Paper Wife, Page 2

  The garden provided the family with some food, but not enough for six stomachs. Mah-ma and Ahma pretended to eat, but Mei Ling saw that they had lost much of their flesh to keep the younger generation healthy. They would not survive another winter without more food or fewer mouths.

  Mei Ling and Jah Jeh were more burden than support. At eighteen and nineteen years old, it was time for them to marry, to make lives of their own outside of their childhood family. They could delay no longer.

  Mei Ling walked past her father without comment. She joined the women in the kitchen, preparing rice and vegetables for a midday meal. Like Mah-ma, Ahma was hardly hampered by her lotus feet. She toddled around the kitchen, bearing any discomfort without complaint as she had for most of her life. Mah-ma considered killing one of their precious few chickens but decided to wait until tomorrow, Jah Jeh’s last day with them.

  “It is a bitter and sweet day,” Ahma acknowledged with a kind pat on Mei Ling’s shoulder.

  Ahma was attempting to be a comfort, but Mei Ling could not believe there was anything sweet about this day. She had not grown up expecting that she or Jah Jeh would be lost entirely to their family once they were married. Mah-ma did not want them to share the fate of so many Chinese women. They had believed they would marry progressive thinkers in Guangzhou—businessmen or scholars—who would be proud to have educated wives with natural feet.

  Leaving their home because of the warfare was tragic, but the deaths were a devastating loss that Mei Ling could not accept. Cholera was a common companion of war—and far more fatal than metal blades or bullets. Months before the soldiers forced them to leave, Dai Low and Mui Mui, Mei Ling’s eldest brother and younger sister, had succumbed to the disease in a matter of days as the family helplessly watched them become dehydrated and then die, leaving only three children in the family: Jah Jeh, eldest sister, Mei Ling, and Dai Dai, youngest brother.

  Ahma interrupted Mei Ling’s thoughts. “She will adjust, as Rabbits do, darting quickly in a new direction to keep safe.”

  Unspoken was the warning that Mei Ling would be wise to mimic her sister. Now that Jah Jeh’s future was secured, Mother and Grandmother would scrape together the gold to find Mei Ling a husband, but it was common knowledge that female Dragons were challenging wives. Mei Ling would need to keep her fire contained if she wanted a harmonious marriage.

  CHAPTER 2

  Ancestral village

  Guangdong Province

  March 1923

  Mei Ling woke up in a sweat. It was still dark out, so she did not rise but rather breathed deeply to calm her beating heart. Our last full day together, she thought. She and Jah Jeh had slept in the same bed for as long as Mei Ling could remember, and tomorrow they would say a forever goodbye. Mei Ling did not share her sister’s conviction that she would return to China in the future.

  Mei Ling rolled over carefully so as not to disturb her sleeping companion, but she needn’t have bothered. Jah Jeh’s face shone with a glaze that came from a high fever. Mei Ling sat up and placed her hand on her sister’s red and sweaty forehead. She was burning hot. She thought back to yesterday. Her sister had not complained of stomach pain, a headache, or weakness. She hadn’t coughed in the night or soiled herself. Her heart shimmied between hope and fear and landed on the side of hope that Jah Jeh did not have a life-threatening illness, but that this fever would prevent her sister from traveling tomorrow.

  Though it was early, Mei Ling rose to stoke the fire for tea water, but Ahma was already tending to the task when Mei Ling came into the kitchen after relieving herself outside.

  “You cannot change her fate,” Ahma reminded her, as if she read Mei Ling’s thoughts.

  “She is ill, with a high fever.”

  Ahma nodded as if her granddaughter had just confirmed something she already believed, then left to check on Jah Jeh and returned without comment.

  They worked together in silence, warming rice porridge and boiling tea. Her grandmother pulled out the medicine for a fever, a foul-smelling and fouler-tasting mixture from the herbalist in the neighboring village.

  Mei Ling was slowly spooning the concoction into her sister’s mouth when Mah-ma came in to check on Jah Jeh. She touched her daughter’s warm body and then sighed. Mei Ling could not make out the words between her mother and grandmother, but she suspected they were discussing the merits of sending for the herbalist. They had stopped paying for his treatments as their income ran out. He would most likely be unwilling to come now.

  Mei Ling looked at the trunk sitting in the corner of their room. The thought It might be unpacked tomorrow jumped into her mind, causing her heart to flutter with desire. Perhaps her sister’s fate was going to be in China and not the United States.

  No one called for the herbalist. Instead they spent the day in quiet whispers and prayers, caring for Jah Jeh. When the fever did not go away by bedtime, Mah-ma sent Mei Ling to sleep with Ahma. Mei Ling willed herself to lie quietly, but agitation and uncertainty filled her body and her dreams. In the morning nothing had changed.

  By the time the matchmaker knocked on the door, Mei Ling was confident her sister would not be leaving with the old woman.

  Mei Ling welcomed the tingle of the cool breeze on her face as she opened the door. The matchmaker marched in, but stopped suddenly when she saw the empty space between Fuchan and Mah-ma. Mei Ling felt a deep satisfaction that this woman was about to be delivered some bad news.

  Her mother poured tea as the tension built in the silence. When cups were settled in their rightful places, Fuchan was the first to speak.

  “A tragedy has befallen our family.”

  The woman arched her brows, silently encouraging him to proceed.

  “Our daughter is too ill to travel,” Fuchan continued. “We are sorry, but we cannot fulfill our contract. Fate has another plan for our Jah Jeh.”

  Mei Ling sighed in relief at these words spoken out loud.

  The woman looked around the room, incredulity covering her features. “Where is she?” the woman challenged.

  Mah-ma rose and the woman followed her to the bedside. Jah Jeh was curled on her side, sweat glistening on her slack face. Her breathing was shallow, and she showed no awareness of the world around her. By all rights Mei Ling should be filled with worry for her ill sister, but she was more relieved that her dearest companion would be remaining in their home.

  The matchmaker returned to her seat, a steely anger covering her face.

  “We are an honorable family but cannot argue with the fates. Please, we must have a refund,” Fuchan declared. “You may arrange the marriage with the other household.”

  The woman slowly shook her head. “It is too late.”

  Mei Ling’s Dragon stirred. Fire flared in her chest and an argument clawed at her throat. How could the matchmaker refuse their fair request?

  The woman looked directly at Mei Ling, assessing her up and down like something to be purchased. Panic overtook her anger; her Dragon wings beat hard, urging her to take flight.

  “What is the day of your birth?” the matchmaker demanded.

  “No!” Mei Ling responded without thought.

  Mah-ma looked worried. She stared at the woman, then at Fuchan.

  Fuchan whispered, “November 1904.”

  “Dragon.” The woman shook her head. “You must not reveal your actual birth date. He is expecting a Rabbit, so a Rabbit you must be. But otherwise you will do.”

  Her body rebelling, Mei Ling’s knees gave way. She braced herself on Ahma’s chair. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

  The woman glared at Mei Ling and threatened, “If you do not trade identities with your sister, you will not be given another offer for marriage—nor will she. No matchmaker will work with your family again. Your fate and your sister’s future require this of you.”

  Mei Ling looked at her family. Fuchan stared at the floor, defeat on his face. Mah-ma bit her lip and nodded to Mei Ling. Was that reassurance or encouragement? Eith
er way, she was agreeing to this contract. Ahma whispered up to Mei Ling, her voice tight but definitive, “This is your destiny.”

  It hit Mei Ling with sudden certainty: each of them had anticipated this exchange. Her Dragon roared in protest.

  She looked at her family, pain riddling each of their faces. But strong feelings did not change their situation; it was time for her to leave home. They each knew this day would come, just not today in this way.

  Mei Ling took a deep breath to calm her Dragon. She would not add an emotional outburst to the pain.

  Through the screeching in her mind she faintly heard the woman explain, “You have one hour to prepare. I will wait at the temple for you.” Then the matchmaker rose and walked into the morning that Mei Ling had so recently welcomed in, unaware of the danger and disruption that it was springing upon her.

  For once, Mei Ling was frozen. Her mouth could not form the jumbled words in her brain. How . . . ? What . . . ? Now?! Her eyes stung.

  Mah-ma jumped into action, disappearing into their bedroom. Fuchan patted Mei Ling’s shoulder as he shuffled by. Mei Ling gave in to gravity, her legs so weak it was a relief to collapse into the chair still warm from the woman who was destroying her life.

  Ahma opened her hand, revealing a jumble of gold coins. Mei Ling gasped. She hadn’t seen that much money for many years. Ceremoniously, Ahma slipped them into a small, flat pouch of fabric, lifted the hem of Mei Ling’s skirt without saying a word, and started sewing the pouch into a fold of Mei Ling’s dress with a threaded needle that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  “A wife obeys her husband, yes,” Ahma instructed. “But a wise woman earns her own money and saves for the emergencies that a husband cannot see coming. Give him most of your earnings but hold back a portion. A mother protects her children—always.” Ahma’s voice cracked, sending a lightning bolt of sorrow through Mei Ling.

  “In case he has no elders: Xinyi for your son; Jingyi for your daughter.”

  Mei Ling was confused, but then understanding took hold: her grandmother was naming her future children.

  Tears pushed at the corners of Mei Ling’s eyes. She was shamed by her public display of emotion but helpless against the force. This was all too much to take in. She wanted to protest, to find another path, but the certainty in her mother and grandmother pushed her along.

  “Do you really believe I can find joy in children born so far from home?” Mei Ling asked, her voice tight.

  Ahma replied, “For centuries women have borne the burden of leaving all that they love to begin a new life. You are stronger than most. There is no reason that you cannot make a harmonious life.”

  Her grandmother came close and gently cradled the sides of Mei Ling’s face, her gnarled thumbs wiping at Mei Ling’s tears. Ahma leaned over slowly and planted a kiss on the crown of her granddaughter’s head. Mei Ling breathed in the feeling of her elder. Ahma tipped Mei Ling’s head back to look into her face. Mei Ling resisted looking directly at her grandmother, afraid she would break down altogether. But Ahma did not let her hide. When they were looking eye-to-eye at one another, Ahma said in a hoarse voice, “And now I will tell you what my grandmother said to me the last time I saw her.”

  A wave of sorrow crashed over Mei Ling.

  Ahma whispered, “Every time I see the moon, I shall send you a blessing, knowing the same moon will soon shine my blessing down upon you.”

  Mei Ling sucked in a jerky breath and nodded. She tried to smile but her cheeks were too tight. Her jaw was locked and would not form words. She hoped her grandmother could feel the unspeakable pain in her heart. Ahma nodded back, kissed her crown once again, and released her.

  As soon as Ahma walked away, Fuchan shuffled up, a book in his hand.

  Mei Ling was still reeling from her grandmother’s words when he declared, “For you.”

  Mei Ling was confused. She thought this book had been sold with most of the others.

  “I saved one for each child. The Analects of Confucius. Wisdom that will guide you in living a righteous life.”

  “Thank you, Fuchan.” Mei Ling swallowed hard and bowed. “I will treasure it for always.”

  “Write when you are able. Please.” He set paper, ink, and a pen on the table in front of her.

  Mei Ling nodded.

  Without a break, Mah-ma grabbed her hand and led Mei Ling into the kitchen. She must have been waiting for Fuchan to finish speaking with her. “You shall take my Quan Yin,” she declared.

  “What? No!” Mei Ling replied. This was her mother’s most precious object.

  “Yes,” Mah-ma insisted. “We will trade. You will have mine, from my mother. I will have yours. When your sister leaves, we shall trade. She will have yours and I will have hers. By this we will all be connected . . . across the miles and hours.” Mah-ma exhaled and then went on. “I never saw my mother again, but I carried her with me always.”

  Mei Ling nodded, her throat unbearably tight. Mah-ma’s words of wisdom sounded calm and measured, but Mei Ling heard the emotion underneath.

  “We do not know our fate. This may be a forever goodbye; it may only be for years. My love for you will never waver, however long or however far.”

  Mei Ling did not bother to wipe away the tears that streamed down her face. How could she possibly walk away from her family forever? Her mother and grandmother had done it. She’d heard them speak of it, but never imagined them this scared and frightened or young. In the stories they’d seemed so old. Had they felt like this?

  Mah-ma coached, “It will seem impossible to take the first step. But on the second step, since you already did one, you know you can take another. Then another and another. Before long you will have walked into your new life. Do not believe you are betraying us by loving your new home,” Mah-ma said, her voice quavering as her emotion broke through finally. “I—we—will celebrate your happiness. And do not hide your sorrows too deeply from us.”

  Mei Ling nodded, working to take in her mother’s words, not just feel her emotion.

  “I asked my husband to teach my daughters to read and write so we would know one another should we be parted.”

  Mah-ma unwrapped a bundle of cloth to reveal bright-green plant stalks.

  “Two chrysanthemum,” she said, her voice tight. “And two peony. May they take root in your new life, bearing you beauty and comfort for years to come.”

  Mei Ling sucked in her breath. These stalks descended from the plants her mother’s mother had given to Mah-ma on the day she had left home. For decades their family drank chrysanthemum tea and enjoyed flowers in the spring from the mothers of these cuttings. Mei Ling took the stalks with a small bow, her hand shaking from emotion.

  “Work hard, be kind, be humble—and you will live a harmonious life.” Mah-ma pronounced the familiar refrain, the advice she’d given her daughters for as long as Mei Ling could remember.

  Mah-ma led Mei Ling to her bedroom. A red silk skirt and tunic plus an exquisitely embroidered red jacket lay on the bed next to Jah Jeh. Mei Ling’s lungs caught.

  “Change into your wedding attire, and then say goodbye to your sister,” Mah-ma said in a flat voice.

  Mei Ling inhaled deeply. Her knees felt weak as she removed her plain black tunic and pants. The silk clothes were smooth and lovely against her skin, yet foreign, as if she were putting on a costume. Mah-ma helped her into the jacket, even fastening the frog enclosures like when Mei Ling was a child.

  “You are ready.” Mah-ma patted Mei Ling’s shoulder. Tears glistened at the corner of her mother’s eyes. Mei Ling didn’t feel ready, but saying so wouldn’t change anything.

  She went to her sister’s side and took Jah Jeh’s hand in her own. It was limp and warm. Her face was still shiny and slack. Her unresponsive sister would awaken to a nightmare: her path taken by Mei Ling. It was hard to know how she would feel: perhaps a measure of relief along with a huge dose of fear and sorrow about her own uncertain future. Or righteously angry that Mei Ling had
taken her dowry funds and her turn at a first marriage.

  “I will think of you every day,” Mei Ling whispered through a tight throat to the sleeping young woman. “Thank you for being my Jah Jeh.”

  Mei Ling squeezed her sister’s hand and then let go.

  The trunk sat on the dusty floor in the living room, no longer filled with Jah Jeh’s belongings. Mei Ling felt ill seeing her own neatly folded clothes inside. Mah-ma placed the jade Quan Yin, wrapped tight in an embroidered silk cloth, followed by the paper, ink, and pen in the trunk. On top went the picture of the family—from before, when Dai Low and Mui Mui were still alive. The book and the cuttings were slipped down one side; her embroidery set was slid into the other edge. Then Mah-ma closed the lid on Mei Ling’s life.

  Mei Ling gestured to Dai Dai. Her brother walked to her with his head bowed down and his face hidden. She bent over and whispered into his ear, “I will think of you from across the ocean. Be an obedient and helpful son. Soon it will only be you to care for Fuchan and Mah-ma.”

  He gave a quick nod. She held out her fisted hand, turned it over, and slowly revealed a jade turtle.

  She explained, “This was Dai Low’s treasure. And now it is yours to remember him . . . and me.” She swallowed hard. She wished she could give him a reassuring look, but she kept her eyes averted rather than let him see the distress in her soul.

  Ahma walked to their family altar. Fuchan, Mah-ma, and Dai Dai joined her. Mei Ling took her place by her younger brother. They kowtowed in unison, each bending all the way to the ground, inhaling deeply, and then standing again. Three times in all. Mei Ling bit her lip hard to hold back the force of sorrow that pushed at her throat.

  When they were done, she bowed low to Ahma and then Mah-ma, her eyes downcast. She could not possibly look directly at them; otherwise her emotions would increase the suffering of the day. Mei Ling paused at the threshold to take one last look at this house that would no longer be her home. Once she was married, she was supposed to give up her own ancestors out of loyalty to her husband’s. But she vowed as she left that her devotion to her own family would never end.