Parlor Games (21 page)

“The first one’s dated November 18, 1914,” said Frank. “ ‘Dear Frank, I hope you are well and that your work on that real estate matter is progressing. It is unbelievably cold in Menominee of late. I dearly hope that Chicago is not suffering the same blistering winds and drifting snows. Although I miss you very much, I cannot blame you for staying away just now. Only one thing worries me. I want Tokyo to have a coat, because the weather is so cold up here and he really must get out for exercise. You know how dear he is to me, and I should be very unhappy if he is not fit and healthy. Please see what you can do. Love, May.’ ”

Frank grinned at me and I returned the gesture, knowing the affection we shared for Tokyo. She shuffled the letter to the bottom and took up the next sheet. “This one’s from December 2, 1914. ‘Dearest Frank, we had a lovely Thanksgiving together, though your absence was noted and you were missed by all. When will you finish with that beastly real estate business? You really ought not deprive us of your company for so long. I for one won’t stand for it. The world is in such shambles, with Germany running amuck and now France and England declaring war on Turkey. Who knows what’s to come of it all? I detest being so far away from you. If you cannot come home for Christmas I have decided to spend it with you in Highland Park. Let’s talk about taking a trip to some sunny and warm place, perhaps Algiers. The war hasn’t touched it at all, and I understand it’s quite lovely in the spring. Love, May. P.S. Tokyo adores his new red coat and warm fur collar.’ ”

Laughter welled up from the bottom of my belly. Frank tossed her head back and guffawed. The whole courtroom laughed. Even the judge allowed himself a chuckle.

Then the questioning turned to another coat.

“Miss Shaver,” said Sawyer, bracing an arm on the witness box and angling for a view of me. “The Baroness, through her lawyer, reported that she made you a gift of a sealskin coat. Is this true?”

“No, she only said she would.”

“Please tell us about this.”

“We were shopping in New York—in 1913, I believe—when we came across a moleskin coat that caught May’s eye. When I bought it for her, she said she’d pay me back and also have her sealskin altered to fit me. But then she never gave me the sealskin. And I never got my money for the moleskin, either.”

I could hardly believe Frank included gifts given and promised as part of a lawsuit. I always thought a gift was a gift. When someone presents me with a gift, I do not expect to sign an IOU for it. And when I present a gift, I intend it just as that—a gift, for heaven’s sake. Given that, it simply makes no sense to recount the rest of the afternoon’s testimony.

THE FORBIDDING ORIENT
SHANGHAI TO HONG KONG—APRIL–JUNE 1890

I
n late April of 1890 Sue Marie and I established residence at the Queen’s Hotel in Shanghai, a British-style hotel brimming with portraits of the royal family and inhabited by English businessmen and the odd family on tour. We set about regaining our footing by mingling with guests, sometimes as a pair and other times on our own, in the lobby and over dinners in the Kensington Room. Some evenings we ventured out to the Shanghai Gin Club, where we danced with Englishmen and the occasional American.

But all was not well between Sue Marie and me. Barely a month after we’d arrived, we quarreled over how to manage our modest funds. I preferred to open a bank account and require both of us to sign on withdrawals; she wished to keep all the money on hand—under her management, of course. We’d been unable to agree, so she counted out half the money and slapped it into my palm.

The next morning, I surmised the storm had blown over when she asked me to go to the Londoners’ Gift Shop and buy us some rosewater. The errand took nearly an hour in Shanghai’s pedestrian-clotted streets, which required me to navigate among Chinese obviously quite at home with the bump and brush of crowded-in shoulders.

Upon my return, I noticed Sue Marie, outfitted in her deliciously yellow day dress, conducting business at the registration desk. When she spotted me approaching, she turned her back on the desk and worried her hands about her purse.

“Sue Marie,” I asked, “are you going out?”

She stepped away from the desk. “Yes, well, I left a note in the room, but I might as well tell you. I’m leaving.”

“What do you mean, leaving?”

“Leaving, striking out on my own,” she said, perturbation creeping into her voice.

It took me a moment to comprehend. “But we’re partners.”

“I’m tired of you telling me what to do. And San Francisco sure didn’t make us rich.”

“Is that all I am to you—somebody to help you get rich?”

Sue Marie smirked. “We were after the same thing. Don’t play innocent with me.”

“But we’re more than that to each other.”

“Did you think I was looking for a wife?”

The breath escaped my lungs. I felt I might faint. “But you can’t just walk away. Not in a strange place.”

“Can and will. My luggage is already in a cart.”

My mind buzzed with questions. I rubbed my fingers over my temple. “But what will you do?”

She drummed her fingers against her purse and looked around me, toward the door.

I maneuvered between her and the door. “And what am I supposed to do?”

“Do as you please. Find somebody else to play maid for you.”

I knew people in the lobby might be watching, but I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed her arm. “No, Sue Marie, don’t leave like this.”

“Oh, quit making such a scene,” she said, lifting my hand off her arm and nudging her chin toward the door. “Mr. Brosney is waiting for me.”

I turned around. A big-eared young man stood by the door, watching us with wide eyes. I looked at Sue Marie, pulled in my lower lip, and pleaded with my expression. She merely tossed her head. A shiver shot out from my core, convulsing my arms, neck, and head. I could hardly bear the thought of Sue Marie’s abandoning me. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“Good-bye, Pauline.” She walked around me to Mr. Brosney, took his arm, and, without looking back, strolled off.

I stood reeling at the edge of the lobby, as wobbly as an old Chinese woman on tiny pegged feet, dejected and discombobulated, a veritable stranger in a foreign land. How could my own dear Sue
Marie cast me off like chattel? I wanted to be alone with the surge of distress welling up in me, with the tears threatening to break. As I turned to retreat to my room, a hefty man in a summery off-white suit swept up to me.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, his flat-featured face exuding calm and concern. “I couldn’t help noticing. Are you in need of some assistance?”

His British accent struck me as civilized and genuine all at once, and his button nose and pink complexion gave him the appearance of kindliness. He had a soapy, well-scrubbed scent about him, and I guessed from the hints of creases around his eyes that he might be in his mid- to late thirties. Struggling to regain my composure, I folded my hands over my chest. “It was nothing, only a disagreement.”

He cocked his head in a consoling pose. “Are you quite all right?”

I heaved out a deep breath. “I’ve just had a shock.”

“Come, let’s sit in the lounge. At least let me get you some water.” He escorted me to a table in the hotel lounge and ordered a glass of water. After Mr. Hugh Carlyle introduced himself, he turned his most earnest attention to my distress.

“Can I provide any assistance, Miss Townsend?”

“No, no. She was my traveling companion.”

“Forgive me if I seem to pry, but has she caused you a problem?”

“She’s decided to go off on her own, which was totally unexpected.”

“Ah, she’s abandoned you. I say, even at twenty paces, her heartlessness chilled me to the bone.”

“Yes, I thought we were dear friends.”

“No true friend would behave in such a manner. She’s proved her brutishness, and I daresay you deserve better.”

“I thought I could count on her.”

“And now you’re left by yourself?”

“Completely.”

“You know no one else in Shanghai?”

The way he put it quite upset me, bringing the cold reality down on me as it did. Why, I was barely acquainted with the hotel neighborhood, to say nothing of the city of Shanghai. I patted a hand over my heart to calm myself. “Not a soul. And it seems such a forbidding place.”

“I can remedy that,” he said, with a decisive dip of his head. “Will you permit me to show you around? Shanghai has such sights to see.”

I swallowed some of the cool water the waiter had placed in front of me. The flush of my skin and quivering of my nervous limbs subsided. I summoned my most grateful smile. “I feel better already.”

Three days later, on a sunny June Saturday, Mr. Carlyle hired a mule-drawn carriage and toured me around Shanghai. First we wove our way through the shopping district and took in the wares displayed in their wide windows—intricate ivory carvings, elegant water paintings, fine cloisonné, and lovely silk carpets. Well-dressed foreigners strolled the streets, mingling with Chinese women in colorful silk robes and men in muted and flowing wide-sleeved garb. The sight of all these exotic scenes and goods and the singsong cacophony of Chinese voices filled me with childlike wonderment.

“Can we stop, please?” I asked Mr. Carlyle. “So I can explore that shop?”

“Of course,” he said, grinning so broadly I wondered if the delight he took in my enthusiasm exceeded even my own pleasure.

We sauntered through the aisles of a curio shop filled with jade and ivory carvings and stone chops of milky gray, burnt orange, and endless other variations on earthy tones. When a miniature horse statue—a proud, muscular stallion with a mane of thick, swirling coils—caught my eye, Mr. Carlyle indulged me with its purchase.

Next we traveled to the Jing’an Temple and strolled the perimeter of its interior court. Before the steps to one of the temple buildings, a Chinese man paused and crouched. An old stooped woman—his mother, I surmised—leaned over his backside; he circled his arms around her legs, lifted her onto his back, and carried her up the stairs.

“Why, I’ve never seen anything like that,” I remarked, taking Mr. Carlyle’s arm. How amazing it all was. Here I was in China, worlds away from my own family. I imagined recounting this scene to Maman and Gene and watching their eyes sparkle with awe. My older brother, Paul, with his misguided notions of familial duty,
would probably have scoffed at this, or, for that matter, any of my stories.

“Yes,” said Mr. Carlyle. “The Chinese are quite devoted to their elders. They’re a very honorable people.”

“They are, aren’t they? I’ve never felt a bit afraid among them. Not even in large crowds.”

After we’d covered the temple grounds and buildings, Mr. Carlyle asked, “Shall we tour the business district?”

On the drive through Shanghai’s busy streets, I could think of little other than the harmony and closeness among these people and my devotion to my own family. And whenever my thoughts turned to family, I remembered my dear papa. How intrigued he would have been by China. Papa, who had dreamed of sailing all the way up the St. Lawrence Seaway and across the ocean to France, would have relished tales of my Shanghai adventure.

“Look here,” said Mr. Carlyle from the open-air seat of our carriage. “We’re coming into the International Settlement. You’ll find some American interests here.”

“But mostly British, of course,” I said, nodding in the direction of the Royal Bank of London.

“The French keep to themselves in a concession just south of here. You know those French—haughty to the end.”

“The trade must be lucrative for everybody involved.”

“Oh, yes. Someday this business district will rival even London’s.” Turning to me, he asked, “Have you ever been to London?”

“No, though I should love to see it.”

He patted my hand. “Then you must let me take you someday.”

My friendship with Mr. Carlyle was obviously blossoming, and I truly appreciated his taking me under his wing. He was a delightful and considerate companion, and I was beginning to think I might entrust myself to his care, at least for the time being. After all, he navigated Shanghai with great ease and demonstrated agility managing the Chinese.