The Silver Lotus (40 page)

Life for the Hammond family settled into a sedate and private routine that admitted few people into the inner circle. And as Captain Hammond retired more and more into his books, Lady Yee took his place directing Hammond, Macy & Yee in most of its business concerns. In fact, within five years, she was Hammond, Macy & Yee. Aside from the Chinese infirmary, which was now running on its own steam, she continued her support for selected local charities and civic programs. However, she accomplished these ends from within the protective shelter of the corporation, and allowed Mr. Bishop to take point in every case. These measures ultimately achieved their intended purpose, and since neither Lady Yee nor the captain was commonly seen in public, and never entertained public persons worthy of note, after a while most people in Monterey forgot all about the gallant Yankee sea captain and the exotic Chinese noblewoman who lived on the hill overlooking the bay.

22

LADY YEE had little faith in Western public education, and so she occupied herself with tutoring her daughter at home. By the time she was twelve, Macy could speak, read, and write in English, French, and Cantonese, with Mandarin mixed in. She had no lack of playmates to while away the hours of youthful magic, but she preferred to play with Chinese children similar to her cousins. It wasn't so much a matter of race as it was of cultural familiarity. The Chinese children knew the games Macy loved to play, and sang the songs she liked to sing, and knew the puzzle jokes Chinese children loved to share. She also loved to play with the Mexican children who lived in the neighborhood, and she learned a fair amount of Spanish on her own.

One day when she was thirteen, Macy decided to give a party for all her Chinese and Mexican playmates, and Lady Yee, though she had her doubts, agreed to supply all the food and entertainment. She, in turn, also prepared adequate entertainment for the parents of the invited guests. Lady Yee had not the least inkling of how the two peasant cultures would mix, but she decided to trust Macy's strong keel of compassion and innocence. She needn't really have worried, as unbeknownst to Lady Yee her daughter had generated great feelings of loyalty, not only among her friends, but among her friends' parents as well. And in
the spirit of pleasing children, everyone contributed what amusements they could. Uncles, fathers, and cousins became magicians, musicians, and clowns, while mothers and aunts became singers and dancers. The captain said the festivities were the most unusual conglomerate of cultural contributions he had ever experienced. It was a most remarkable display of fellowship, he said, perhaps because the whole affair was focused on the children. But it came off handsomely in the end, and the captain complimented his daughter on her taste in friends. He later told his wife that he believed Macy could make her way in life anywhere in the world she chose to live. She was like her mother in that regard, and the captain was very proud of her.

 

 

 

DESPITE ALL THE EFFORTS focused on Captain Hammond's health, Dr. Chun had come to the conclusion that the malarial infection that had almost taken his life had in fact injured his heart muscle permanently, and was most likely the cause of his irregular heartbeat. Dr. Neruda, who confessed to no recent training in cardiac medicine, bowed to his colleague's superior knowledge in this field. The captain's condition only became a noticeable problem when he overly taxed his energy or kept long hours, which wasn't often. Lady Yee was apprised of the situation, of course, and did what she could to maintain a quiet, steady household routine. She saw to it that little frustration surfaced to tax his spirits or cause him undue concern.

As the months passed into years, Captain Hammond retreated deeper and deeper into his studies. He lost interest in most everything except his books, Macy, and Lady Yee. He seemed to be only truly content, and indeed sometimes even lighthearted, when he was in her presence. Macy could still bring a smile to his face, and she often spent time reading to her father when his eyes tired from the lamplight. He also slowly lost his interest in food, and it was all Ah Chu could muster
to keep the captain's meals entertaining as well as wholesome. Mrs. Neruda and Dr. Chun carefully managed the elements of his diet, which were chosen specifically for medical reasons, and Ah Chu created as much magic as those elements allowed for. Still and all, the captain admitted to his wife that he only ate to keep the engine running. Nothing really tantalized his palate any longer besides fresh fruit.

Besides his reading, the one thing that gave the captain the greatest pleasure was sitting in the shaded gardens with Lady Yee on lovely afternoons. They would reminisce by the hour about their adventures and old friends. Macy often joined them because she loved these stories. She would sit quietly plaiting leaves of grass into chains from which she made complex love knots for her parents. Sometimes she would ask a question, but mostly she just listened and laughed when her father told a funny story. Though one would have to suppose that, much like her mother, she was operating on instinct, Macy was aware that her father was slowly slipping into the shadows of his own mind, and she often tried to entertain and comfort him. Yet she began to feel her efforts were becoming a fruitless exercise at best.

When she asked her mother what more she could do, Lady Yee just shook her head in resignation and tried to explain the problem as simply as possible. At fourteen, Macy well understood the true circumstances surrounding her brother's demise, but she preferred to ignore them in favor of her dream, which she often told her mother was as real as anything she had ever experienced. But like most children, Macy saw no logical reason why both aspects of the truth could not occupy the same space at the same time. It was therefore difficult for Lady Yee to think of a plausible way to explain to her daughter the real basis behind her father's slow withdrawal from those things in life that once gave him so much pleasure. Yet it was some months later, as Macy experienced her father's seemingly rapid decline, that she went to her mother and demanded an explanation of what exactly was happening to her father.
It seemed, she said with tears in her eyes, that sometimes he didn't even know her anymore.

Lady Yee could see that the moment of truth had come at last, and after a few moments of thought she invited her daughter to walk through the gardens while she divulged what she knew. She walked hand in hand with Macy as was their habit, and then spoke to her as an equal.

“Men,” she said, “are far too complex and varied to categorize with any hope of accuracy. Yet there is one aspect of their composition that makes some of them endearing and noble, which also allows for a flaw that most women can shoulder but that most men of conscience cannot. You see, my dear, though he never speaks about it, your father is deeply burdened by an abiding sense of guilt concerning your brother's death. You must know that as a ship's captain he has always been primarily responsible for the lives and safety of his crew, and to his credit, he has lost very few men except to unforeseen disease or natural accident. Each and every loss he has taken personally because he believed that it was his decisions that brought about their suffering. I don't believe that he ever contemplated that his own children would ever have to endure the privations professional seamen took as part and parcel of a profession universally marked for its danger.”

Macy found it convenient to pretend to comprehend what her mother was so kindly trying to share with her. But her sentiments seemed to tell her they came from another plane and rested on mysterious logic that was denied to her by age or ignorance.

But slowly, sadly, and almost imperceptibly, the captain's condition worsened.

Only Dr. Neruda, Dr. Chun, and Lady Yee were fully apprised of the declining condition of the captain's heart. His youthful maritime bouts with yellow jack, and any number of other tropical fevers, had taken a toll on that organ.

When Macy had just turned sixteen, on a night broadly remarked upon for the size of the full moon over the bay, her beloved father, Captain Jeremiah Macy Hammond, died quietly in his sleep.

Though it dismayed her to the core to dwell upon the inevitable, Lady Yee had been prepared for this eventuality. However, despite her knowledge of her father's condition, Macy was not. Her grief brought forth all the tormented memories of losing her brother, and compounded the agony with the sudden demise of her father. Macy's spirit sounded into the depths of her sorrow. Like the great ocean whales, she dove steadily down in silence and tears until the black oblivion below enveloped her pain, and there she stayed. She didn't speak a word for days, and ate next to nothing for a week. Even Dr. Chun was at a loss to know what to do, but voted on the side of empathy, patience, and attentive indulgence.

Lady Yee's grief and distress were hidden from view by a delicate façade of pragmatism and emotional strength. Privately, she knew not how she would survive the loss of her girlhood Yankee hero, her first love, her husband, her life's companion, her children's father, and her best friend, and all for the want of a simple heartbeat. There were those frozen moments when she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into the sea and search for the emotional oblivion Macy was seeking. But at the core of her soul Lady Yee knew that spiritual cowardice garnered greater penalties than patient endurance, no matter how painful the transition from one form of existence to another. And that was exactly what had transpired. Lady Yee's world had dramatically altered its poles, and now her compass pointed toward unknown horizons and the unfathomable destinations of age.

As if to compensate for this shift in heaven's favor, a few days later all the fruit trees in Lady Yee's manicured orchards came into bloom at the same time. The gardeners were beside themselves with disbelief and trepidation, and being Chinese, they spoke of fairy enchantments.
And though it was certainly very odd to have twelve different species of fruit tree flower simultaneously, it was still extraordinarily beautiful and fragrant.

Lady Yee took it as a sign of something special, and as yet undefined. To ease her spirits, she spent long hours in the flowering riot of pink, white, red, and lavender. She sat on a carved wooden bench that had been placed by her son's grave by her late husband. It had been commissioned especially for its location. In spite of all that had befallen her family, she knew that good fortune had jealous neighbors. She had been the child of privilege and wealth all her life, and she had married a man who had become very wealthy, and in turn she had become wealthy in her own right. She had done her best to see that a good portion of that wealth had gone to serve those less fortunate, but good works don't necessarily absolve dark karma, and she had long since learned that true justice was a cumbersome myth at best. The ways of fortune were capricious and irreverent in the extreme.

The waves of misfortune seemed to always break in threes, and Lady Yee was bracing herself against the inevitable impact of the third blow. Sadly, she hadn't long to wait. Two weeks after her husband's passing, Captain Penn came to pay a visit of condolence. However, his condolences concerned the death of Lady Yee's father, Master Yee. He had passed to the keeping of his ancestors at the age of eighty-six.

Captain Penn, who still mastered
The Silver Macy
on behalf of Hammond, Macy & Yee, had been in Canton when the venerable gentleman had passed away. The captain had even delayed his departure to attend the funeral as a matter of respect, and so that he could more accurately relate what had transpired to Lady Yee personally. He also carried letters from her family, as well as a sealed copy of her father's will. Captain Penn had also been instructed by her father's executors to guard and deliver a small wooden chest to Master Yee's youngest
daughter, Lady Yee. He said the chest was secured with two locks, but he'd been given the keys.

Captain Penn, in turn, was truly distressed to hear of his friend's death. He said that Captain Hammond had always been a good friend and a generous employer. Lady Yee assured Captain Penn that business would continue as before, and that in the future he would receive an additional three shares' profit on every cargo. Though deeply saddened by the purpose of his errand, and the news he received upon its completion, Captain Penn was nonetheless very grateful for the generous increase in wages. He apologized for not being able to stay over a few days and visit, but his ship would soon be loaded with a cargo of farm tools and industrial goods bound for Canton, and he needed to return to San Francisco to confirm and sign the manifests, then take the ship to sea as quickly as possible. But he did ask if it might be possible for him to visit with Macy before he departed. He said she held a very special place in his heart, and he wouldn't feel right about leaving without saying something to let her know of his affection and sympathy. Lady Yee thought this was a marvelous idea, but warned Captain Penn that her daughter had taken the deaths of her brother and father very hard. She was no longer the happy child he remembered. She specifically asked him not to mention the death of her grandfather. That would be too much on the heels of her father's passing. She would tell her daughter when matters settled a bit. Captain Penn of course agreed not to say a word. Later, she saw the captain and Macy walking in the gardens, and Lady Yee was pleased to hear her daughter's still-gentle laughter now and then.

Lady Yee had the letters and chest from Canton taken to her study, and later that night, after Macy had gone to bed, she read them all. Her father's will was a rather painful but enlightening instrument. She had no idea that he was as wealthy and powerful as the document indicated. Large fortunes and extensive property were settled on all three
daughters, but there was a codicil that secured Lady Yee's portion in bearer bonds, cash, and gold certificates. Since she no longer resided in Canton, properties that might have come to her by inheritance were either purchased by rich relatives or by Master Yee's company, and the equivalent value forwarded in the aforesaid manner. The two keys that opened the polished wooden chest were tied with a ribbon and secured to the last page of the will with sealing wax impressed with her grandfather's personal chop. Lady Yee remembered the chest from her childhood. It had always stood on a table in her father's study. The chest's two locks were a Chinese puzzle in themselves, and to disengage the mechanism the right key had to be fitted into the right lock, and then the two keys turned in alternate sequences of a few degrees at a time until the tumblers were heard to drop into place. If the proper sequence was missed, the whole process would have to be reversed and started again, or the keys could not be extracted from the lock mechanism. Lady Yee remembered every sequence as though she were a child again, and she had the chest open at the first try. Inside she found a letter from her father dated just a few days before he died, and below that, in large wax-sealed envelopes, she found bearer bonds, gold certificates, bank draughts, and five thousand pounds in English banknotes. At the very bottom of the chest, wrapped in waxed silk, she found three Chinese cash sticks. Each stick formed a spindle of sixty gold coins, each coin weighing a little more than one troy ounce of twenty-three-karat gold. These were never used in common trading, but were known as “bank sticks” and only used for large purchases or for transferring company wealth from one place to another.