The Girl Who Wrote in Silk (4 page)

With Grandmother on her back, Mei Lien followed the men down the stairs, where the smell of burning cabbage made her eyes water. Candle flames danced on the family altar, lighting the tintype picture of the mother she’d never known in a way that made her seem to be looking directly at Mei Lien. “
Bàba
, the pictures,” she murmured, reminding him to stash them with their belongings, which he did, shoving them into Grandmother’s bag. Resigned to leaving the rest of their belongings behind, they turned toward the store out front.

They found the shorter white devil in the store filling his pockets with tins of opium and tobacco. Mei Lien ignored him as she passed, her shoes crunching over broken glass. When she emerged out of the shadowed interior of the store onto the wooden sidewalk, Mei Lien instinctively shuffled sideways, pressing herself and Grandmother, weighing heavily on her back, against the glass front of Father’s store.

The crowd that had gathered on the street looked like something out of a bad dream, unconnected to the outside world and enshrouded by drifting fog and daylight filtered through a gray, drizzling sky. Pale-faced men in black and brown suits and hats hovered around and over the smaller Chinese men, who wore the same gray loose jacket and pants as Mei Lien and her father. Grandmother’s jacket surely stood out as the only spot of color on this dreadful morning, though Mei Lien could not see more than the sleeves wrapped around her neck. She huddled against the building, suddenly afraid of the unprovoked hatred she felt from the crowd.

Even in the cold, the air hung thick with the acrid stench from the tide flats and the backed-up sewer pipe that leaked into the street. An occasional gust of salt air carrying the scent of tar from the docks did little to ease the stench. Down the street, as far as the fog allowed her to see, Chinese men were being herded along like cattle by rows of angry white men brandishing guns and sticks.

“I’ll get us out of this,” Father whispered in Chinese as he paused beside her on the plank walkway. “Stay close.”

His words gave her the courage she needed to step with him into the flow of people in the dirt street. Her foot landed in horse manure, and she felt herself start to slip. With Grandmother’s weight throwing her off, it was impossible to stop her fall.

But just then, two strong hands grabbed her and held her upright, with Grandmother still clinging safely to her back. Mei Lien lifted her gaze to see who had helped her and found it was the youngest of the Yeung brothers. She smiled her thanks, but he just frowned and turned away, prodded by the end of a rifle.

That same rifle dug into her side. “Get moving, boy.”

Given no other choice, Mei Lien obeyed. With the muscles in her legs and back burning, and the more devastating fire of fear searing her chest, she started downhill toward the water with the rest of the Chinese being dragged from their homes.

“My son, over here!” Father’s call came from the alley between his store and the laundry next door. He would never use her name outside their home, but she recognized his voice.

As quickly as she could under her burden and with the white devils herding everyone along, she made her way to the alley, where she found Father with his back pressed against the damp wood siding, his eyes darting behind her.

“Quickly, this way.” He pushed away from the wall and headed deeper into the alley, leading them, she hoped, to safety and a chance to stay in this land.

“You there. Stop!”

The shout made them quicken their steps. Mei Lien dug deep inside herself for the strength to move, even though Grandmother’s weight made her feel like she was trying to run in a dream where her legs would not work. She pushed on, hearing footsteps behind them. Getting closer.

All she saw then was a blur of darkness passing beside her and her father dropping to the mud. Mei Lien lurched to a stop before she tripped over him and the white man who was grabbing him, pulling him up with fists as large as Father’s entire face.

“Where d’you think yer goin’?” The man didn’t wait for an answer before he slammed his fist into Father’s cheek, making his head snap back with a crack. The man’s black mustache twitched over a smile that made the cold fog sink deep into Mei Lien’s bones.

“
Bok
Guey
! Let him go!” Grandmother let loose a tirade against the white devil, though he wouldn’t understand her words. Mei Lien started to slide Grandmother off her back so she could help Father, but Grandmother squeezed her neck tighter, choking her. “No, Mei Lien. He will hit you too,” she warned.

Knowing she was right, Mei Lien boosted Grandmother higher on her back, then dragged in a lungful of much-needed air.

Father was the gentlest person Mei Lien knew. He never raised his voice to her or the young men who came into his store on payday making demands and behaving like pigs. He’d never been in a fistfight in his life. To see him being beaten and dishonored hurt Mei Lien more than if she was the one receiving the punches. She couldn’t stand here and watch. She had to do something.

Bending over at the waist to balance Grandmother on her back, Mei Lien grabbed the man’s arm before he could slam his fist into Father’s bloodied face again. “Please, sir,” she pleaded in her best English. “Please stop hitting him. We will go to the ship with the others. We won’t cause any more trouble.”

Just then the crack of a gunshot echoed through the alley. Horror coursed through Mei Lien as she looked toward Father, searching him for signs of a bullet hole. His injuries appeared to be from the beating, not a gun, and he still breathed. Grandmother continued to yell in her ear, so she must have remained unharmed. Mei Lien closed her eyes in relief as she let out a shaky breath.

When she opened them again, she saw the white man still holding Father’s jacket twisted in his bloodied fists, though he was looking past Mei Lien toward Washington Street where the gunshot came from. Whatever he saw made his mouth twitch into a smirk, but she didn’t turn to see what caused it. She had to get them out of this alley alive.

“Please,” she said again. “We will go.”

When his black eyes landed on her, she saw hatred so pure it made her legs tremble. She drew herself as tall as Grandmother’s weight allowed, hoping that would hide the terror that sizzled through her.

With a growl of disgust, the man threw Father to the ground and stood up, dusting his meaty hands off as a slow smile again spread across his face. “Damn right you will, boy.” He kicked Father. “Now git, before I change my mind.”

Mei Lien did her best to help Father stand. One eye was swollen shut, and blood ran down his face from his nose and a cut on his cheek. Anger welled up in her, burning away her fear. He’d done nothing wrong. None of them were doing anything wrong. Their only crime was being Chinese, something the white people in America considered lower than farm animals. No matter that the Chinese had built their railroads, chopped their lumber, and canned their salmon. The Chinese had worked just as hard, if not harder, than any white man on this soil, but now they were being kicked out. Unwanted. Unclean. A nuisance.

“Son, we must go.” Father’s voice held a warning, and she knew he must have seen the anger raging inside her. She didn’t trust her voice for fear of unleashing her anger on the white man and causing him to hurt Father even more. Or kill him. Sobered by that thought, she just nodded and fell into step beside Father as he limped back to the street.

When they reached the wooden walkway again, she jerked to a stop and had to fight to remain standing as her legs threatened to crumble beneath her. Lying sprawled in the mud in front of them was the youngest Yeung brother, the one who had helped her. The back of his head had been shot off, leaving a gaping, bloody wound she knew would haunt her every time she closed her eyes. His sightless eyes stared into the alley she’d just come from. The other Chinese passing by them looked away.

“Get on with you,” the mustached man ordered, prodding her from behind.

Father pulled on her arm, and finally her feet cooperated, though she felt an unbearable weight crushing her body, a weight that she knew was more than just Grandmother. Together they stepped around the body and into the street toward the wagon that would carry them to the ship.

Sunday, May 27—present day

Rothesay Estate, Orcas Island

Olivia went upstairs to call home, but Inara was still studying the embroidered sleeve when she heard the sound of a car engine outside. That was when she remembered they’d left the main house doors wide open. Anyone could walk right in.

She rewrapped the sleeve in the blue-checkered cotton and left it on the kitchen table, hurrying through the sitting room to push the lace curtain aside and peer out.

A banged-up green pickup truck with tools in the back sat parked next to her car. A big man with rust-colored short hair, wearing a Carhartt jacket, strode toward the main house doors.

Despite a niggling feeling of unease, Inara slipped outside and called, “Hello? Can I help you?” She wasn’t about to let this stranger walk right into her family’s manor.

The man swung around to face her, his weathered eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

She lifted her chin. “Inara Erickson. The owner of Rothesay. Who are you?” She purposely matched the man’s confrontational tone.

Like sun coming from behind clouds, the man’s face lit up with a grin. He closed the distance between them and stuck out his hand. “Sorry, thought you were a nosy tourist or a squatter or something. Tom Gardner. My wife and I live across the road.”

She shook his hand, then let it go and took a step back.

He didn’t seem to notice the intentional distance as he stuck his hands in his pockets. “We got in the habit of helping Dahlia and Nancy out with the place. They mentioned you often, you know. Anyway, now that they’re…gone…” He paused and cleared his throat. “Now that they’re gone, we’ve kept on, wondering what’s going to happen to it.”

At the sight of this big man fighting emotion at the mention of losing Dahlia, Inara’s defenses dropped and she smiled. “Good to meet you. Was it you who mowed the grass?”

Tom nodded. His ruddy face turned back toward the main house. “So, what are you going to do with this place?”

Inara followed his gaze and saw it as he must—a neglected money pit. “I came here to see what needs doing to get it on the market.”

“You’re selling? What about the B and B?”

Her gaze shot back to Tom. “You know about that?” Inara had only found out about Dahlia’s plans a couple of weeks ago when the lawyer handed her the packet of materials Dahlia had pulled together.

He smiled and jerked his chin toward his truck. “Forgot to mention I’m a builder. Dahlia was relentless with her questions.” He paused, then added more quietly, “She was one smart lady.”

Before Inara could respond, Tom went on as though emotion hadn’t just roughened his voice. “So, you’re not going to do it? The B and B?”

Inara looked back at the house and tried to imagine the inn Dahlia had created in her plans. Her mind grabbed hold of the images and took them further, as it had been doing since she’d arrived. She could see her boutique hotel as clearly as if she’d been creating the vision all her life. “You know, I think I have a better idea. A boutique hotel.”

“What’s that?”

She still stared at the house, seeing her hotel. “Think elegance, impeccable service, privacy, modern amenities, and personalized attention.”

“Sounds like something my wife would like.”

Inara blinked and saw the house as it was now and all the work she was going to have to do. She turned back to Tom. “Now I just need to figure out how I’m going to pull it off.”

Worry threatened to completely erase her vision. This was going to be more than a full-time job. It would be a whole life change. And it meant she’d have to walk away from the Starbucks offer. Was that really what she wanted to do?

It also was going to take a lot of money she didn’t have. She glanced around at the potholed driveway and moss-covered fountain, thinking of the long list of items that needed attention and knowing there would be lots more she hadn’t yet thought of. Then, on top of all that, rooms would need to be reconfigured, bathrooms added, and utilities updated.

“I wonder what renovations are going to cost,” she murmured to herself.

“I can help you with that,” Tom said.

She squinted at him. “How?”

“I’m the best contractor in the islands, maybe on the mainland too.” He kicked at a rock on the pavement. “If you’re looking to get started soon, I have time on my schedule. Lost the bid on a job I was counting on.”

Inara felt a smile stretch across her face. Of course, she’d check his references, but something told her Dahlia had planned this all along. “Want to come in for tea and to discuss plans? You can meet my sister too.”

Tom glanced toward the sun before shaking his head. “Wish I could, but I’ve got a crew across the island that I need to check on before quittin’ time. I just came home to pick something up, and that’s when I saw you over here.”

“How about you give me your contact information and I’ll call you later this week?”

Tom pulled a well-used pad of paper and a carpenter’s pencil from his back pocket. After scribbling his info on the top sheet, he tore it off and handed it to her. Soon he was in his truck and heading out the driveway with one quick honk and a wave out his window.

Inara waved back, then looked down at the paper he’d given her, thrilled to have someone who wanted to help her.

A cool breeze fluttered the paper and caused her to shiver, making her realize how fast time was flying. She should grab Liv and head into town for dinner before it got dark. They planned to stay the night and catch an early ferry tomorrow to beat the Memorial Day holiday crowds later in the day.

Knowing she’d want to walk through the manor in the morning, she dashed through the house, turning off lights and locking the doors.

All the while, her heart raced with anticipation as she envisioned what might be.

Back in Dahlia’s house, she grabbed her keys off the kitchen table and called up the stairs, “Liv, you ready to head into town?”

“Be right down!”

While she waited, Inara unwrapped the embroidered sleeve again and was struck anew by the bold details in the pictures. It had to be significant if for no other reason than because someone had hidden it under the stairs. It could be her hobby, she decided. In between working on the hotel renovations, she could research where the sleeve had come from, who had made it, who had hidden it, and why.

This was going to be a fascinating summer.

• • •

Up before the sun, Inara wrapped herself in a blanket and settled on the front porch with hot tea and her laptop. As the forest woke around her, she dumped all the hotel ideas firing in her brain into several spreadsheets.

When she finally had everything down and felt a semblance of control over the project, she raised her arms overhead to stretch. Halfway up, she froze.

Just across the driveway a deer was nibbling on a bush. Inara watched, silent and unmoving, until the deer wandered away. Seeing the deer felt like a sign that being here was the right decision.

Fully awake now, she went back inside to refill her tea and see if Olivia was up yet. She wasn’t. As Inara headed back to the porch, her gaze caught on the sleeve still lying on the kitchen table. Grabbing it, she went back to the porch and her laptop and searched for the word
embroidery
. Quickly she realized the term was too vague. Next she tried
Asian
embroidery
. This yielded more promising results. Soon she was lost in her reading and barely noticed as her tea got cold.

The pictures and descriptions she found confirmed her suspicion that the sleeve was Asian, though from which specific country she couldn’t be sure.

Careful to keep the sleeve away from the layer of dust coating the porch furniture, she unfolded it to get another look and compare it to the embroidered clothing shown on the screen.

The sleeves on some Chinese garments had a similar style, but the embroidered design was totally different. Japanese kimonos had much fuller sleeves, again with different designs. She found significant differences in embroidered Korean, Vietnamese, and Indian robes, gowns, and jackets.

She was getting nowhere, and she was wasting time.

Still, she couldn’t just stash the sleeve away and forget about it. She pulled up a new search window and kept looking.

“Wow, I forgot how gorgeous mornings are here.”

Inara greeted her sister and only then noticed the spear of sun coming over Mount Constitution and bouncing off the dew droplets coating the cut grass at the bottom of the porch steps. Immediately she was back to being a kid, waking up early to go kayaking with her mom. Her mom used to tell her that she loved the morning best because even the wind was still asleep, which kept the water smooth as glass.

There was no better place to watch the world wake up than from on the water. Inara had felt so special being the one her mom took with her in the two-person kayak. She also loved the almond croissants her mom would buy from the bakery in town where they’d stop for breakfast.

Inara looked in the direction of the water, even though she couldn’t see it with the manor house in the way. “Want to take the kayaks out before we head home?”

Olivia dropped onto the padded love seat next to her, narrowly missing the sleeve. “Not really,” Olivia answered as she scrubbed her palms over her face. “I slept longer than I meant to, and Adam’s already called to see what time I’ll be home.”

“Think we can make the 8:50 ferry?”

Olivia glanced at her watch, then jumped to her feet. “Only if I hurry.”

As Olivia ran back inside, Inara took quick stock of what needed doing before she headed out and decided that, since she planned to return soon, all she really needed was to grab her overnight bag. She still had time for more sleeve research as she waited for Olivia to shower.

This time she typed
Asian
symbolism
into the search engine, thinking of the unfamiliar pictures and characters in the embroidery. Most of the results had to do with the actual Chinese or Japanese symbols in the written languages. She scrolled down and started seeing more promising options. After browsing a few sites, she stumbled onto one that seemed more academic.

It was a paper explaining how certain symbols in the Chinese culture denoted social standing, provided protection or good fortune, or represented a moral message. After typing the author’s name—Daniel Chin—into the search bar, she found he was a professor at the University of Washington–Seattle, her alma mater.

Perfect. He was local, and she’d bet he could tell her something about her sleeve.

She scribbled his contact information onto her notepad. Then, with a glance at the clock, she realized it was almost time to head for the ferry.

“Liv! You ready?” she called into the house through the open door. There was no reply, so she took that to mean she had a couple extra minutes. That was all she needed.

She quickly typed an email to the professor, telling him about the sleeve, describing the design embroidered on it, and asking if he could shed some light on it for her. She finished with a request for him to get back to her as soon as possible and listed her cell phone number. At the last minute, she decided to snap a picture of the sleeve and attach it to the email.
That ought to snag his attention.

Then she closed her laptop and gathered her things to go inside. “Olivia, time to go!”

She’d come back later this week to get started on the manor house renovations, she decided. That way she could meet with Tom and get the ball rolling.

And then a new thought struck, making her hands fall momentarily still. Dad. He wasn’t going to be happy about her plans. He’d been proud of her, bragging to everyone who’d listen about his daughter following his footsteps into international business.

A hotel could be considered international business. Right? She’d have guests from all over the world, after all.

The thought did little to comfort her as she climbed the stairs to get her bag—and Olivia. She’d have to get her dad on board tonight. Get it over with quickly.

• • •

The sun was hanging low over the Olympic Mountains as she let herself into her father’s house where she’d been living for the two years since he’d had his heart attack. After dropping her bag off in her room, she went in search of him and found him in his den on the computer.

“It’s Memorial Day, Dad. A holiday. Take a break.”

His gray-blue eyes lit up when he saw her, and a wry grin split his mouth. “Not in Shanghai, Nara-girl.”

She knew he was in the process of negotiating a business buyout that would expand the cruise ship side of the company into Southeast Asia, so she wasn’t surprised he was working. She was surprised, however, when he got up from his desk and came to sit with her on the leather sofa in front of the fireplace.

“Was it as bad as you thought?” he asked.

She paused, trying to figure out what to tell him. “It wasn’t too bad. The estate could use some work.”

“What about you?” He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

His compassion caught her off guard. She’d expected him to avoid the emotional side of her visit to the island. He hadn’t been back to the island since the accident either, but he never talked about that kind of thing. She knew he loved her, but their conversations usually revolved around safe topics like the company, her new job, and their family.

“It was rough,” she admitted, rubbing her fingers. “Olivia helped a lot. But when I got to Rothesay, it felt so good to be back, like I belong there. In fact, I’m heading up again in a couple days. You should come this weekend.”

“I’m proud of you, honey.” He put his hands on his knees like he was getting ready to stand up. “I’m sure the new owner is going to love it just as much.”

She noticed he didn’t reply to her suggestion, but she let it go and placed a hand on his arm to keep him from leaving. “Actually, I want to talk to you about that. Got a minute?”

He leaned back against the cushion. “What’s up?”

She shifted to face him. “Dahlia was a genius, Dad. When I looked at Rothesay with her plans in mind, I could totally see it. Remember that hotel we stayed in outside Bordeaux the summer I was fourteen?”