these useless people who did not understand the seriousness of her mistress's medical condition. Mai Lin shuffled over to the Reverend, and to her surprise, he beamed down at her. The tall man knew so very little and somehow believed in all the wrong things. Now, for example, he suddenly looked convinced that it was easy for Mai Lin to keep his wife alive. She would, of course, but it would be no simple task. As always, Mai Lin thought, he had the faith and enthusiasm of an innocent child not yet schooled in the ways of the world.

    "Mai Lin," he said in a fond voice, "how is our dear girl doing today?"

    Mai Lin jutted out her bottom lip. "She is here now at the Martins' house."

    "Yes, yes, I see that!" the Reverend said, rocking up onto his heels. "A wise decision. Doc Hemingway explained it all to me. And most excellent that you are here with her. We are terribly grateful." He awkwardly patted Mai Lin on the shoulder, and when she did not respond, he withdrew his hand.