The Girl Who Wrote in Silk (26 page)

Thursday, August 16—present day

Rothesay Estate, Orcas Island

Over the four days since learning that Yan-Tao McElroy and Ken Chin were one and the same person, Inara had buried herself in work on the hotel. She’d come home from Seattle and immediately packaged up the sleeve and overnighted it to Daniel so he could have his team do further research on it now that they knew it belonged to his family’s robe. And then she’d pushed the sleeve, Mei Lien, Yan-Tao, and even Daniel out of her mind.

She’d told herself it was because she had only two short weeks until her deadline and she had to focus solely on the hotel. In two weeks her dad would come up to inspect everything and then make his decision on whether or not he’d continue to provide funding.

Which he had to do, he had to. She hadn’t found another investor. She had to stay hopeful that once her dad saw this place and all the work she’d accomplished, he’d finally believe in her and her vision. And once he did, she’d be free to finish the renovations and set a date for opening next summer.

Thinking of her dad now, only two weeks from the deadline, she realized she needed to call him, find out if he planned to arrive on Friday of Labor Day weekend, or Saturday.

She’d use the short time between now and then, minus the two days she’d be hosting the Chin family, to finish as much as possible. There was no furniture in any of the guest rooms yet, but carpet would be installed this week, which would go a long way toward making the place feel finished.

She set the paint roller she’d been using in the main floor bathroom back into its tray and headed through the restaurant to the back patio, away from the construction noise. Out here the heat intensified, even in the shade, and she stretched toward the sun, loving the feel of it.

She settled herself on the low stone wall separating patio and grass and punched in her father’s office number on her cell.

“Inara? Haven’t heard from you in a while.” Her father’s voice sounded annoyed and distracted, which was normal for the middle of a workday. “What’s up?”

“Hi, Dad.” She kept her voice light. “I’m calling to see what your plans are for Labor Day weekend. I can’t wait for you to see what I’ve done with the place.”

“Labor Day weekend? What are you talking about?” The muffled sound of a hand covering the receiver echoed through the line and she knew he was talking to someone else in the room.

She waited a beat then answered his question. “That’s when you’re coming up to see the hotel and give me your decision on the loan, remember?” Her stomach cramped. She got up to walk along the length of the patio.

“Nara-girl, I can’t. I’ll be on a plane to Hong Kong that weekend.”

Trying not to lose her temper, she offered, “Well, the following weekend, then. You can come then, right?”

His sigh blew through the phone, telling her exactly what she was afraid of. He wasn’t coming at all.

Her whole body felt cold, even standing in the sun, so she wrapped her free arm around herself. “What’s going on, Dad?”

“Look, I thought your idea to turn Rothesay into a hotel was brilliant. The work you’re doing on the estate this summer will help attract bigger buyers. Hotel chains, resorts. My investment will help you get more from the property in the end.”

“I don’t want to sell, Dad. I want to run the hotel myself.”

“What do you know about running a hotel, Inara? Nothing.” He paused, then almost immediately started talking again, his tone cool. “I’m glad you had fun over the summer cleaning the place up, but it’s time you get a real job.”

Rage burned through her. “Like Starbucks, I suppose?”

“Exactly.” He sounded pleased. “Call Lacey at Luxe and get the place listed. The sooner the better.”

“I’m not selling.” She didn’t know how she’d do it, but she’d find an investor. Or at least a loan. Somehow.

“Inara,” he snapped. “I don’t have the cash to keep supporting you. I’m sorry. The Yŏu Yì deal took more cash to close than I anticipated. Even if I wanted to go into the hotel business with you, I just can’t swing it right now.”

She had to wait for her heart to get out of her throat before she could speak. “So, that’s it?”

“Yes. That’s it. I’m calling in the loan.”

“Isn’t there something you can do? The hotel means a lot to m—”

“Inara, no.” His voice cut her off. “I’ve mentioned it to several associates the past couple months. I think you’ll find a buyer quickly.”

“Rothesay isn’t for sale.” She didn’t bother to wait for his reply. She punched the off button on her phone and dropped her arm to her side. Unable to move, she did nothing but stand where she was, staring through the trees to the water beyond as a war between tears and rage waged in her chest.

Had he taken her seriously at all, or had he simply humored her all summer, never really intending to give her a chance? He could be lying about the Yŏu Yì deal requiring more cash than he could handle. He could be using the excuse to get her to finally sell the estate and get a job. Like Duncan Campbell, was he looking for the biggest buck?

She scrubbed at her eyes with her fists. She was being ridiculous. All the craziness of this summer was driving her crazy now. Her father loved her. He wanted the best for her. He wouldn’t intentionally hurt her this way without a real reason.

But still, it hurt.

The sun was getting too hot, so she turned to go back inside but paused to look at the house.

She’d lost it. Despite the stubborn declaration she’d just made to her father, she didn’t have any choice but to put the estate on the market. But not yet. Not until she at least tried one more time to find someone else to help her. Surely she’d think of something.

But, for now, she didn’t have the funds to pay her construction workers. Better to tell Tom today to pull his crews out, go home.

Taking a deep breath, she started toward the French doors leading into the restaurant space to find Tom, purposely switching off the part of her that was dying inside.

Later, after the last pickup truck had disappeared through the trees toward the main road, Inara sat on the front steps of Dahlia’s house feeling so drained all she could do was stare at the manor. It looked like nothing more than a ghostly shell of a hotel that could have been.

She sat there staring for so long she completely lost track of time. The sound of her cell phone ringing jerked her back to attention.

Her first instinct was to let the call go to voice mail, but then she saw it was Daniel and she realized she needed to hear his voice, hear him tell her she’d be okay.

“Mom and Grandma are so excited for this weekend; it’s all they’re talking about.”

His voice was full of good humor and she suddenly realized she didn’t want to tell him that she’d lost her funding and was likely going to lose the property. She needed to spend some time processing it alone before she could talk with anyone else, even Daniel, about it.

“Will everyone be okay staying in my house since the hotel isn’t ready? I have two guest rooms and a pullout couch downstairs.”

“That sounds great. Hey, I’ve got some news about Ken. I mean, Yan-Tao. I still can’t believe I’m related to him.”

She couldn’t keep the pain from her voice much longer. “I look forward to hearing all about it, but I see Tom waving to get my attention. He must need something.” She swallowed, trying to ease the lump in her throat that formed with the lie. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay. I’ve got to call my mom back to coordinate our schedules for Saturday morning.” He paused. “This means a lot to my family, Inara. I hope you know that.”

“It means a lot to me too. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up before her voice cracked under the weight of all she wasn’t saying to him.

With nothing left to do, and tired of the empty hotel staring at her, she headed for the water.

The water would soothe her. The solitude would help her figure out what to do next.

October 1894

McElroy Farm, Orcas Island

The days that followed Joseph’s death became a blur to Mei Lien. She and Yan-Tao went about their chores and did their best to help each other through the day. That first night Mei Lien was again drawn to the water, and she went, knowing Joseph’s spirit would be there.

As soon as she’d reached the water, though, panic slammed into her, choking her as surely as the water demons choked her that night long ago when they tried to take her. She’d returned to the house immediately and crawled into bed next to Yan-Tao, promising herself she’d never let her son out of her sight again. She’d never leave him alone.

The next night, she took Yan-Tao with her to the water, and every night after that. The spirits called loudly, demanding she go.

Yan-Tao sat on a boulder and listened to her talk to their ancestors, and he listened to her talk to Joseph. Before long, he joined her at the water’s edge. She taught him how to make an offering to the spirits so they might have food to nourish them on their journey to the afterworld. She taught him how to look for signs of Joseph in the animals, in the golden leaves that drifted on the water’s surface, and in the water itself.

Together they found Joseph everywhere. He was in the horses that nickered softly to them every morning as if to comfort them in his absence. He was in the fog that drifted through the trees to wrap around their farm like a cocoon. He was in every plank and nail of the house Joseph had built for them to keep them safe and warm.

Life became a numb repetition of chores, meals, and all the tiny moments of remembering. She couldn’t sleep. She’d close her eyes and feel the gaping emptiness where Joseph should be, his absence like a missing limb. Instead of battling the loneliness, she gave into it, spending hours every night embroidering her story for her son and, she realized now, for her lost husband.

She was nearly finished. Another year to work on it would be ideal, but she worried she didn’t have that long. Her belly ached constantly now, the pulls and twinges fighting each other for her attention. She no longer wanted to eat and only pretended to so Yan-Tao wouldn’t ask why she wasn’t hungry.

With the embroidery unfinished, she’d cut the embroidered pieces off the frame while she still had the strength and had assembled them into the ceremonial robe Yan-Tao would one day wear. The left sleeve, the most difficult to create because of the story she’d chosen to reveal there, was the only piece left undone. Still, she attached it to the robe.

Weeks passed. The cold western wind swept over the island, freezing the ground and the spring so they had to bring water in every evening for the next day. Though they did their best, the two of them could not bring in all of the crops, and the carrots, squash, potatoes, even the apples on the trees were all rotting or turning black from the frost. The salted meat in the milk house was dwindling rapidly.

She went out to feed the pigs and chickens one morning and found them all dead in their pens, their spilled blood solid on the frozen ground, a sign that the killings had occurred the previous night, before the temperature dropped. She hadn’t heard a thing.

The slaughter had been made to look like an animal had done it, with sharp teeth and claws rather than a neat blade, but Mei Lien saw boot prints left in the now-frozen mud. Boot prints that led to Campbell’s property.

With Joseph gone, he was taking greater risks to get her land. Fear made her limbs quake, but she managed to go inside and get the shotgun. It never left her side after that.

One month after Joseph left—for she marked time not by the day she learned of his death but by the day he walked off the farm—Mei Lien was in the barn milking the cow, numbly going through the motions as always. Cold wind whistled through the cracks between the logs, reminding her that Joseph had meant to shore it up before winter set in. She’d have to find a way to do it herself. She reached under the cow to give the teat a pull when pain slammed into her.

Waves of agony shot through her body so hard and fast they left her dizzy. Pinpricks of light filled her vision, and nausea rolled through her, causing a sheen of sweat to coat her skin. With a moan, she fell against the cow, but the cow danced aside and Mei Lien felt herself falling forward with no way to stop herself.

She landed on the milk pail, knocking it over as she fell into the straw covering the dirt floor. Pain screamed through her body over and over, and Mei Lien could do nothing but ride it out. She jerked her head to the side just in time to empty her stomach onto the ground. Tears flooded her cheeks. Fear slicked over her body, racking her alternately with sweat and cold.

Her body did not feel like her own. It was ruled by some devilish tormentor. All she could do was hang on and hope she made it through.

She had to make it through. Yan-Tao needed her. She was all he had.

She clung to the image of Yan-Tao’s precious face until the nausea and the shaking and the ripping feeling in her belly subsided, leaving her exhausted and aching, but alive.

Leaving the milk to soak into the ground, she started crawling to the barn doors, leaving the shotgun behind. Eventually she made it to the house where Yan-Tao was fast asleep upstairs.

It would be a long night, she knew, for she could no longer deny the truth she’d been hiding from herself. Forget defending her land from Campbell or even preserving food for winter. She had two things to focus on and two things only: one, she had to finish her embroidery; two, she had to make plans that would keep Yan-Tao safe. Soon she’d be forced to do the one thing she’d promised herself she’d never do—leave her child all alone.

She was dying.

• • •

By morning Mei Lien had a plan.

Her first thought was to pack up what belongings they could load into the wagon and catch the first transport barge to Victoria, Whatcom, or Port Townsend, where she’d find a Chinese family to adopt Yan-Tao.

She went out to the barn to hitch the horse to the wagon and bring it up to the house, where she could start loading it.

She got as far as the horse’s stall when she realized the plan would never work. She couldn’t even stand upright, let alone manage a horse pulling a heavy wagon. If she could get the wagon loaded in the first place, which was doubtful.

Crying with frustration and pain, she returned to the house and curled up on the sofa, where she stared at the shadows dancing on the wall from her lantern and thought of her limited options.

She had to act now. She couldn’t consign Yan-Tao to the horror of finding his mother’s dead body one day soon. He’d be forced to find his own way in the world, forced to defend against Campbell’s manipulations. She didn’t doubt for a moment what Campbell would do once word got out that she was dead. He’d be over here, claiming the property for himself, doing away with the lone survivor of the family who had lived here. Now that she thought of it, she was surprised he hadn’t gotten rid of them both already and taken the property.

She would sooner take Yan-Tao to the afterworld herself than leave him in Campbell’s hands.

And that was when she realized what she must do.

As soon as morning light filtered into the room, she forced herself to her feet and shuffled into the kitchen. Since she hadn’t undressed last night to go to bed, she didn’t have to struggle into her clothes.

“Yan-Tao, time to wake up!” she called up the stairs. As quickly as her exhausted body allowed, she put together a breakfast for Yan-Tao made up of cold rice leftover from last night’s dinner mixed with a diced apple. If Joseph had made it home from Port Townsend, she’d have cinnamon to sprinkle on top, but instead she stirred in a spoonful of sugar as a special treat. “Yan-Tao!” she called again.

He clomped down the stairs, rubbing his eyes with his small fists. “
Nĭ hăo
, Mama.”

“
Nĭ hăo, hŭzĭ.
” As he plopped into his chair, she got a good look at his face and saw that it was puffy, his eyes bloodshot with dried tears pooled at the corners and streaking into his hairline. The invisible fist that usually squeezed her abdomen now squeezed her chest, bringing tears to her own eyes.

“Thinking of Father?” she asked softly, knowing the answer.

He nodded but kept his gaze on his rice.

“I think of him too. I miss him.” The invisible fist climbed up her throat, choking off her words. She swallowed, but the pressure didn’t ease. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I want him to come home.”

Mei Lien opened her eyes to look at her son. He was the perfect combination of herself and Joseph, with his short black hair, strong jaw, and round cheeks. All but his face had already lost the roundness of childhood, and soon he’d grow long and lanky, half boy, half man. She wouldn’t be there to see it. She’d never know the kind of man he would become.

Nausea welled in her throat. She carefully swallowed and took slow, deep breaths to keep it under control, but her stomach heaved anyway, leaving her no choice but to dash to the sink and heave up the bile that was the only thing filling her stomach.

“Mama, are you sick?”

Mei Lien closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the side of the sink. Until now she’d managed to hide the worst of her symptoms from her son. “Yes, I am,” she finally answered without moving.

“Go lie down, Mama. I’ll take care of you.” She heard his chair scrape back and knew he was coming to her, ready to take on his duty as man of the house.

If only it were that simple.

Even though her limbs trembled, she pushed herself upright and turned to face him. He stood beside her with his jaw set, shoulders back, ready to take on the load he shouldn’t have to carry at such a young age. Only his eyes betrayed his fear.

Stop
thinking
of
that
, she scolded herself.
You
must
help
him
be
strong
or
he
will
not
survive.

Throwing back her own shoulders, she raised her chin and forced a smile for her son. “Thank you for taking care of me, but I’m afraid what I have won’t go away with rest.” She cupped his sweet face with her hands and stared into his eyes, trying to imprint the love she felt for him onto his soul to carry him through what was to come. “I’m dying, Yan-Tao. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, denying her words.

She nodded. “It’s true.”

His face crumpled in her hands, and he fell into her arms, his forehead hitting her chest painfully, but the sink behind her held her up. She wrapped her arms around him and gave into the sobs that again choked her.

Together they slid to the floor and cried at the injustice of their lives. For Joseph who should be here with them. For the knowledge that Yan-Tao’s childhood was now over. No matter what happened to him, he would be forced to grow up. And he’d be all alone.

She cried for her baby, who needed a mother and father and was losing both within months of each other.

She cried for herself and all the people who had been ripped from her life.

After a long time, she felt her tears dry up and saw Yan-Tao’s had as well. They stayed where they were, mother and son wrapped together for what was one of the last times, and did nothing more than breathe each other in. His scent—that boyish smell of sweat and fresh air—filled her, cutting her apart and strengthening her at the same time. “I love you, Yan-Tao,” she said to the top of his head, thinking of all the times she should have said it to him before now, how she’d never said it to Joseph. “No matter what, always remember that I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama,” he mumbled against her chest.

With one last squeeze, she set him away from her. “We have an important errand to do now, and I can’t do it without you. Go get your coat and meet me outside.”

He wiped his eyes with a look of uncertainty as he stared at her face. Then, with a nod, he scooted back and pulled himself up before turning to do her bidding. At that moment, she knew he’d shed the last of the little boy he’d been.

• • •

“Six hundred. No more.” Campbell sniffed, then spat onto the ground as his eyes watched her carefully.

Mei Lien held tight to Yan-Tao’s hand, taking strength from his touch. They stood in Campbell’s yard in front of a house that was even smaller than the cabin Joseph had lived in when they’d first met. The field and tiny orchard they’d walked through to get here were hemmed in by rocky outcroppings and thick forests that grew on a mountainside that seemed nearly vertical. No wonder he’d wanted Joseph’s land so badly all these years.

Now he was going to get the land, the buildings, livestock, bay, everything.

She shook her head. “Mr. Campbell, you and I both know my farm is worth a lot more than that, and we both know I can get another buyer as soon as I put word out that I’m selling. Do you really want someone else buying what you’ve had your eye on all these years?”

Carefully, she kept her chin lifted and her shoulders back, refusing to let him see any sign of weakness. If he knew how sick she was, how exhausted she felt, he’d know how impossible it would be for her to find another buyer. She needed the sale today.

Campbell’s mouth twisted in disgust as his eyes traveled over her and Yan-Tao but she didn’t look away. He glanced over his shoulder at his cabin then toward his potato patch and she knew he was thinking of how badly he wanted her land. She kept her mouth shut, waiting for him to fill the silence.

Which he did with a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll pay you nine hundred for everything.”

She nodded, not done yet. “You’ll give me the cash by Friday, and you’ll allow my son and me to remain living there until the end of the year, nine weeks away. Agreed?”

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward. “You’d better be gone by January first, or I’m throwing you off my land.”

She didn’t back away, even when confronted with his violence. “We’ll be gone by then, don’t you worry.”