Red Thread Sisters (9781101591857) (10 page)

seventeen

“Guess what Mom just got you at a yard sale!” Emily announced one Sunday in mid-November. “Hurry, Wen!” Emily pulled her down the porch steps. “Look!”

Then Wen saw it: a bicycle.

The only bike Wen had ever seen up close was Cook's, which he pedaled to the orphanage, the front basket heavy with noodle sacks and cabbage. Cook never let the kids try his bike because he said if it broke, the food would rot at the bottom of the hill and they would all have to go hungry.

Wen skimmed her fingers along the bike's handlebars. The frame was the green of spring wheat pushing through warm soil.

“This bike. For me? Whole bike?” Grinning, Wen spread her arms as wide as the bike. “All for me?”

“All yours. I saw it at a yard sale and knew you'd like it,” her mother said from behind her.

“Maybe this bike cost much. Maybe an extra?” Wen asked. “Maybe should give back?”

“Don't worry, Wen. It cost eight dollars,” her mother reassured her.

“Thank you,” Wen said. “Not know how to ride bike, even a little bit. Maybe I fall and break.”

“Dad'll teach you,” Emily said. “He taught me great.”

An hour later, Wen's phone went off, the ringtone set to Hannah.

“What's up?” Hannah asked when Wen picked up.

“Got new bike. From my mother.”

“Have you ridden it yet?”

“Too cold maybe. My dad teach me tomorrow after school. Right now he busy, get ready for phone talk job interview for the morning.”

“I can teach you today,” Hannah said.

Ten minutes later, Hannah rang the doorbell, her own bike propped against the porch.

“There it is. Eight monies!” Wen bounded to her bike, standing on its little leg in the driveway.

“Awesome!” Hannah stroked the green frame.

“OK, you show me?” Wen eyed the beat-up leather bike seat and the handles with little dents where her fingers would fit. “My parents say wear this.” Wen showed Hannah a funny plastic hat with slits through the top and a point, like a bird's beak, in the back. “Ugly hat.” Wen grimaced.

“Don't worry, I have to wear one too.” Hannah poked the helmet dangling from her bike handles.

Hannah helped Wen steer her bike to the sidewalk. “OK. Here's what we'll do. You get on the bike and pedal. I'll hold on to the seat, running beside you, to keep you up. When I think you're ready, I'll let go.”

“I will knock down,” said Wen.

“If you fall, it's no big deal. Just get back up. Everybody falls at first.”

Wen swung her leg over the seat and settled on the bike.

“Hold on to the handles. That's how you steer. OK, Wen, ready? Just push off, I've got a good grip on the seat.”

Wen fit her feet to the pedals and began to pump. The bike lurched forward.

“Great! Keep going, don't stop,” Hannah yelled.

Was Hannah really holding on? Suppose she let go and didn't tell her?

“You still holding on?” Wen yelled.

“I'll tell you when I let go, I swear.”

Wen pedaled faster. Even so, she felt herself weave, the bike teetered, and she clattered to the sidewalk. Her bike landed on top of her.

“OK, Wen?” Hannah hurried toward her, pulled the bike off, and put out her hand. Wen took it and Hannah pulled her to her feet.

Back on the bike, Wen could feel Hannah's grip as she pedaled down the road to the bank parking lot. Her legs stronger, her bike steadier, Wen picked up speed.

“I'm letting go now!” Hannah yelled.

Wen circled the parking lot and fell twice more. Each time, she got back up. With Hannah jogging beside her, she pushed her legs hard. She stopped wobbling.

“Go, Wen!” Hannah cheered, waving both hands.

Wen sailed around the parking lot.

“You can ride a bike on your own now, Wen! Let's go home and I'll get mine. We can ride together.”

Still weaving sometimes, Wen pedaled toward home. She stopped at her porch, where Hannah buckled her helmet and hopped on her bike.

“Let's go! I'll follow you,” Hannah yelled.

Wen grasped her handlebars and pumped. Her bike soared. She felt wind against her and pedaled even harder.

“Faster than the wind!” Wen called to Hannah.

“I can't believe you learned in one lesson!” Hannah yelled. “Now we can go everywhere together!”

Everywhere together.
Wen heard the words and thought of walking with Shu Ling, her
stomp-drag
beside her as they went from the infant room to the courtyard to the hill.

Wen knew she should be back on the computer, tracking down Shu Ling. She'd wasted valuable time today.

How had she let herself do this?

Wen slowed her pedaling, lost her balance, and crashed against the curb. Her bike fell on top of her. Hannah stopped and pulled Wen up.

“Are you OK, Wen? What happened to your knee?” Hannah cried.

Wen saw blood dripping down her leg.

“Bleeding not bad. Thanks. Have to go now!” Wen got back on her bike.

“So soon? Are you too hurt to ride more?” asked Hannah.

“I fine. Must go, that's all!” She waved good-bye to Hannah and hurried home to look for Shu Ling.

eighteen

One afternoon the following week, Wen heard furious snipping in the kitchen. She smelled the glue, suspiciously coming from the same place as the snipping. Then she spied a single neon-blue feather drifting through the air.

Getting off the sofa to investigate, Wen found Emily at the kitchen table, cutting fat pear shapes from brown paper. Biting her lips in concentration, she pasted brightly dyed feathers around the squat bottoms and glued a piece of red yarn at each tip.

“That's the gobbler, Wennie,” Emily explained. “Check out all my Thanksgiving turkeys!”

“Good job,” said Wen, picking up an orange feather. “We talk about this Thanksgiving in school. Also I see many pictures of cooked turkeys on supermarket flyer. And on computer, so many turkeys, some alive, with fan of feathers. Thanksgiving is big festival in America?”

“Very big deal. You know, we get Thanksgiving and the day after off from school. Didn't you have Thanksgiving in China?” Emily wrinkled her nose, thinking. “No, Wennie, of course not! In China, you didn't! No Plymouth Rock, no big feast, nothing!”

“More door to door this festival?” asked Wen hopefully.

“Nope. But we have a huge dinner. Lots of food, like turkey, stuffing, corn, and pie for dessert. You can have pumpkin pie, Wennie, but I wouldn't recommend it. Mom makes apple, too.”

As he loaded the dishwasher, her father dropped a glass, which shattered all over the floor. Muttering, he went to get the broom.

“Watch out, he's in a bad mood,” whispered Emily. “I think it's about not finding a job.”

“Hunts on computer, no luck.” Wen nodded. “This I get.”

“Dad, will we be able to get a turkey this Thanksgiving?” asked Emily.

“Pardon me?” Her father seemed far away.

“Is a turkey an extra?” Emily pasted the final feather on one of her fat brown birds.

“No, I think we can afford a turkey this year, Emily,” her mother said.

Two days later, Emily came bounding into the kitchen.

“It's Thanksgiving, Wennie!” Emily announced. “Get off the computer.”

“Emily, I am hunting for my friend.”

“That's all you ever do. What about me? I'm your own sister,” Emily wailed.

She just wants a little attention,
Wen told herself. After all, it was a special day. She shut off the computer.

“OK.” Wen faced Emily. “Hi.”

“See!” Emily spun around. She was wearing her gray sweat suit, covered with a stiff white apron. On her head, she'd tied a funny hat that looked like a sailboat.

“Hey, what is this?” Wen knelt beside Emily to admire her. “This festival has costumes too?”

“I was a Pilgrim girl for my class play. You know, Pilgrims? They started America. How do you like my hat?” Emily patted her white hat with flaps on either side.

“Very beautiful Pilgrim girl,” said Wen.

Wen smelled the turkey her mother had put in the oven earlier in the morning. The kitchen table was covered with a cloth as white as clouds, and even the silverware seemed to sparkle.

“Grandma Jackson should be here any time now!” said Wen's mother. Then she began to hum.

Wen had never heard her mother hum before.

“Who you say this lady is?” Wen moved closer to the oven to hear her mother's humming better.

“You've seen her in the photo album, Wen. She's my mother. More of your family. She can't wait to meet her new granddaughter.” She paused. “That must be the car now!”

Wen heard her father's voice booming and the front door open. Behind her father, she saw a tall woman with wiry gray hair and eyes as blue as her mother's.

“Mother!” Wen's mother nearly flew over to Grandma Jackson. She hugged her for a long time.

Then, her arm still around Grandma Jackson, her mother drew Wen toward her.

“Mother, meet your new granddaughter.”

“Welcome to our family, Wen.” Wen's grandmother's arms wrapped around her tight, and Wen smelled the fragrance of violets.

“Grandma!” Emily hurled herself at Grandma Jackson.

“Oh, my girls.” She embraced Wen and Emily at the same time. “Such beautiful sisters!”

Wen pulled away. She didn't mean to. But when anybody said
sisters,
she automatically thought of Shu Ling, her real sister.

When Wen stepped back, Emily fled from the kitchen, sniffing as though she might cry.

“What's wrong with Em?” Grandma Jackson asked.

“Nothing time won't fix, Mother,” said Wen's mother.

After they'd eaten cheese and crackers in the living room for ages, Wen followed the rest of the family to the kitchen. Her mother brought out the sizzling turkey.

“Kind of smallish this year,” said Emily.

Oh, if Emily could see the noodles and dumplings the kids ate every day at the orphanage. Wen wished Shu Ling could eat some of this turkey.

“We should say what we're grateful for,” said her mother.

“I'm grateful I've had some phone interviews,” said her father.

But not a job,
Wen thought.

“I'm grateful our family is all here, all healthy,” her mother said.

Wen tensed. If she'd asked earlier, before her father got laid off, Shu Ling would be at this table too.

“Pass,” said Emily.

“Emily McGuire, you cannot pass,” her father scolded. “Surely you can think of something to be grateful for.”

Emily sighed. “Grateful for Wennie, even if she doesn't think I'm her sister.”

Gazing down at Emily's tiny little face, Wen half wanted to gather her into her lap and snuggle with her. Then she caught herself. Emily might be her sister now, but Shu Ling was her first, true sister, since a long time ago.

Grandma Jackson said she was grateful for everything good in her life, especially her beautiful granddaughters.

Everybody turned toward Wen.

“I am grateful I am here,” Wen said.

After the meal, Wen and Emily cleaned up. Wen scrubbed the counters especially hard and mopped the kitchen floor with bleach.

Then Wen went outside and sat on the porch steps, staring at the bare tree branches against the gray sky. She should be thankful on this Big Turkey festival. But instead, she kept wishing Shu Ling had a family too. Then she could be really grateful.

When she finally went back inside, she caught Grandma Jackson, wearing tiny little wire glasses, perched at the computer.

“What you doing, Grandma?”

“Your mother says you've been online, trying very hard to find your friend Shu Ling,” Grandma Jackson said. “So I thought I'd take a little look-see, help you out some.”

“Thanks, Grandma,” said Wen. “This helps much.”

Her grandmother folded Wen into her arms and Wen did not pull back. It seemed OK to hug this nice lady who was her grandma. Was hugging her mother's mother almost as good as hugging her own mother?

Right before bed, after all the food was put away and Grandma Jackson had gone home, Wen clicked on the online communities page again. This time there was a message for her.

 

Dear Wen,

I think I have found your friend. Go to the Worldwide Adoptions waiting child page and see. Good luck!

 

Frantic, Wen typed in the Worldwide Adoptions address and went to the page of waiting children. She went to a description and clicked.

Wen gasped. Then she blinked and looked again.

Shu Ling!

nineteen

Wen gazed at Shu Ling's high-cheeked face, her braid pulled back with a piece of twine. Wen would know that profile anywhere.

“Hey!” Wen shouted. “Come quick! I found Shu Ling!”

Wen's mother tore down from the attic, followed by Emily, toothpaste dribbling from her chin. Wen's father came next, computer glasses in his hand.

“I found her!” Wen shrieked, jumping up and down.

“What great news!” her mother said.

While her mother, father, and Emily crowded around the computer, Wen printed out the faded photograph. Wen figured the picture was about two years out of date. Shu Ling seemed especially thin as she teetered awkwardly on her turned-in leg, a forlorn smile across her sallow cheeks.

 

Susie. Age 13. Clubfoot. Available for just under seven weeks, since by Chinese policy, Susie must be adopted before she turns 14, when she ages out and can no longer be placed with a family.

“Name is not Susie. And what is this ‘age out'?” Wen demanded.

“Says here Shu Ling's thirteen. The day she turns fourteen, she's too old to be adopted,” her mother explained.

“How come?” Wen asked. “Who says this?”

“It's a rule made by the Chinese government,” her mother answered. “Fourteen is too old. That's the Chinese rule.”

“But Shu Ling not thirteen,” said Wen. “She is twelve.”

“Are you sure, honey?” her mother asked.

“Everybody know this,” Wen stated. “Ever since I came to orphanage. Shu Ling one year older than me. All the aunties know. Shu Ling turned twelve last year.”

“When is Shu Ling's birthday?” Wen's father asked.

“Don't know exact day. Aunties and kids don't pay much attention to date in file. Everybody just move up one year on Lunar New Year.”

“Well, the official date in her file is the one the government uses,” Wen's mother said. “We know your birthday is in April because the orphanage doctor measured your head and estimated your age. That's what happens for all the kids. A doctor decides an official date and puts it in the file.”

“Shu Ling is not thirteen,” Wen protested. “I get the real date and get this fixed right away.”

Otherwise Shu Ling would never have time to get picked by a family. Not in less than seven weeks.

“I call this Worldwide place,” Wen went on. “Tell them Shu Ling is twelve.”

“They're closed right now. It's Thanksgiving, sweetie,” her mother said.

“I call Monday morning as soon as they open.”

“You'll be at school, Wen. You can call as soon as you get home.”

“But I call when they open. Fix Shu Ling's birthday.”

“School first, call later,” said her mother.

On Monday morning, Wen stayed in bed past breakfast.

She clutched her belly when her mother tried to wake her up. “I not good.”

Her mother sat by her bed. “You seemed fine yesterday.”

“It just come. It is possible I throw up. At school this happen, very bad. People see.” Wen huddled under her covers, eyeing her phone by her pillow. “I stay home today.”

Wen's mother crossed her arms, thinking.

“Must stay home,” Wen said.

“OK. But your stomach has to feel better tomorrow.”

“Oh, much better tomorrow,” Wen said.

Her mother started to close the door. “If they don't pick up at nine o'clock, try again at nine fifteen, Wen. Sometimes people don't answer their phones right away on Mondays.”

Wen caught her mother's eye. Wen knew she knew.

Thank you,
she wanted to say to her mother. But she couldn't.

“I sleep now. Very sick.” Wen turned over and pretended to doze off.

She called at 9:01.

“Good morning, this is Worldwide Adoptions, Jenny Peters speaking.”

“I see on your Web site, Susie, age thirteen,” Wen said.

“I'm sorry,” said Jenny Peters. “Can I put you on hold?”

Wen heard the phone switch to boring music. Now her stomach really did hurt. She had so much to tell this lady, she thought she might burst. Suppose she didn't have enough English for all she needed to say? Suppose she talked about Shu Ling and started to cry?

“OK, here I am.” Jenny Peters sounded so cheerful she almost chirped. “You were calling about Susie? Let's see, her real name is Shen Shu Ling. We use the American name for privacy.”

“I know this girl,” Wen heard herself stammer. She stared at Shu Ling's portrait on the bulletin board, which seemed to ground her. “I am Wen. Shu Ling's best friend.”

“You actually
know
Susie?” said Jenny Peters. Wen could almost see her raising her eyebrows.

“Shu Ling. She was my best friend back at the orphanage. Long time. I know her much.” Wen heard herself speaking good English.

“But your Web site say she is thirteen,” Wen continued. “I know her right age. Shu Ling is twelve. Aunties know this, kids know this.”

“Hold on. Let me get her file.”

Again Wen heard the annoying music.

“Back again. Yes, according to our records, the Tong Du orphanage file states that Shen Shu Ling was born on January 12, thirteen years ago. So that's her official birthday.”

Shu Ling couldn't be thirteen! These Worldwide people were wrong.

“We call,” Wen proposed. “Tell them file not right.”

“The files are official, Wen. We never find mistakes in the birth dates,” Jenny said.

“If this true, this mean Shu Ling not have much time,” Wen protested.

“We've had her on our Web site a while, way beyond the usual deadline, and so far, no family has expressed interest. When she turns fourteen, she'll age out.”

“My mother explain this age out. Happens to old girls, not like Shu Ling. Shu Ling a younger girl.”

“I'm so sorry. On January 12, she'll be fourteen and we'll have to send her file back to China. So your friend has to be picked
before
her actual birthday. Otherwise it's too late.”

“OK, then, I help you work fast.” Wen spoke loudly into her phone. “You not know Shu Ling like I do. Under very old photo, not say many words.”

“We usually just give the identifying information, until a family indicates interest.”

“How anybody pick Shu Ling if they don't know her?” said Wen. “I tell you more.”

“You want to rewrite her whole description? We rarely do this. It seems fine the way it is.” Jenny Peters's cheerful voice turned terse. “Maybe you should talk to our agency writer. He'll be in tomorrow.”

“Better to tell you now,” Wen said. “I tell, you listen. Then you put what I say under her picture. So somebody picks her better. This girl, she is my friend, like sister.” Wen paused. “She needs family fast. Today your Web site say little over six weeks.”

“A day over six weeks,” Jenny Peters murmured. “All right. It goes against our policy, but since you do know her so well . . .” Jenny said. “I'm at my computer. Go ahead.”

“Shu Ling,” Wen began. “She is twelve.” Wen waited for Jenny to correct her, but she kept on typing, so maybe even Jenny thought the age might be wrong. “She has a clubfoot, little bit. Walks fine, nothing to worry about. She helps the aunties with the babies. She can scrub the tiles and also she cook noodles, mix baby drink. Also she draws pictures, so beautiful. She waits for a family for a long time. Pick her and you will be happy ever after.”

“Just a minute, I think I've got it all.”

“Also, Shu Ling good artist. We post a portrait she did, so people know she has talent, like a celebrity?”

“I'll scan in the picture as soon as you send it. This is a little unusual, Wen, but we'll do our best. It'll be up by Friday.”

“Thanks.” Wen hesitated. “Wednesday would also be good day.”

Wen's stomach officially recovered the next day. But now she felt her shoulders tense, tight as a rubber band, as she worried about the mistake in Shu Ling's file. Who would know her age better than Shu Ling herself? But Wen hadn't even told Shu Ling the big change in plans. Wen went to her desk and began to write.

 

Dear Shu Ling,

 

I've wanted to tell you this but I've been waiting until I had some good news for you. A little while ago, my father lost his job, and now my parents don't have the money to adopt you. I am so sorry about this, Shu Ling. I waited until I knew they would say yes but my father got fired before I could even ask. I wish so much I had asked sooner! I also haven't wanted to tell you because I have let you down.

But now my mother is helping me find you a family of your own, another way. You'll still have a family and we can still visit each other here in America. I'm sorry it's not possible about my family. But we can see each other all the time. We have vacations in America and we can spend them together. Maybe whole summers.

For me to find you this family, I have to know something:

Please tell me, you are twelve years old, right?

Let me know as soon as you can.

 

Love,

Wen

From her wallet, she counted all the allowance money she'd saved until her parents declared allowances were an extra. Wen put her letter and wallet with twelve dollars and five cents in her parka pocket and walked to the post office.

“Like to mail this to China as fast as possible,” Wen said to the woman behind the desk, who placed her letter on a scale.

“To China, express delivery, forty-seven dollars and ninety-five cents,” she said.

Wen frowned. “How about less fast?” she asked.

“That'll be ninety-eight cents,” said the woman.

Wen counted out her change and the woman stamped her letter. “Should get there next week or the week after at the latest.”

Next week and then maybe two weeks for Shu Ling to write back and in the meantime, the false date was still on the Web site, the aging out still happening.

At dinner, Wen swirled her fork in the pasta, not eating. “Cannot believe Shu Ling's age is wrong.”

Wen's father shook his head. “If it's in her file, Wen, there's nothing else we can do.”

“Auntie Lan Lan know,” said Wen. “Maybe there are two dates in file. Maybe people using wrong date, should be using the twelve-year-old date.”

“How would Auntie Lan Lan know?” her mother asked.

“Auntie Lan Lan good spy. She know everything that goes on. Besides, she in charge of files. I call her, just to be sure. Otherwise, age out will happen.”

Wen's mother glanced at her watch. “It's seven in the morning at the orphanage. Do you want to call now?”

Wen knew calling the orphanage would be really expensive
.
“You are sure? Very large extra,” Wen said.

“Sometimes there are extras you can't cut out, Wen,” said her mother.

Just hug her,
Wen told herself, flooded with gratitude. But she couldn't.

Wen's mother copied the orphanage phone number for Wen and handed her the phone.