Captive Bride, page 2
She remained on deck until the sky turned gray and the first stars twinkled above. Only when the wind grew cold enough to steal her breath did she retreat below to her cabin where Madam Teng berated her for being gone so long.
When Huiann woke in the morning, the ship was steaming into the harbor. Her new life in America was about to begin.
Hands reached out for Alan, bony fingers waving like seaweed, grasping at him, entreating him to help. But he could do nothing for them. He was a skeleton himself, barely able to stand upright, only a burning core of stubbornness keeping him alive from one second to the next. The feeling of helplessness was worse than the ravenous hunger that had become a part of him, so he hardly noticed it any more than he would his hand or foot. He stared vacantly at a hawk circling far overhead—or maybe it was a vulture—and dreamed of his mother’s drawing room filled with ladies in rustling silk dresses.
And then he was there in the overheated room filled with the smell of too many warm bodies covered by too much perfume. Stifling. He was choking from the heat and the cloying odor of decay, drowning with lungs full of mud while hands grabbed hold of him and dragged him down.
Alan jerked awake, gasping and drenched in sweat, the blankets twisted around his body like coils of rope tying him to the bed. Another dream of the prison camp. He’d spent more nights in Andersonville in his mind than he had in reality. Was he condemned to suffer the rest of his life in that hell?
He rose and splashed his face with water from the basin. Drawing back the curtain, he looked through the warped, wavy glass at the street below bustling with traffic. Fog shrouded the carts and horses, carriages and pedestrians, stray dogs and homeless beggars that jostled for space. Another San Francisco morning had begun, the war was five years past and he was a shopkeeper not a soldier. He must concentrate on making the rest of his life productive and put the horrors to rest at last.
He stripped off his nightshirt, washed and dressed in a shirt, vest and jacket and woolen trousers probably too warm for the day ahead but fine for the early-morning chill. Then he went downstairs and entered the store below his rooms.
“Morning, Taylor. I’m going to the docks. I’ll leave you to open.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Sommers.” Jeremy Taylor was as eager to please as a puppy that piddled on the floor every time a visitor patted its head. The young man’s eyes were magnified by round spectacles and his slicked-back hair only emphasized his moon face. But he was a loyal employee, compulsive about tidying the stock and extremely punctual. Alan couldn’t ask for a better clerk.
The weak sun burned through the fog as Alan walked down Sansome Street to the wharf. The bay smelled of brine and rotting fish mingled with the pall of coal smoke and the ripe scent of horse dung. From ocean liners to tugs, steamships to sailing vessels, the harbor was alive with motion. Alan felt energized by the activity and the sense that a man could board a ship and sail away across the vast ocean. If he hadn’t already bought a store, maybe he would’ve become a sailor and traveled to foreign lands. But then he was already the breadth of a continent away from where he’d been born and maybe that was far enough. No matter how far he went, a man couldn’t outrun bad dreams.
The pier was packed with people scurrying about their business like rats crawling over a garbage heap. There were tradesmen like Alan, buyers and sellers of the goods that came into port. Taverns lined the street and prostitutes lingered in front of them, luring sailors on shore leave. Most men were dressed in suits like Alan’s, but some wore clothes from their native countries—Slavic boots and embroidered vests, Oriental robes or loose-fitting smocks and trousers. Foreign languages and regional English dialects spiced the flow of exchange. Hand signs were often the only way to haggle with importers from the Russian or Chinese ships.
Alan stopped in front of a docked steamer. Workers were unloading crates, kegs, burlap bags and boxes from the hold and piling them on the wharf. Local wholesaler Dong Li had already begun selling bolts of fabric, and a cluster of storeowners gathered around him, claiming them for exorbitant prices. Alan ordered several dozen bolts of fabrics in a rainbow of colors and prints. Since more women were arriving in San Francisco from back east, the mercantile’s supply of material and sewing notions vanished almost as soon as Alan restocked it. He made arrangements to have the fabric delivered to the store then stayed to talk to Dong Li.
“Who’s your contact for imports? I’m interested in learning more about how the shipping business works.” Even if he could only afford a small share in a steamship, it would be the beginning of cutting out the middleman, as goods coming into the harbor were growing more expensive every day.
Dong Li gazed at him with hawk eyes. “You want to invest?” He snorted. “You might as well dive into a pit of rattlesnakes.”
“That bad, eh?” Alan refrained from saying more, knowing Li would rattle on for a while. Forget the aphorism about the Chinese being close-lipped. Dong Li was a gossipy old woman.
“So you don’t like my new prices? Trust me, my margin grows smaller every day. Palms have to be greased and the port authority is only a part of it. Lately the tongs require an extra slathering of bacon fat and I still have to make a living.”
“I know you do,” Alan soothed him.
“Even if you own an entire ship, you still have to handle the snakes. See that ship over there?” Li pointed to another vessel being unloaded. “Xie Fuhua, head of the most powerful of the tongs, has a large share in it, but even he must pay off the right people or have his goods seized or the right to offload them at this port refused.”
A slow burn of righteous anger churned in Alan’s gut. San Francisco politics was a hotbed of corruption. Everyone knew it. The newspapers trumpeted it. But no one seemed able to do anything about it. Hell, maybe it was time to stop complaining and consider running for local office. He’d licked his wounds after the war for long enough. It was time to join the living.
“Thank you for the advice. I’ll consider it.” He trusted Dong Li, who’d been a native of this city all his life and knew how things worked. The man was worth listening to. And Dong Li seemed to enjoy the respect Alan showed him, which was in short supply from the other storekeepers, who treated Li like a glorified laundry boy.
With his business completed, Alan purchased a cup of coffee and fried flatbread from a vendor, leaned against a wood post and watched the bustling waterfront. The crew of the tong boss’s steamer unloaded cargo from the hold and passengers disembarked.
Alan stopped chewing and stared as a Chinese woman swathed in a robe of gold walked down the gangplank. Although the fabric concealed her body from neck to toes, it only served to emphasize how petite she was and made a man want to see her hidden shape all the more. Her black hair was so glossy it caught the sunlight and gleamed like satin. Pulled away from her face, it was fastened by glittering jeweled pins. The high-piled style made her neck appear long and slender like a stalk supporting a beautiful flower. Her features were as delicate as a porcelain doll’s. She looked like royalty, and he wondered what lucky man was expecting a lovely bride from back home. Accompanying her was a sour-faced older woman in black who gripped the young woman’s arm and talked nonstop.
The bride’s lips were tight and Alan guessed she was biting her tongue at whatever the other woman was saying. She frowned and her dark eyes looked troubled. Was she nervous about meeting her husband? Sad to be so far from home? He’d like to smooth that wrinkle from between her brows with his thumb.
Her beauty stole his breath, and her wide expressive eyes seemed as changeable as the sky, cloudy one second and clear the next. He swore he could see hope, despair, curiosity, excitement and fear flash one by one across their dark surface even from this distance. He pushed off from the post as if he would walk toward her, his body reacting without conscious direction from his mind. Of course he couldn’t really go over and introduce himself to her, but he stayed poised with his gaze riveted on the vision of a golden lotus flower in the swamp of the waterfront.
The woman in black spoke to a man on the dock. The Asian wearing a Western-style suit directed the women toward a waiting carriage. He helped the bride into the conveyance and closed the door behind her.
The carriage disappeared into the throng of vehicles and Alan’s stomach clenched. A sorrowful feeling of loss rushed through him as if he’d spotted a precious treasure on the beach but waves had washed it away before he had a chance to claim it. How could he have such a strong reaction to a woman he hadn’t spoken to, would never speak to, a woman who hadn’t even noticed his curious glance?
Alan wiped the grease from his hands and returned the coffee mug to the vendor. He headed back to the store, but his mind lingered on the pier. The woman with shining black hair and luminous dark eyes continued to haunt him long after he’d left the noisy wharf behind.
Chapter Two
Huiann clenched her hands together in her lap and stared out the small window at the bits of San Francisco flashing past the carriage. The architecture of Suzhou was much more beautiful, but the Westerners’ buildings were tall—some of them towering four stories high. Just as on the wharf, there were many foreigners wearing strange clothing, and unfamiliar smells, sights and sounds all around her. A wave of homesickness hit her like a squall at sea, rising unexpectedly and knocking her off balance.
She had hoped her new husband and his family would meet her at the dock to welcome her, but he’d again sent his agent, Liu Dai, the man who’d arranged their marriage. She mustn’t allow herself to feel disappointed. Her mother had reminded her Xie was an important businessman who would have many demands on his time. Mother said a common mistake new brides made was expecting too much attention from their husbands, who were busy attending to numerous things a woman could never comprehend.
With tears in her eyes, Mother had given Huiann one last kiss. “Make a comfortable nest of your home, and your husband will always fly back to it.”
But it was hard to be brave and put on a good face when she was in knots. She wrapped her arms around her body, willing her stomach to settle, and hoped her husband’s absence wasn’t an omen signaling how their future would be. He might always be too busy to find time for her. She would likely find his mother and any sisters he might have would be her closest companions in her new life. Huiann prayed to the gods that she would like them and they would approve of her.
Huiann distracted herself from her nervousness by considering the poor women in the hold of the ship. By now they’d been sent on to whatever destiny awaited them, and she’d never had a chance to help them. She would talk to Xie Fuhua at the first opportunity, but what would he think of her exploring the ship rather than staying in her quarters? Men didn’t like adventurous women. Her mother had told her many times to curb her curiosity and act like a proper young lady—modest, respectful, quiet and demure.
The view outside the window changed. Signs in Chinese marked the storefronts. The people milling along the sides of the street now looked familiar. Many wore the smocks and pants of laborers while others dressed in silk robes. Still others wore Western suits with round-crowned black hats. Above the earthy smell of horse dung floated the odors of fried food and roast chicken.
Huiann’s stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since yesterday noon. The crew had been too busy bringing the ship into harbor to provide a meal last night. Guilt flashed through her as she thought of those other women, who were probably much hungrier than she.
The carriage stopped with a jerk and her heart lurched too. Was there a traffic jam or had she reached her destination? Her body vibrated as tensely as a string with a bobbing kite on the other end. She was about to meet the man who would make her happy—or miserable—for the rest of her life. And his family, whose approval of her would mean everything to her husband.
The door of the carriage opened. Liu Dai with his slicked-back hair and pointed goatee let down the step and helped Madam Teng from the carriage. Huiann didn’t want to take his hand. She didn’t like the man, who often looked at her with a gaze like a cat observing a wounded bird, allowing its prey the illusion of escape before pouncing and snapping its neck.
Liu Dai held her hand in his moist grip longer than was necessary after she’d set foot on the street. “Chua Huiann, may you have much contentment in your new home. Remember to be obedient and you will find your life filled with luxuries beyond your dreams.”
Huiann pulled her hand away as quickly as she could without being rude and fought the urge to wipe it off on her gown. She bowed her head. “Thank you, Liu Dai.”
The door of the building they were about to enter was painted deep red for luck and the writing above it proclaimed great pleasure to all who entered—a positive sign. However, she was not impressed by the rest of the building, which looked like every other one in the row, weathered gray wood with no adornment to show it was a rich man’s house. She was rather surprised Xie Fuhua’s mother didn’t have the place painted. Usually a woman’s pride was in her home—or her son’s home. That was certainly the case with Huiann’s mother. But perhaps things were done differently here in America.
Once she was his wife, Huiann would suggest changes that would make the plain building look more attractive. Although of course it was the people living inside who truly turned a dwelling into a home. She thought of her family and her many cousins, aunts and uncles in Suzhou and wished all of them could be here to witness her wedding ceremony. Would she ever see any of them again?
A servant inside the house opened the door. Madam Teng gripped Huiann’s arm hard and steered her through it. The foyer of the house made up in ostentation for what the exterior lacked. Gilt frames surrounded mirrors and paintings. A plush carpet with intricate patterns covered the floor. The walls were adorned with scarlet wallpaper—bright enough to hurt the eyes. The garish entryway would be first on her list for redecorating. Then she registered the paintings displayed in the frames and her cheeks grew as red as the walls. She dropped her gaze to the floor, away from the canvases of nude women frolicking with men who grasped their private parts.
There was no time to ponder her husband’s poor taste as Madam pulled her up a staircase to the second floor. “I will show you to your room. You will clean yourself, change into a garment I will provide and then meet the master.”
Huiann preferred Teng when she was moaning and seasick. This abrupt harshness bordering on disrespect was intolerable. Another of her first acts would be to replace Teng with a more agreeable servant.
The bedroom where Madam led her was as sumptuous as the front hall and equally gaudy, but the large four-poster bed looked very comfortable. Huiann studied the furnishings until her gaze was drawn to the window. Bright sunlight streamed in through the glass—between iron bars.
She frowned as she went to the window to look out on the teaming street below. When she wrapped her fingers around the bars, the blue bead ring her sister Mei had given her clicked against the metal. She thought of the girl in the hold of the ship reaching between the slats of her cage to squeeze Huiann’s hand, but dismissed the image of imprisonment. San Francisco was a large city. Probably all rich men’s homes had barred windows to protect them from robbers.
Huiann went to the washstand, took off her gown and washed her face, neck and arms using the cake of sweet soap beside the porcelain basin. Glancing at her hair in the mirror, she considered taking out the pins, brushing and rearranging it, but before she could begin Madam Teng entered the room—without knocking.
“You are to wear this robe and nothing else. Do you understand? Remove your undergarments.”
“Pardon me?” Huiann raised her brows, certain she’d misheard.
“Xie Fuhua wishes you to be naked beneath the robe.” Teng’s mouth was a severe line and her eyes were like two bits of slate. She placed an embroidered silk robe on the bed and stepped back, arms folded.
Huiann stared at her.
“Undress now. Hurry. The master has little time to waste on you.”
Her skin burned and her heart beat fast as she removed her camisole. It would be easier if Madam Teng would avert her eyes, but the woman watched her undress with those rock-hard eyes. Huiann’s blush deepened as her breasts were bared to the older woman’s inspection. She slipped on the robe and tied it around her waist.
“Your pants too. Everything.”
Every fiber of her being clamored that this was humiliating and wrong, but Huiann had never been married. Maybe this was part of the ritual. Perhaps a husband expected to examine his bride before finalizing the vows, maybe even with his mother in attendance to make certain his choice was acceptable. She knew that sometimes part of the marriage agreement involved testing the bride for virginity. She blanched at the thought that they might require that of her too.
Huiann swallowed the knot in her throat, reached beneath the long robe and pulled her drawers down her legs. She folded and laid them on the bed with her gown and camisole. Her skin burned as if she had a fever. Her breasts were tender and her nipples poked hard against the slippery fabric of the wrapper. She cinched the tie around her waist tighter.
“Come.” Madam led the way from the room.
Huiann padded after her on bare feet. The wooden floor was chilly beneath them but that was not why she shivered. There were several closed doors along the corridor and she wondered why there were so many bedrooms. Did Fuhua have many overnight guests or was he planning for a house full of children?
Thoughts of children led to considering the act of procreation. Her mother had given her a brief explanation of what to expect and Huiann had inferred the rest from seeing stray dogs coupling in the street. Copulation was a very intimate act and one she feared, but her more immediate fear was that Fuhua would require her to remove this robe. Would he truly demand to see her nude body before agreeing to wed her? And if he didn’t like what he saw, would he send her home to China or cast her out on the street? An agreement had been made. Surely he would not do such a thing.
