The Girl Who Wrote in Silk (6 page)

He leaned into her touch for a moment, causing Mei Lien’s heart to ache even more. This gentle, brave soul did not deserve the fate that awaited him. He, more than anyone, did not deserve this.

“Tell me, Daughter. What puts that expression on your face?”

Mei Lien closed her eyes, holding on to this moment before she spoke the words that would change everything. Right now they were a family caring for one another. After she told him what she knew, they would be a family fighting to survive, or crying at their inability to choose their own fate.

Tears fell before she could stop them, so she squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “Forgive me,
Bàba
. I must tell you something unspeakable.”

She felt him stiffen under her palm and she opened her eyes. As though filled with renewed energy, he glanced at his sleeping mother behind him, then drew the door closed.

“Did someone hurt you? A man?” He ran his hands over her head and down her arms as his eyes searched for signs of injury. Even in the dim light cast by the deck lamps, she could see that all color had drained from his skin except where the bruises were.

She wanted to guide him back to his bed but knew he would not allow it. She shook her head in answer to his question. “No, it’s not that.”

“Tell me.” Despite his pallor, his voice sounded as strong as always, and that gave Mei Lien the push she needed.

She looked behind her and to each side. Even though they appeared to be alone on the damp, shadowed deck, she leaned closer to her father. “I heard the captain and his superior talking. They aren’t taking us to China.”

“Then where? Victoria? San Francisco?”

She shook her head. “They aren’t delivering us anywhere. I heard them talk of dumping the cargo where the currents won’t wash bodies up on beaches.”

His eyes widened until Mei Lien could see the full brown circles rimmed with white. He shook his head hard, despite the pain it must have caused him. “No. No, you must be wrong.”

“
Bàba
, think about it.” She grabbed his hands, willing him to believe her. “Just last fall three Chinese were killed after being attacked for no crime other than working at the hop farm in Squak Valley where the white men wanted jobs. Over these last months, Chinese have been driven out of Tacoma and all the local mines for the same reason. They don’t want us here. Why would they waste time or money shipping us all the way to China? To them it’s no different than shipping garbage.”

Father’s gaze darted over her shoulder, and she turned in time to see the captain coming along the deck from the rear of the ship toward them, alone this time.

She felt her body cringe as he passed without a glance. They watched, silent, until he disappeared into the pilot house.

“What do we do?” she whispered to Father, eager to set whatever plan he might create into action.

He turned his face to look at her, and something in his eyes made her chest feel like it was being crushed. “
Bàba
?”

In a voice so low she had to strain to hear him over the sound of the engines and water slapping the ship, he asked, “You are certain, Mei Lien? You know our fate?”

She wished she was wrong. “Yes,
Bàba
. What do we do?” she asked again.

Instead of answering, he looked at the black water rushing past them and seemed to be considering. Then, without a word, he turned and went into the cabin where he grabbed the bags he’d earlier dropped onto the floor.

Mei Lien stood just inside the door and watched with growing dread as he pulled his money purse out of his own bag, then opened Grandmother’s bag. The fact that he would dare to look through his mother’s things, dishonoring her privacy, told Mei Lien she wasn’t going to like what was about to happen.

When he finished his task, Father held his own embroidered money purse in his hands. They shook as he reached toward her, placing the pouch in her hands. “Hide this in the bindings you have about your chest so it is not lost. Hurry, do it now!”

Without question, Mei Lien snapped to obey. As fast as she could move with fingers stiff with cold and fear, she unfastened her outer jacket and slid the pouch into the neck opening of the shirt she wore beneath. Then she wedged it into the bindings that hid evidence of her femininity. When she finished refastening her coat, she faced Father again, trusting him completely. “What do we do next?”

He looked at her for a long time, a jumble of unspoken thoughts and emotions marring his features. Then he raised a calloused palm to each side of her face and met her gaze. “Daughter, live happy and love deep. This is my wish for you.” Then, before Mei Lien could question why he was saying this to her, he let go of her and stepped back. “You must go now before it is too late.”

Go? “Where are we going,
Bàba
? Do you know where we can hide?”

A dark shadow fell over his face. “Your grandmother and I are going to be with your mother and my father. Our fate has led us here, and we will accept this when the time comes. For you, my daughter, I do not accept this as your fate. Hurry!” He ushered her back through the door and outside to the railing overlooking the black water.

Mei Lien didn’t understand. “What are you saying? Where am I to go?”

Father turned to face the water and gestured with his chin. “There. See that black mass over there? It is an island. Possibly the last before we reach open sea. You can swim there, Mei Lien. You are a strong swimmer. I taught you in the lake five summers past, remember?”

The very thought of jumping into the inky, swirling foam below made her feel like she was about to lose control of her bowels. “I can’t. No,
Bàba
, I can’t do it.” She shook her head as she stepped away from the railing and the terrifying blackness beyond.

“Daughter, look at me.” Father grasped her arms and put his bleeding face right into hers. “You don’t have a choice. If you want to live, you must jump.” He looked across the water, then turned back to face her again. “We will be past the island soon. You must go now.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“You will.” He pulled her to him and crushed her in his arms. “May the ancestors watch over you.”

Mei Lien felt the steamship shudder beneath her feet and wondered if the quaking of her own body had caused it.

“You don’t have a choice,” Father hissed. Before she knew what was happening, he’d prodded her to the ship’s cold metal railing. “Climb up, Mei Lien.”

Thursday, May 31—present day

Downtown Seattle

“Hey, Zoé, is my dad available?” Inara said into her phone’s Bluetooth as she navigated downtown Seattle traffic. She was heading back to the island with her car packed to the ceiling, but had just realized she’d forgotten all week to ask her dad about the sleeve. Packing and making arrangements to start work on the hotel had filled her every waking minute. Yesterday she’d finally met with her hiring manager at Starbucks to let him know she was turning down the job. It had been a quick and uncomfortable meeting, but difficult as it was, Inara felt she was doing the right thing for herself.

Which was terrifying. What if she was making a huge mistake?

“No, sorry, Inara,” answered her father’s executive assistant. “He told me not to disturb him for any reason during his meeting with the Yŏu Yì executives. They’re at a critical stage of negotiations.”

“Oh, right. I forgot they were in town. Well, I’ll just catch him later then.” After hanging up, Inara glanced at the clock and saw she was making good time. Barring traffic or ferry delays, she’d be on the island well before dinnertime. She couldn’t wait.

The sleeve was still on her mind, though, as she merged onto I-5 north from the Olive Way ramp. She hadn’t heard back on the email she’d sent to that professor. The University of Washington, where he worked, was just across the bridge. She could stop in quickly and talk to him in person. And then she could get back on the road, forget about the sleeve once and for all, and concentrate solely on the hotel.

Yes, that was what she’d do. She put on her right turn signal and eased onto the off-ramp to the University District. Hopefully the professor wasn’t on vacation for the summer.

As soon as she found parking on campus, she pulled out her phone and pulled up the UW website to find where the professor’s office was located. Ten minutes later, she knocked on a wooden door labeled
Daniel
Chin, PhD, China Studies
.

No answer.

She knocked again and then noticed the schedule posted on the wall next to the door. Apparently, Professor Chin could be found in Bagley Hall teaching History of Modern China. The class ended at twelve twenty.

Checking her phone for the time, she realized that waiting for the class to end would make her miss the ferry she was hoping for. It was worth it, she decided, to have the mystery out of her mind. She headed back outside.

She was well acquainted with the campus and Bagley Hall, where she’d taken several classes over the years. She headed in that direction and soon found herself by Drumheller Fountain with the breathtaking view behind it of Mount Rainier in the distance. Like any local, she took a moment to appreciate the view of the mountain when it was out from behind the clouds, and then she continued into the hushed stone building beyond.

She peeked inside the first classroom and saw the teacher was a woman. The next room, the auditorium, was packed with students listening to the Asian man at the front, who surely must have been Professor Chin. In all her years on campus, she’d never run across this particular professor. This one glimpse showed her she might have missed out by focusing her graduate study on Europe.

He was young for a professor, probably in his early thirties, but clearly an expert on his topic. He caught the audience’s attention with interesting facts and visuals on the screens behind him, but the passion in his voice cemented each person’s focus on him.

She slipped into a seat three rows down, scooting past two girls hunched over laptops taking notes. They both shot her a scowl as she passed. After settling into the seat, she looked around and noticed the room was almost entirely filled with women.

“So what do you think that meant to the Han when the Manchu took over the country?” The professor sounded like he was about to reveal a juicy secret, and she found herself leaning forward, waiting for what he’d say next.

In the next ten minutes, she learned more about Chinese history than she’d ever known. Energy sizzled from the professor, electrifying the whole room, so that even the normally half-asleep students in the back sat up straight and listened. Professor Chin made his lecture sound like Hollywood gossip.

As soon as the lecture ended, the room erupted into commotion. Inara waited in her seat as students gathered their things and streamed out. A knot of girls converged on the stage around the professor, asking questions as he gathered his things, unhooked his laptop from the projector, and slid it into a bag he slung over his shoulder. As the group of girls moved toward the stairs, with the professor in the middle, Inara got to her feet to intercept him before he reached the door.

“Excuse me, Professor Chin. May I have a moment of your time?”

His hazel-colored eyes paused on her face for a fraction of a second, then returned to the girl next to him. “Britta, why don’t you email my assistant and set up an appointment during office hours? I’ll be able to explain it to you in more detail then.” Then he raised his gaze to encompass all the females around him, Inara included. “The same goes for all of you. Make an appointment, and I’ll be happy to answer your questions. But for now I’ve got to run to a meeting.”

He pushed out of the knot and made it as far as the fountain outside before Inara caught up to him. “Professor Chin, I just need a moment.”

He stopped to face her and even smiled at her, revealing straight white teeth, but she saw the tightness around his eyes that showed he was irritated. “I’m sorry, Ms.…?”

“Inara Erickson.” She stuck out her hand and he shook it.

Before she could explain who she was and what she wanted, he was already turning away. “Office hours are from two to four. Come to my office then.”

She rushed to catch up as he hurried across the brick path. “Professor Chin, I’m not a student. I found an embroidered sleeve that I’m hoping you can tell me more about, or at least lead me to someone who can help. I emailed you a picture.”

He stopped so suddenly that she was two steps ahead of him before she noticed and turned back. “Ms. Erickson, of course. Forgive me. I saw your email but haven’t had a chance to reply yet. That’s a fascinating specimen you have.”

She couldn’t help the glow of satisfaction that spread through her—as immature as it was—that she’d managed to catch his interest. “I have it with me.” She patted her shoulder bag.

He glanced at his wristwatch. “I can be a little late to my meeting, I suppose. Let’s go to my office.”

Once in his artifact-cluttered office, he pushed aside a pile of books to clear a space on his desk and laid out a plain white cloth. Inara unwrapped the blue-checkered cotton and held the sleeve out to him. “I found it under the stairs in my family’s estate on Orcas Island. I have no idea where it came from or how long it’s been there.”

Professor Chin’s eyes didn’t leave the sleeve as he put on a pair of white cotton gloves. “It would be a good idea not to handle the sleeve too much. The oils on our hands could degrade the fragile stitching.”

Inara bit back a smile, drawn to his sexy nerdiness in spite of herself. “I’ll keep that in mind, Professor.”

“Call me Daniel.” Finally, his gaze left the sleeve and he smiled at her, revealing a single dimple next to his mouth. “You’re not a student after all.”

She let her smile widen. “And you can call me Inara.”

“Is that a family name?” Something flashed in his eyes, but he dropped his gaze back to the sleeve before she could figure out what it was. He carefully lifted the sleeve from her and laid it on the waiting cloth-covered desk.

Flustered, she crossed her arms. “No, actually, it’s an Arabic name. My mother worked with a woman from Lebanon when she was pregnant with me who told her the name means illuminate or shining.”

“It’s beautiful.”

This time she knew what it was she’d seen in his eyes, because now his gaze lingered on her face with the unmistakable gleam of interest. She felt her breathing quicken in response but forced a smile to ease the tension arcing between them. “Thank you.”

He blinked, then turned abruptly to snatch up a magnifying glass from the shelf above the desk and bend over the sleeve. For several long minutes he studied the embroidery silently.

“This is incredible,” he finally said with such enthusiasm she wondered if she’d imagined what had just happened between them. “I’ve never seen such intricate embroidery detail on such a scale. The technique looks to be random stitch embroidery, which was developed in the 1920s and ’30s. What that means is that the lines of thread cross one another and are added layer by layer, from very thin to very dense, so that the end effect is like an oil painting. See here…” He pointed to where the water splashed against the ship’s hull. “The hallmark of random stitch embroidery is that individual stitches vary in length, direction, color, and thread weight. It’s anything but random, but if you compare it to traditional embroidery, the stitches appear chaotic.”

He shifted the sleeve and stood upright as though looking at the entire thing rather than at the details. “What confuses me is that although the stitching leads me to think this was created in the 1920s, the cut of the sleeve hints at the Qing Dynasty of China, which ended in 1912. Also, the designs themselves are highly unusual.”

“What do you mean?” She stepped next to him and peered at the sleeve, trying to see what he described.

“Well, it’s not like any Chinese embroidery I’ve ever seen, yet it’s clearly Chinese with some of these symbols.” He pointed to the wrist section. “See, here is what seems to be a sword stitched into the trees of the forest. The sword is an attribute of one of the Eight Taoist Immortals.

“And here,” he went on, moving the magnifying glass to the left, “is clearly a lotus flower, even though it’s blending into the swirls of the water. The lotus is arguably the most popular of Buddhist symbols.”

He paused. She waited, feeling her own excitement grow, and wondered if there was more.

There was. “With this horse-hoof cuff, the sleeve appears to have been cut from a Chinese dragon robe, but the design’s all wrong.”

“Wrong how?”

“During the Qing Dynasty, Imperial officials wore a dragon robe, or
ch’i-fu
, for all occasions except the most formal. These robes usually had a rank badge on the chest and twelve dragons embroidered on the robe in specific locations, like one on each shoulder. As you can see, there are no dragons on this sleeve at all. Plus, the elaborate ornamentation on dragon robes usually ended above the elbow, with a plain design filling the forearm down to the cuff, which was just as elaborate as the body of the robe. This sleeve doesn’t follow that pattern at all.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen embroidered designs like this except on silk room panels, but even then never with this complicated detail and never with this intricate technique. Usually embroideries depict nature or a scene from a Chinese fable—”

He stopped suddenly, as though he’d just thought of something. “It’s almost as if…”

“Almost as if what?”

His eyes were wide when he looked at her and his voice deepened. “It’s almost as if this embroidery is telling a story, but one I’ve never heard before. And, believe me, I’m familiar with Chinese stories.”

His voice drew her in, made her wish he would tell her those stories. Captivated, it took her a moment to realize they were standing close enough to touch.

She stepped to her left to put some space between them. “I can’t believe how much you can tell just from a quick look at it.”

He grinned. “Oh, I’ve only begun, Ms.—er, Inara.” He cleared his throat. “Would you consider leaving the sleeve with me? I can offer you insurance and a small stipend for loaning the sleeve to the university, and I will personally promise it is treated with the respect it deserves. We can specify an exact return date, if you so choose.”

A small stipend. Money she could use toward her hotel. “Do you think the sleeve is valuable?”

“I really can’t say at this time,” he hedged. “It would certainly be worth more if you had the garment it was cut from.”

“About that,” she said as he carefully rewrapped the sleeve. “Why would anyone cut the sleeve from the robe and then hide it?”

“I’m sure they had a good reason. I’d love the chance to figure it out.”

She thought about his offer. Clearly, he felt passionate about the sleeve, and, also clearly, she would have her hands full with the hotel and wouldn’t have time to research it herself. What was the worst that could happen? “Sure, you can hold on to it.”

“Excellent! I’ll take good care of it for you, and I’ll stay in touch on my research. I promise.” He carefully wrapped the sleeve in the cotton cloth and locked it in a desk drawer. Then he filled out a receipt and handed it to her to sign, with a glance at his watch. “I’m sorry, but I really have to get to that meeting.”

“And I have a ferry to catch.” She walked with him out of the building where they shook hands. His professional demeanor convinced her she’d imagined the interest she’d thought she’d seen in his office.

“It was nice to meet you, Inara. I’ll be in touch about the sleeve.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” She watched him turn and walk away before pivoting on her heel to head to her car and the soon-to-be boutique hotel waiting for her on the island.

After the hour and a half drive to Anacortes, she ended up missing the first ferry and had to wait in line for the next one, which meant she didn’t get to Rothesay until after nine that night. The sun had set, but the island was still cloaked in that blue-black moment before dark that felt in equal parts like a quiet sigh and a pounding heart. As she carried bags inside Dahlia’s house, she felt the night falling around her and realized she hadn’t considered whether she’d be safe out here. On an abandoned estate. Completely alone. Surrounded by ten acres of spooky forest.

With the doors locked, she went upstairs and opened the bedroom window. A humming sound like traffic on the freeway filled her ears, and it took her a while to realize it was the sound of the breeze blowing through the evergreens. Every few moments a birdcall broke the dark stillness—an owl hoot from the woods, a loon off the water. Being all alone out here would make anyone afraid, and yet the night sounds eased her fear. She was safe here, as safe as she’d once been in her mother’s arms.