River of Dust (8 page)

    "Foreign devils," they had shouted, "you have poisoned our wells, dried up our fields, and sent our children to heaven! Soon we shall all die unless we kill you first."

    "The gods are angry that we smoked the opium of the white man's religion," others had shouted. "It is because of this Jesus person that we are slaves now and starving. We will make the rain come, but first, we begin with a rain of blood!"

    Grace shivered at the thought. On an afternoon not unlike this one, the bands of barbarians had killed those who they believed were the source of their misery. Grace would forever remember the final count: 180 missionaries murdered— men, women, and innocent children. Their valiant story, and then the young Reverend Watson's contagious plan to be amongst the first brave souls returning to this land only a few years after the onslaught had taken place— well, of course, she had been propelled to join him in this frightful place. Her husband had been on the veritable front lines, and now it was her turn, too.

    She raced back into the house and found a broom in a closet. As she cut back through the parlor and headed out the front door again, Ahcho appeared beside her. Grace was also dimly aware of Mai Lin making her way slowly down from the second floor.

    "Mistress," Ahcho said, "how wonderful to see you up. You are feeling better?"

    Grace paused for a moment and glanced at him. He looked inordinately calm. Why was no one else preparing to fight the oncoming horde? Had Ahcho not noticed them pouring into the yard?

    "We must do our duty," she shouted and made for the door.

    "Shall I sweep the porch for you?" he offered as he followed. "You must not exert yourself, Mistress."

    Now Grace could hear Mai Lin coming along behind her. Surely dependable Ahcho and dear Mai Lin would see the situation for what it was and help. But they were moving too slowly, and she could not wait for reinforcements. Grace hurried down the porch steps and began stabbing the dusty ground at the feet of the milling Chinese. She used the straw broom to attack their bare toes. The coolies hopped back, startled, and barked in surprise at being poked by stiff bristles.

    "Shoo, shoo," Grace shouted. "Away with you!"

    As some staggered back, others filled in their places. She felt their bodies pressing toward her. Her heart beat faster, but she told herself she must not give up. Her husband had been brave so many times, and now was her chance to finally join him in his zealotry. She spun in circles, swinging the broom wide in the air to keep them away.

    "Out," she shouted. "Out you go!"

    Then she felt a warm hand on her arm and let the head of the broom drop to the ground. She felt surprisingly dizzy, but luckily, the hand held her steady. The unsettling vibrations that had overtaken her brain began to recede again, and Grace vaguely wondered what had come over her.

    "Mistress," Ahcho said, "may I take this from you now?" He reached for the broom.

    She looked up, more than a little confused, but trusted his kind voice. She felt as baffled as in the mornings after waking from her hallucinations. Whatever was going on in her mind? she wondered.

    "This is what you want instead, yes?" he asked.

    Ahcho's hand appeared before her. In his palm sat a small bar of lye soap and a white rag that she knew served as a washcloth.

    "It is Friday today, Mistress. They are here for their weekly baths."

    He gently touched her shoulder again and steered her in the direction of the Chinese women who stood in a line before the metal tub.

    "They would be most honored to receive their soap and small cloths from the Reverend's excellent wife."

    Grace ran her palms down the front of her slip and straightened it as best she could. She suddenly felt terribly underdressed. She should not be seen by these new congregants in her flimsy petticoat. Why had Mai Lin allowed her out without the proper attire? Although Grace had to question her own judgment in this instance as well.

    "Am I all right?" she whispered to Ahcho.

    "Absolutely." He nodded. "They are pleased to meet you."

    She tried to stand taller. "As I am to meet them."

    Grace pulled back her shoulders and made her way to her position beside the tub. She prepared to greet each tired and filthy new Christian with a smile, although she feared that she needed a bath as badly as they did. And if somehow her mind could be scrubbed clean as well, she would be most grateful.

W
ould you care for a cup of tea?" Mildred Martin inquired, her eyebrows raised. The Martins' number-one boy poured, and Grace smiled when he held up a rare lump of sugar with silver tongs. Mildred must have saved her small store of the precious sweet for special occasions, which gave Grace a shred of optimism about this visit. She so wanted them to be friends again.

    As Grace accepted the cup and saucer and placed them on the table, she hoped that her trembling hand was not too noticeable. In the four years since she had arrived in Fenchow-fu, Mildred, though only slightly older, had watched over her with a mother's keen eye. Indeed, Mildred was watching her now. There would be no hiding Grace's delicate condition.

    "You do not look well," Mildred began and patted Grace's thin wrist. "But, of course, you have been through so much."

    The two ladies looked down at their laps and slowly shook their heads.

    "It must lead you to prayer more than ever," Mildred said.

    Grace agreed, although oddly, she did not pray often anymore. She

was far too occupied with keeping track of her dreams and all that business out the window. Her vigilance required a great deal of her.

    "The baby will help you enormously," Mildred said, now giving Grace's hand a firm squeeze as a signal for Grace to let go, which she did reluctantly.

    "My little Daisy has made my earlier loss all but disappear from my mind. Of course my earlier one never saw the light of day, unlike your dear little boy, who made it all the way to three years of age."

    Grace wished her friend would refrain from mentioning her son, especially not in the past tense as if he had died, which Grace was convinced he had not. She tried to recall if she had ever told Mildred about the two she had lost to miscarriage as well. Those were terrible, but nothing compared to the open wound left by her stolen boy.

    "I do hope for that, Mildred. You are most blessed with precious Daisy."

    Hearing her name, the little girl rose from where she played with blocks on the Chinese carpet. She toddled over, placed a block in her mother's lap, looked up, and spat out the word "block" as if it were the most thrilling thing on earth. Grace could not help letting out a giggle. The child was just so darling. But the little girl looked up at Grace and frowned. She took a handful of her mother's fine skirt and wrinkled it in her chubby fingers.

    "I believe I have upset her," Grace said.

    "Nonsense," Mildred said. "Daisy, say hello to Mrs. Watson."

    Daisy continued to frown at Grace as she pawed at her mother's lap. Mildred lifted her daughter and set her upon her knee. Daisy twisted her body away so as not to look at Grace.

    "I won't bother you, darling girl," Grace said. She longed to reach across and touch that fine blond hair, so like her own Wesley's that it pained her heart. "But did you know that very soon you will have a new playmate?"

    Daisy glanced back at Grace with a skeptical look.

    "I have a baby coming soon, and he or she will be your new friend."

    This seemed to finally set Daisy at ease. The girl pushed off from her mother's arms, clambered back down onto the rug, and waddled to her blocks. Grace and Mildred took up their cups and drank as Daisy commenced building a tower.

    "Your Reverend," Mildred asked, "he is excited about the child?"

    "Oh, yes," Grace replied with enthusiasm.

    "And you believe he intends to be around more often once the baby arrives?" Mildred's voice sounded rather pinched, Grace thought.

    "I assume so. We have not discussed it."

    "Really? You are entering your sixth month of pregnancy, and you have not discussed it?" Mildred's eyebrows rose again. "I would think that would be a most important topic at this time." Then she leaned closer and asked, "Do you actually know where he goes when he leaves for days and weeks at a time?"

    Grace set down her cup and sat up straighter in her chair, "Why, to the outlying churches, of course."

    Mildred let out a stifled laugh that cut Grace to the quick.

    "My dear," Mildred said, "that man is gone more often than he is here. Do you think he has any concept of the frenzy he has created with all these new supposed converts whom my husband has been left to deal with? All I am saying is that it is not always best for the mission to have your Reverend gone. And I suspect it is not terribly good for you, either, especially in your condition."

    Grace shifted in her seat and wondered if she should just rise and exit at that very moment. No one should be permitted to speak of the Reverend in such disdainful and critical tones. He was head of the mission and respected far and wide. He had built the hospital in which Mildred's child had been born, and the schools where the Chinese children were taught. But, instead of leaving in protest, Grace reached up her sleeve and brought out her linen handkerchief. As she dabbed at her eyes, she glanced at Mildred and saw genuine concern on the other woman's face. Grace's hand that held the kerchief fell heavily to her lap.

    "No, it is not so good for me, either," she admitted.

    "My dear Grace, after all you have been through." Mildred offered a crisp rub to Grace's knee. "I am sorry to be so forward, but perhaps you can tell me: what is the precise meaning of all those belts and whatnots he has hanging about his person?" Mildred let out a thin stream of air. "What I am getting at is that I believe your Reverend has gone native on you, Mrs. Watson. Whatever are you going to do about it?"

    Grace pushed her handkerchief up her sleeve again, although she feared that if she was unable to control herself, she would need it in barely a moment when she would finally burst into tears.

    Luckily, Mildred continued, "The Reverend Martin and I have discussed it."

    "Discussed what?" Grace asked.

    "Your situation and your Reverend's changed— well, there is no other word for it— his changed
being."

    Grace nodded, although her mind raced with both the truth of this observation and the utter ignorance of it. Had the Martins' first born son been stolen from them, then they, too, would have found their
be
ing
changed.

    "When your baby comes," Mildred continued, "we wish to invite you to live here with us. No, hear me out. It is quite customary for a new mother to be cared for by a loving auntie or friend. No one will think badly of you. We cannot have you over there across the courtyard without a husband and no one but the natives to tend to you and your baby. That is not Christian of us, or of you."

    Grace felt the anticipated tears rise up. She did not know what to say, so she reached out a shaking hand and held on to Mildred's own firm one. "You are most kind and good," Grace finally spluttered. "Truly you are."

    Mildred smiled tightly and nodded in agreement.

    "I am sure the Reverend will understand?" Grace said, half telling and half asking.

    "Not to worry. I will have my Reverend Martin speak to him. This new child of yours needs to be protected at all costs. Frankly, knowing the likes of those your husband has come to associate with recently, I am not entirely confident that you should stay in your home even if he were there to be with you. I am sorry to be so blunt. But you will feel much better off here, allowing us to care for you. You may use my number-one amah and leave yours behind. Daisy is old enough to manage without her all the time."

    Grace shot a startled look at Mildred, who glanced away quickly and took up her cup again.

    "I do not know if I can manage that," Grace said softly. "Mai Lin relies on our employ."

    "I should say it is you, rather, who relies perhaps too much upon her," Mildred said, her words slow and careful. "But there is no need for us to quibble about the details. Let's just say it is decided."

    Mildred stood, and before Grace knew it, she was being helped up from her seat and escorted out of the Martins' parlor and toward the front door.

    "I assume Doc Hemingway will deliver the child?" Mildred asked.

    Grace nodded but did not answer.

    "He did such a fine job with my Daisy. I would not possibly trust any method other than Western practices for something so important as bringing a baby into the world. Beware of the voodoo rituals of the natives, am I right, my dear?"

    Grace nodded again.

    "You take care of yourself, and as I said, Reverend Martin will speak with Reverend Watson. It will all be arranged."

    Mildred helped Grace out onto the Martins' porch, where she promptly left her. Grace glanced around the desolate courtyard and let out an audible sigh when she finally spotted Mai Lin. The old woman was crouched under a forlorn tree, spitting betel quid into the dust.

A
lthough it was not customary for the missionary wives to accompany their cooks, number-one boys, or amahs to market, Grace thought that a rare expedition of this sort was acceptable. She had been holed up in the compound for she couldn't recall how long, and on a cool midautumn day like this, she positively needed to walk and feel the crisp air.

    She tugged her wool coat tighter around her middle, although it would no longer button shut, and held Mai Lin's arm. They wove through the sorry-looking market stalls that displayed small piles of shriveled potatoes and wilted greens. Grace began to notice that the whole setup appeared rather pathetic: the toothless vendors, hollowchested farmers, and their gnarled-looking wives had barely any produce for sale. Grace knew that she and Mai Lin made an odd-looking couple, but somehow she also sensed that they suited this miserable place.