"THE SOUL OF LIN LI MEI"
What follows is the first in a series of stories entitled
"WHERE WAS (name of missing character) DURING (name of Lancer Episode)?"
The intention is to create for one of the absent characters his or her own separate adventure, while at the same time challenging readers familiar with the episode to identify some "highly coincidental" connections to the original episode in the form of dialogue echoes, parallel actions, similar or very opposite characters, etc.
WHERE WAS SCOTT ---
during "THE HEART OF PONY ALICE"?
This episode was the first in which one of the three main characters was completely absent; Scott was mentioned-once--but never appeared on screen.
The show opens with Johnny on Barranca at Lancer and we see a buggy approaching in the distance. Johnny rides towards the hacienda yelling to Teresa and Jelly: "It's him!"---meaning Murdoch. Apparently the Lancer 'patriarch' has been away for a few days.
As Murdoch pulls up, Johnny announces that he has a birthday gift for him. Murdoch points out that his birthday was last month and that Johnny got him pipe tobacco from London.
Refusing to allow his father's comments to dampen his enthusiasm, Johnny replies, "Well, it's for Christmas then . . . where's Scott?"
Murdoch: "I left him in Modesto, to handle the loading."
What loading? Who knows . . . Scott is never mentioned again, and, since Johnny's adventure in Witness Tree and at the ranch with Pony Alice and her Uncle Wilf seems to take place over several days, Scott must have found something to do in Modesto . . .
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
"THE SOUL OF LIN LI MEI" PART ONE
Even after the buggy had driven around a corner and out of sight, Scott Lancer kept watch a while longer; after all, it wasn't as if he had anywhere to go or anything pressing to do. He didn't. So he simply remained leaning against the railing in front of the livery until well after the dust cloud trailing his father had completely disappeared.
His father.
Even though there was no one around, Scott reflexively bowed his head to hide a smile.
He still hadn't known the man very long, didn't know him as well as he would have liked, though the past few days had helped. Not that they'd had very much conversation, with Murdoch driving the buggy and Scott on horseback taking charge of the stock. Each night they'd stopped at a different ranch, staying in the homes of men who were Murdoch's long-time friends. Sitting in a cushioned seat all day and sleeping in a real bed at night helped alleviate Murdoch's chronic back problems, while spending time in convivial company had arguably been easier on their still developing relationship than long hours alone would have been.
As usual, Murdoch seemed pleased to make the introductions, his large hand falling on Scott's shoulder to add weight to the phrase "my son." For so many years, Murdoch had been a man alone; now his friends happily congratulated him upon the change in circumstance.
His own 'lifetime of training' in social etiquette allowed Scott to remain at ease even while under the intense scrutiny of the cattlemen---and the appraisal of their wives and daughters. Talk around the dinner table inevitably turned to questions about his life "Back East"; Scott's reward had come after the meal, when over cigars and whiskey Murdoch's old friends good naturedly vied to tell him everything they thought he needed to know about his father---- even their jibes at Murdoch's expense were helping to complete a portrait of the man.
More than once, Scott had caught Murdoch watching him from across the room, the older man's expression a mixture of pride and . . . curiosity? So perhaps Murdoch Lancer had unanswered questions of his own. But there were still those parts of his own past that Scott wasn't exactly eager to reveal.
With that, Scott pushed himself upright and moved towards the wooden sidewalk of Modesto's main street. There had been no need for both of them to stay to oversee the loading of a few horses. Murdoch could take his time returning to Lancer, again stopping each evening amongst friends. Although invitations had been extended to Scott as well, he had in mind to sleep out under the stars and spend some time alone with his thoughts when he made his own way back to the ranch.
A wagon rumbled down the street and Scott ducked his head, reaching up to lower the brim of his hat in a vain attempt to shield his face from the dust thrown up by the passing wheels. Once the air cleared, he stepped up onto the boardwalk and surveyed the almost empty street. He sighed.
He was alone in Modesto, California.
It was, he'd been told, a fledgling town, only recently becoming the end of the railroad line. Already workers for the Central Pacific were continuing construction, the goal to extend the tracks as far south as Merced.
The environs held few trees, little vegetation of any kind-but an abundance of wind, sand, and dust. Buildings to serve as homes, shops and restaurants had quickly been thrown up to accommodate those who had hastened to settle this former wheat field, hoping that proximity to the iron rails would bring prosperity. On the other side of the tracks, he'd been told, there was a small Chinatown consisting of a few shops as well as dwellings for the railroad's mostly immigrant laborers, some of whom had remained behind when then work moved on. Scott had yet to venture that far, but based on his view of its "better parts," the town barely qualified as "modest."
Across the street, a large, ruddy-faced man sporting an impressive moustache stepped out onto the sidewalk, broom in hand, and commenced the seemingly pointless task of sweeping the area in front of his store. The white apron made a wide stripe down his front, with ample portions of his dark shirt and pants visible on either side; the apron ties hung loose, jiggling with each vigorous swipe of the broom. The sign above the gentleman's head proclaimed him as the proprietor of the "Modesto Mercantile." Hoping that the merchandise was truly "general," Scott headed across the street in search of some reading material that might prove more entertaining than watching the dust settle in Modesto.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Scott spent the remainder of the morning in his nondescript hotel room, perusing copies of the Sacramento Union and the San Francisco Morning Call, catching up with the old news from both the California capital and the state's largest city. In addition to the newspapers, Mr. Hansen, the owner of the general store, had been more than happy to sell a few items from his limited and dusty inventory of books, among them a slim volume of local history that Scott felt would fit well in Murdoch's collection. He'd also purchased a copy of The Innocents Abroad, a book published the previous year by a new author writing under the name "Mark Twain." If Scott recalled the story correctly, the pseudonym derived from a riverboat term referencing a depth of two fathoms.
The book came enthusiastically recommended by Mr. Hansen, explaining that the author had worked as a correspondent for several California newspapers that had previously published the accounts of his travels. It was only after he'd started paging through the volume during his solitary lunch at the Modesto Main Street Café that Scott noticed the dog-eared corners, the occasional smudged fingerprint, the page which had been torn almost in half and carefully mended. Upon closer examination, Scott realized that the book was sold new only by subscription; apparently he'd paid $3.50 for a "used" copy.
Yet the cover appeared to be in pristine condition; so much for judging by appearances. Clearly, he'd been "had," as Jelly would put it, by the jovial and effusive Mr. Hansen. Well, that was business, and caveat emptor; he could hardly bear the storekeeper ill will for his own failure to properly examine the merchandise. There were surely much worst swindles to which a man could fall victim. At least Jelly need never know about this one.
Having finished his lunch, Scott drained his coffee cup and set it down on the oilcloth-covered table. The meal hadn't been any better or worse than supper the previous evening or breakfast early that morning. Both the quality and the quantity of the food were "modest"; at least the price was as well. Scott resolved to investigate Chinatown that afternoon, in hopes of finding a suitable Oriental restaurant for his next meal. Murdoch hadn't been interested, but having sampled Chinese fare during his recent first visit to San Francisco, Scott had found the exotic cuisine much to his liking. Wonton soup, egg rolls, chicken with mushrooms . . .
Tucking his copy of The Innocents Abroad under one arm, Scott lifted his hat from the table and advanced to the counter to pay the bill.
"So your father's left for home now, has he?" asked Mrs. O'Grady. The previous evening, Murdoch had engaged her in conversation, asking questions about Modesto. The woman had made a point of identifying herself as a "poor widow, workin' with me brother," and had made no effort to hide her disappointment at the news that the Lancers would be in town for only a short time.
"Yes, he has."
Scott deposited both his hat and his book on the counter in order to reach for his billfold; meanwhile Mrs. O'Grady shook her head at him, actually making a 'tsking' sound.
"Left you all alone, with nought but an old book for company?"
Scott smiled, touching the volume with his leather wallet. "I could do worse."
Mrs. O'Grady swept a loose strand of hair from her furrowed brow as she regarded the cover, soundlessly mouthing the words of the title. She shook her head. "Well, when ye get tired of them, we'll be hopin' ta see ya back here this evenin'."
Scott nodded politely, thanked the woman for the meal and gave her more money than necessary. He carefully returned his billfold to the inner pocket of his cropped jacket; in addition to his own personal funds, it contained the cash Murdoch had left to pay for the shipping fees and to settle the hotel bill, as well as an overly generous amount of additional spending money.
Once outside on the boardwalk, Scott stopped to carefully position his hat. A quick scan of the still dusty main street revealed a scene that was quite familiar after five months in California, the everyday bustle of small town activity. There were people on foot, on horseback, driving carts, all of them going about their daily tasks. Striving to appear equally purposeful, Scott tucked Twain up under his arm again and headed towards the stables.
Inside the livery, Brunswick nickered and tossed his head in greeting as soon as Scott passed through the double doors. The string of Lancer palominos was also quartered here, waiting in the corral to be loaded on the train the next day. They were all fine animals, though Scott considered them no match for his own spirited chestnut. An experienced horseman and former cavalry officer, Scott was fascinated by the wild horses which ran on Lancer land, as well as by the fine animals actually bred at the ranch-palominos like Johnny's Barranca.
Johnny had a talent for working with the animals and enjoyed the challenge of breaking a green horse to the saddle. Scott was particularly interested in matching animals to tasks, identifying the characteristics of a saddle horse, in contrast to a military mount or "cowpony" used to maneuver cattle.
This group of horses was destined for a customer in the northern part of the state, someone with whom Murdoch had many past dealings. That alone could have accounted for the older man's insistence upon making the trip, though now Scott suspected that his father had simply been eager to show off his sons. Sons, plural, for initially Johnny had planned to accompany them as well; however, after learning that they would be stopping at various ranches along the way, his brother had suddenly recalled a horse auction he wanted to attend---or so he'd said. As Scott headed back to the hotel, he made a mental note to remember to ask Johnny whether he'd made any interesting purchases at the sale.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The disdainful hotel clerk professed ignorance of eating establishments across the tracks, but was able to provide information about a bathhouse and laundry situated on the edge of Modesto's Chinatown and frequently patronized by an Anglo clientele. Carrying a tight bundle of travel-stained clothing, Scott set out in the direction indicated and had no difficulty in arriving at his destination.
The owner of the bathhouse was short in stature, his head mostly shaved, with a single dark braid of hair trailing down his back. After solemnly attending to Scott's request, the man commenced issuing staccato instructions in his own language. In response, several younger Chinese bustled about, virtually indistinguishable from each other in their dark tunics with matching pantaloons and long queues. One took charge of Scott's soiled clothing while another guided him to a narrow room furnished with a row of wooden tubs.
They quickly filled one tub with hot water, produced soap and towels, and in short order Scott was settling in for a solitary soak. It was mid-afternoon, and therefore no surprise that he had the room to himself. Not that he minded the lack of company, despite a momentary regret that he'd neglected to bring Twain along.
Only a few luxurious moments had passed, however, when he was roused from his drowsing state by the return of two of the Chinese "bath boys," each toting additional buckets of water on poles across his shoulders. As Scott observed through half-closed eyes, the men emptied their buckets into the tub immediately to his left and promptly departed. Although annoyed that they hadn't chosen a spot further along the line for the next patron, the men's efficiency left Scott little time to voice a complaint; he doubted they would have understood him anyway.
When the Chinamen returned, the new customer was with them; Scott glimpsed a tall figure dressed in tan clothing before he determinedly closed his eyes. But there was really no hope of regaining that feeling of deep relaxation.
Scott couldn't help noting that as the two young Chinese exited, the newcomer addressed them in their own language. It sounded like "doh je." From the intonation, as well as the murmured responses, Scott guessed that the phrase was a form of thanks. He could hear his neighbor moving about, presumably undressing.
"Well, I can see now why they were convinced we must be brothers."
Startled, Scott turned to look up at the speaker, who was standing on the other side of his own tub, unbuttoning his grey shirt.
"I assumed it was just because they think we all look alike," the man continued with a smile. "But I can see it now."
Swiftly appraising the stranger, who looked to be his own height, though a few years older and several pounds heavier, Scott had to agree. The man had light brown hair rather than ash blond, but there was an uncanny similarity in their facial features.
"You don't have a long lost brother do you?"
Scott grinned. "If I do, then it appears I may have found one."
Of course that was something he and Johnny had considered. They'd each been taken by surprise at the stage depot when Teresa identified them as siblings. It was something they'd joked about, that there might be additional Lancer sons-or even daughters--- of whom they had yet to be informed. They'd even laughingly speculated that one might have red hair and another brown. In more serious moments, Scott had wondered whether there might possibly be some truth to it.
The stranger sat down on a stool to pull off his boots as the two bath men returned, one with soap and towels, the other carrying two more buckets of water. After pouring the steaming contents into the tub, the bucket man disappeared; his comrade remained, waiting patiently for the newcomer to finish removing his clothes.
Scott discretely averted his eyes, then decided to slide underwater to soak his hair. When he resurfaced and set about scrubbing his head, his purported "brother" was already sinking into his own tub with a grateful sigh, while once more directing a phrase at the retreating back of the Chinaman carrying his clothing. It sounded like the same two words, "doh je."
"You speak Chinese?"
"Just a few phrases. I understand a little more than I speak." His tub neighbor extended a wet hand. "My name's McKay, John McKay. I'm a construction engineer for the railroad."
Scott offered his own soapy handshake. "Scott Lancer. My family has a ranch down near Morro Coyo."
"So what brings you to Modesto?"
"I'm shipping some horses out on the morning train."
"Going north. I'll be on that train, heading back up to where we're building another new line."
Scott ducked under the water to rinse his hair. "How's the work going?" he asked when he resurfaced.
Resting his head on the edge of the tub, McKay looked up at the ceiling as concern shadowed his features. "We're supposed to blast a tunnel through the hills soon---but I'm afraid we may run into sandstone."
"And that's a problem?"
"Well, if it's a balsa formation, then there are likely to be pockets of natural gas. The smallest spark could set it off. "
"Sounds dangerous."
"It is. I've sent some test samples off to the lab for analysis; if they come back as I expect, then we'll need to call for surveyors to lay out an alternate route. And the man in charge of the operation isn't going to like that much . . ."
"Surely he'll recognize the need for caution."
McKay still looked troubled. "I hope you're right. We're talking about men's lives. But the work crews are mostly Chinese, and I'm afraid many of the bosses view them as all too easy to replace."
They talked a bit more about the workers, how steady the Chinamen were, how hard they labored for just seventy-five cents a day and the meager meals the railroad provided. As they completed the business of bathing, McKay willingly answered Scott's curious questions about the Chinese. In particular, he spoke warmly of an older man named Han Fei who had taught him basic words and phrases in Cantonese.
Scott, in turn, mentioned his new-found affinity for Chinese food, acquired during his trip to San Francisco.
"So you've been to 'Dai Fou'," McKay observed with a smile. "That's what they call it, the 'Big City'; most of our men landed there. And is the food all you sampled in Dai Fou, Mr. Lancer?"
Both men had exited the tubs of rapidly cooling water and set about toweling off and donning clean clothing. McKay's serious tone caused Scott to halt momentarily, as he considered the man's question.
"There were parts of the city, areas near the harbor, I was warned to stay away from."
McKay nodded. "The opium dens are down there. And some Chinese houses of prostitution as well."
Scott finished buttoning his white checked shirt, and then started to tuck it into the waistband of his dark trousers. "We visited several Chinese eating houses, but I can't recall seeing any women."
"No, you won't see them out and about," McKay agreed. "To start with, there aren't many. The Chinese living in the mining camps and the railroad towns are essentially communities of men. What women there are are mostly in the cities--- and probably four-fifths of them work as prostitutes."
Scott looked up from fastening his gun belt. "That's a very high percentage," he observed skeptically.
McKay shrugged into his tan jacket. "It's true, I have that on good authority. My older sister is setting up a mission house in San Francisco; she and her husband are just returning from three years in China."
"Your sister? . . . do the two of you look alike?" Scott asked with a grin.
McKay smiled back. "Why don't you join us for supper, and judge for yourself."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Author's notes:
"McKay" the railroad construction engineer is a character from the 1972 pilot episode of "Kung Fu." The part was played by Wayne Maunder.
"Doh je" is a transliteration of the Cantonese for "thank you." According to multiple sources, many of the Chinese who immigrated to California ---"Gold Mountain"-came from Canton (Kwangtung) Province, an area at that time ravaged by natural disasters such as floods and typhoons as well as civil war.
The Central Pacific Railroad website includes the complete text of the Book Club of California Keepsake book Cathay in Eldorado: The Chinese of California.
http://cprr.org/Museum/Cathay_in_Eldorado/index.html
as well as a wealth of information about the Chinese-American contribution to the construction of the railroad itself.
http://cprr.org/Museum/Chinese.html
The City of Modesto, California:
http://www.ci.modesto.ca.us/localinfo/cityHistory/
http://www.modestogov.com/ed/about/history.asp
Link to the Innocents Abroad Homepage:
http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/railton/innocent/iahompag.html
Robertson's Words for a Modern Age: A Dictionary of Latin and Greek Words used in Modern English Vocabulary
caveat emp·tor: The axiom or principle in commerce that the buyer alone is responsible for assessing the quality of a purchase before buying.
The full version: Caveat emptor, quia ignorare non debuit quod jus alienum emit. "Let a purchaser beware, for he ought not to be ignorant of the nature of the property which he is buying from another party."
during "THE HEART OF PONY ALICE"?
"THE SOUL OF LIN LI MEI" PART TWO
Beforehand, the two men had agreed to say nothing concerning their own likeness. But when McKay escorted his sister downstairs, she noticed immediately, and insisted that they stand before the oval oak-framed mirror that graced the front parlor of the Modesto Hotel so that she could better examine the similarities in their features.
Although on the way to the hotel Scott and John had already ruled out any possible family connection, it necessary to submit to Mrs. Farnham's more intense interrogation; she possessed a detailed knowledge of family history, listing many distant relatives by name, none of whom seemed connected to Scott. Regardless, Juditha cheerfully announced her intention to address Scott henceforth as "my Dear Cousin," and urged him to do likewise.
The McKays, Scott learned, had also grown up "Back East," in Connecticut. John McKay had attended Yale College, as had Charles Farnham. The Reverend Farnham, as it turned out, was still en route from China; his wife had preceded him to San Francisco to begin to set up their new mission in San Francisco's Chinatown. The preliminary work being completed, she had arranged a long-awaited rendezvous with her younger brother. When Scott raised an eyebrow at their choice of meeting place, Mrs. Farnham explained that the railroad kept the engineer so busy that they would have had only the briefest of visits had he traveled to San Francisco.
"Since I haven't seen John for over three years, it seemed worth it, to come here to Modesto, though now I've seen it, I must admit now to having second thoughts," she added with a laugh.
"Now, Juditha, you only have to endure another day of dust, then you'll be on your way back to San Francisco, to contend with the hills and the salt air."
"I wish that were all I had to contend with, John," she replied ruefully. Then she reached out to stroke her brother's cheek. "And our visit has still been far too short."
Hearing this exchange, Scott couldn't help but be reluctant to intrude upon their time together, but when he tried to excuse himself, neither of them would hear of it. Unaware that John had already extended a similar invitation, Mrs. Farnham insisted that Scott should take supper with them and she graciously acceded to her brother's suggestion that they dine in Modesto's Chinatown.
When the two of them had stopped to pay for their baths and laundry, McKay had asked the sharp-eyed owner to recommend an eating establishment. After considerable discussion with one of the other Chinamen, the proprietor had finally supplied a name and location. The three newly acquainted "cousins" now set out, despite the fact that it was still somewhat early yet for supper. John proposed hiring a buggy for the evening, explaining that it was not always wise to pass through any Chinatown on foot after dark. Scott gave a fleeting thought to the amount of money he was carrying in his billfold, but leaving it behind in his hotel room hardly seemed a preferable alternative. He was, he reminded himself, wearing a gun belt, though the railroad engineer appeared to be unarmed.
They stopped at the livery, and McKay volunteered to drive the carriage while Scott climbed into the back seat with Mrs. Farnham. His "Dear Cousin" Juditha was most curious about what had brought him to California, and seemed fascinated by Scott's edited account of meeting his father for the first time.
"And you discovered a brother too!?" she marveled. "Another John. Tell me, does he look like us?"
"No," Scott responded with a firm shake of his head. "Not at all. We're half-brothers," he clarified. "The same father, different mothers. And we each seem to favor our mothers."
The eating house to which they'd been directed was a small, poorly lit storefront. It was furnished with a mere four tables, with three or four mismatched wooden chairs grouped around each one. But the bare tabletops were scrubbed clean and the air was filled with enticing aromas. A slightly built Oriental dressed in brown and wearing a small black hat bowed in greeting and then smilingly directed them to a corner table.
"Welcome, welcome."
In response to McKay's halting attempts at communication, their host replied in somewhat broken English that they were not to worry, that he would bring "all good food." By some unspoken mutual agreement, McKay and his sister had apparently worked out that John would address the restaurant owner and that Mrs. Farnham's fluency with Cantonese would not be advertised. She was, however, more than willing to answer Scott's many questions about her life as a missionary in China.
"My husband, Charles, operated a school for boys, teaching English and other subjects along with Bible studies. My work was amongst the women."
"Bible studies as well?"
Juditha shook her head. "Sewing classes, actually. In view of the extreme poverty in the province, it was necessary to have a more practical purpose in order to obtain any sort of regular attendance. Of course," she added with a smile, "we did manage to find many opportunities to expound upon the Scriptures."
The shop owner returned bearing a tray with a pot of tea and three small white handle-less cups.
"I am Wu Chang," he stated, bowing deeply to John McKay. As with the laundrymen, a glossy plait of hair extended down Wu Chang's back.
McKay inclined his head and stated his own name.
"I have heard of Mister McKay. I have brother too, work for railroad."
McKay introduced "Mrs. Farnham" and "Mr. Lancer." Wu Chang bowed to each in turn, before departing, though not before studying Scott with a puzzled expression.
Juditha poured them each some of the fragrant tea, but the liquid in Scott's cup was still not cool enough to taste when Wu Chang reappeared, this time with bowls of soup. Wonton soup, he was pleased to note, a delicacy he'd enjoyed in San Francisco. What was it McKay had called the city? "Dai Fow"---- or something like that. And "thank you" was "doh je," McKay uttered the phrase now in response to the soup. Scott ventured to ask for egg rolls, feeling optimistic when Wu Chang repeated his request and hurried back towards the kitchen.
The conversation shifted to Chinese food. Mrs. Farnham was, of course, most proficient with chopsticks, demonstrating that the wontons were to be fished out and eaten, leaving the broth to be sipped from the bowl afterwards.
Meanwhile, several Chinese men entered and gradually a few more, until the remaining tables were fully occupied. The new arrivals called out to their host in their own language, and amidst the flow of conversation, Wu Chang set out more cups and pots of tea. A group clustered around the farthest table, men standing as well as seated, and soon a game of fantan was in progress.
When Wu Chang finally returned to their table, it was with a much larger tray, laden with platters of noodles and bowls of rice topped with various sauces. He rapidly identified each of them both in English and in his own tongue; Scott thought he heard "chicken" in reference to one platter and decided to begin there.
He'd attempted chopsticks before, but the restaurateurs in San Francisco had eagerly offered more familiar utensils as well; that was not the case here. John, he noted, was adequately skilled,, though nowhere near as adept as his sister. Scott made several attempts to grasp a vegetable or bit of meat with the slender pieces of wood, to no avail.
Across the table, John and Juditha abruptly paused in their passing of platters and serving; it took a moment for Scott to realize they were not staring at him.
He noticed the plate first, hovering beside him, a circle of thick white crockery upon which three savory cylinders were arranged---egg rolls. Setting aside his chopsticks, Scott took possession of the offering -----revealing the hands. A woman's hands. Dainty, with slender fingers, tiny palms, then delicate wrists swallowed by satin cuffs, on sleeves of a willowy green color. His eyes skimmed upwards-----not very far, as the bowed head was only slightly above his own shoulder.
He couldn't see much of her face, as it was shielded by a curtain of silky black hair-- more of which was layered atop her head. She stood near enough that even in the lantern light, Scott could tell that her cheek was heavily powdered.
"Doh je."
She looked at him directly then, without any expression at all. There was no movement of the rosy lips that remained pressed together, no flicker of response in the dark, almond shaped eyes beneath the delicately arching twin brows. "Inscrutable"---he'd read that once, a descriptor used in reference to someone Chinese. The term seemed to apply here.
The woman glided backwards, offered a deep bow, then turned and silently departed, her features immobile throughout.
She was dressed in a more feminine version of the straight-legged pants and tunic worn by the men, the fabric more luxurious and decorated with bands of embroidery. Scott watched until the kitchen door closed behind her. Then he quickly turned his questioning gaze to his companions.
John McKay appeared no less fascinated by the young woman, but Mrs. Farnham shook her head sadly, murmuring something in Cantonese. Before Scott could ask, she offered the translation.
"'Daughter of Joy'---it's an expression used for a . . . courtesan."
Scott objected. "She's hardly more than a child."
"Oh, don't let her size fool you, Scott. She's probably much older than she looks, and no doubt already experienced beyond her years."
Juditha nodded in unhappy agreement with her brother's assessment. "The cost of a passage to America is high," she explained, "sometimes over $100. The men work off their debts in the mines -----or labor for the railroads. Others cook, clean, do laundry--- what we consider 'women's work.' While the women . . . sell themselves."
It was an uncomfortable topic to discuss with any female, let alone a lady and a missionary, but Scott's curiosity got the better of him.
"Since there are so few Chinese women here, can't they easily find husbands?"
"Most do--- eventually. But many of the men already have wives, and sometimes children, back in China. You see, their families arrange the marriages before they leave, to insure their return, to insure they will send money back to the village. The women who come here are usually indentured servants, sold by their families. They must work not only for the price of their passage, but until their master is fully repaid---and more."
"That sounds like . . . slavery."
"Yes."
"We fought a costly civil war to abolish that."
John McKay shot him a knowing look and Scott briefly wondered if his friend had also served in the conflict. "Well, it's no secret our railroad crews aren't treated much better than slaves," the engineer admitted. "Of course, they are free to find work elsewhere, but in reality, there are very few options."
"The men chose to come here, to seek their fortunes on 'Gum Shan"--'Gold Mountain'," his sister reminded him. "The women---the girls---who are sold, they are the ones who have no choice. It's wrong."
"Tell that to Madam Ah Toy."
"I haven't met her yet, John, but I will, and when I do, I will tell her that and much more, you may be sure of it."
"And who is 'Madam Ah Toy'?" Scott asked.
"She is the Chinese proprietress of several 'pleasure houses'---in Sacramento as well as San Francisco," John explained.
"She's quite well known in the city," Juditha added. "Her name has been in the newspapers; in fact the woman has actually taken men to court for failing to pay her price."
"Apparently she's an astute businesswoman . . ."
"John! Part of her business is importing young girls from China."
"And is this the purpose of your mission, Mrs. Farnham, to try to help those girls?"
"Yes, I intend to concentrate upon the women, to rescue their bodies as well as their souls." She shot a concerned glance at her brother, then resolutely changed the subject. "And please, Scott, it's Juditha," she gently reminded him. "We're 'cousins', remember? Here, now, let me show you the proper way to eat an egg roll."
Juditha edged her seat nearer to Scott and proceeded to carefully instruct him in the placement of his fingers around the chopsticks. She was also able to identify the ingredients of the various dishes in front of them. Instead of eating, John McKay watched his sister with a serious expression. Finally, Juditha set aside her own utensils.
"What is it, John?"
"You already know."
His sister sighed. "It is my work . . ."
"And I'm not asking you to stop doing it," he interjected, "only that you wait, wait until Charles arrives."
Juditha turned to Scott and smiled. "Does your younger brother worry about you, Scott?"
"My brother . . . doesn't worry about much." Although he could easily imagine Johnny saying exactly that, Scott still felt compelled to qualify his statement. "If he were worried---about me--- I'm sure I'd be the last to know. He'd make sure of it."
"Well, it's no secret that I have good reason to worry, Scott. My sister hasn't been here long enough to realize the animosity that many whites bear towards the Chinese-and anyone who sides with them runs the risk of being considered a traitor to his own race."
"We are all God's children . . ."
"Juditha, not everyone here shares that belief. And your activities could easily earn you enmity from the Chinese side as well."
"You mean because of interference in business activities?" Scott asked.
"Exactly. This Madam Ah Toy, I'm sure she must be under the protection of one of the tongs."
"Those are Chinese protective societies, Scott," Juditha explained. "The Hip Sings are one of the most active groups. Members pay a fee and the organization looks out for them, insures that if they die, their bodies are returned to China for burial."
"That's a long ways."
"They believe that they must rest amongst their ancestors."
"Yes," John added, "another reason why most of our railroad men are determined to return home one day. However, few of them can afford the membership fees, so if they die on the job, they are buried here ---and that is considered a great tragedy and a family disgrace. But I'm afraid the tongs don't limit their interests to such concerns; in the cities, they often operate outside the law. They may not take kindly to your interference."
Juditha Farnham's expression was tranquil. "John, I traveled across the ocean to do God's work for years in a foreign land. I trust in His protection, and you should as well."
Suddenly, there was the sound of three sharp handclaps and the background noise of animated conversation was replaced by an expectant silence. Wu Chang stood near the kitchen doorway, and beside him, an older, white haired Chinese dressed in black. Wu Chang was making an important announcement of some kind. Scott was aware of Juditha beside him, listening intently, and although it was likely she would explain in due time, he still felt compelled to pose a question. Before he could ask anything, however, Mrs. Farnham's face took on a shocked expression, and Scott turned to look.
The girl had reappeared. She was wearing a longer tunic, almost a gown, in a rose colored silk, and if he wasn't mistaken, her face was now more powdered, her hair more elaborately dressed. She stood between the two men, with her eyes lowered.
"Her name is Lin Li Mei," Juditha said softly. "The white haired man is her 'dai kau fu'---her eldest uncle. He's . . . selling her."
The uncle stepped forward, pointing at the girl and addressing the crowd. From the gestures he was making, Scott imagined that the old man might very well be describing his niece's attributes.
"Five dollar," offered a voice from the crowd. No one else spoke. Wu Chang shook his head in disapproval, while the uncle frowned fiercely in the direction of the bidder.
Juditha slid her chair closer to her brother and the two of them engaged in a heated whispered conversation. McKay shook his head; Scott thought he could guess what Mrs. Farnham was suggesting.
"Fifty dollars," Wu Chang announced importantly.
The white haired uncle looked at the crowd expectantly until someone offered "six-tee." He then spoke sharply to the woman, who lifted her head at his commanding tone, and reluctantly began to turn around. As she came about, Lin Li Mei's eyes met Scott's.
The silent plea was unmistakable.
He heard his own voice firmly offer "Eighty dollars," and was rewarded by glimmer of gratitude before the girl returned her gaze to the floor.
"Scott . . ." he heard McKay caution him. "These men won't like---"
"I know." Without turning, Scott softly issued an instruction. "Take your sister outside."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Author's notes:
The character of Juditha Farnham is inspired in part by a paper that appeared in the Chinese Recorder and Missionary Journal in 1885. It was entitled "Woman's Work for Woman" and the author was a Mrs. J. M. W. Farnham.
http://chnm.gmu.edu/wwh/p/66.html
Madam Ah Toy (also known as "Ah Choi" or "Ah Tay") was a real person. She is also the central character in a work of historical fiction entitled Daughter of Joy by JoAnn Levy, a "Women of the West" novel.
http://www.goldrush.com/~joann/joy.htm
There is a long historical connection between Yale University and China; a hospital was established in the 1830s in Canton by a Yale educated medical missionary. And in 1854, Yung Wing graduated from Yale College, the first person from China to earn a college degree in the United States. For more information, see:
http://www.yale.edu/opa/hu/ycHistory.html
According to the Timeline at the "Chinese in California 1850-1925" website,
by the year 1870, 3,536 Chinese women had emigrated to California and 61% (2,157) were listed as prostitutes.
http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/award99/cubhtml/cichome.html
The Houghton-Mifflin company site includes the following statistics on Chinese Women in California: "between 1848 and 1854, only sixteen women arrived from China while the number of men arriving totaled 45,000. By 1870, 58,625 Chinese men and 4,574 Chinese women had arrived in the United States."
"Initially, California, much like the rest of the U.S. West, had a predominantly male population, among not only the Chinese but all immigrants. In 1850, there were twelve men for every woman in San Francisco, regardless of race; even in 1880, men outnumbered women in California three to one. The imbalance in gender ratio, the gold-rush economy, and frontier conditions made prostitution a booming industry. Chinese prostitution, organized by Chinese Mafia-like business associations, proliferated. Of the 1,769 Chinese women over the age of fifteen found living in San Francisco in 1870, as many as 1,452 worked as prostitutes; the vast majority were bonded sex workers. Some women managed to complete their terms of indenture and married Chinese men once free."
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Back to Main Page