Bless the Bride (9 page)

But old,
I thought. And she looked so young in that picture. Maybe having intimate relations with an old man like him was too big a shock for her. Maybe he demanded too much of her too soon.

“Mr. Lee,” I began cautiously, “I have visited you twice now. It is not very easy to get into your residence. How and when do you think she was kidnapped or escaped?”

“This is what I ask myself. As you see, I keep my door locked at all times. It is a long way down from my balcony. I have a houseboy. I have a cook. I have employees working in my emporium next door. Nobody could enter or leave this place without being seen.”

“She didn’t go out and not come back?”

“Of course not. Chinese woman does not go out unescorted. In China she would travel in closed litter. Here in New York she does not leave her dwelling. It is not correct and it is not safe.”

I took another deep breath, realizing how easy it would be to offend him. “And would it have been possible for her to escape at night? What I mean is, did she share a bed with you?”

He looked indignant and pursed his lips. “When I want her, she is brought to my bed. When I am done, she is dismissed. But houseboy, he sleeps on mat in front of screen. Like guard dog for house. Who could get past him?”

But somehow she had either managed to escape or been taken by a clever kidnapper. I thought about the latter.

“If she was indeed kidnapped by your rival tong, then this isn’t a task I could undertake. As an outsider in your community, there is no way I’d want to stick my nose into a Chinese tong’s affairs. And I’d have no way of finding out anything, not speaking your language.”

“Of course,” he said, dismissing this with a wave of his hand. “I have taken this fact into consideration. Already my spies have looked into the possibility most carefully, but so far they have learned nothing. If she has been kidnapped, then she is either well hidden or has been spirited far away.”

“When exactly did she go missing?”

“Five days ago now.”

“That’s a long time. She could be anywhere.”

He shook his head. “How far could she get on her own, huh? She would have no money—nothing but the jade, and no Western clothes. A woman in Chinese dress would soon be noticed if she ventured outside our community. And she knows nothing of New York. Where would she run?”

“I don’t suppose she speaks much English, does she?”

“As a matter of fact her English is good. She was educated by Western missionaries. It was for this very reason that I selected her—I thought that it would be good that she has some knowledge of Western ways if she is to be useful to me here in the future. Now I fear that she has run looking for church people and is being hidden by them.”

“Ah.” I nodded. We were finally getting to the point. “You want me to visit the missions for you.”

“Exactly. This is a job for a white woman, a Christian woman. You will know the right questions to ask. You will bring my bride back to me. You will tell her that she now belongs to me and obeys me. Her behavior disgraces her family in China.”

“Which denomination were these missionaries?”

“I do not know one type of Christian from another. They are all equally annoying—and interfering with our people, trying to convert them from our religions to yours. But you will find no shortage of mission houses near Chinatown. They try hard, these Christians.”

“And if your bride won’t come with me?”

“Then you will come to me and I will have her brought back. But it must be done discreetly. Word of this must not reach fellow Chinese. I should lose face in their eyes. They would say Lee Sing Tai cannot even control his woman—how can he control powerful tong? This must not happen, you understand. It is important beyond anything.”

I wanted to say that the happiness of his bride should be important above everything, but he obviously didn’t see it that way. To him a woman was the same as a piece of jade.

“Find her and I will make it well worth your while,” he said. “It is for her own happiness as well as mine. If she does not return to me, then there is no hope for her. She cannot stay at mission forever. She cannot return home to China, even if she had the money to do so. Her family would not take her back after this disgrace. So where would she go? Only the houses of low women would welcome her. Tell her this. Make sure she understands that she is being foolish and childish. If she returns to me and behaves as a good wife should, then no more will be said and she will lead a happy life.”

I had been feeling no enthusiasm for this assignment, but I did see his point. Much as I disliked his calling her his possession, she was his wife, and as such he had legal rights over her. And how would she survive? I had tried to survive alone in New York City when I first arrived and had nearly starved and frozen to death. How much harder would it be for a Chinese girl? It was all too likely that she’d be lured or snatched into prostitution.

I got to my feet. “Very well, Mr. Lee. I will do my very best to find your bride and bring her home to you.”

He almost smiled. At least his face twitched in what could be interpreted as a smile. “I am pleased to hear this, Miss Murphy. I look forward to your returning to me soon with good news.”

He was about to clap his hands when I picked up the photograph in its leather case. “May I take this with me? It might help jog people’s memories.”

“Take care with it, and return it to me safely,” he said.

“I will.”

He clapped his hands. The houseboy and Frederick Lee appeared and I was escorted from the room. I couldn’t help looking across at the red silk drapes as I waited for them to appear. I thought I saw a hand holding those drapes. A hand with long fingernails.

Eight

Frederick Lee said nothing as he escorted me down the stairs and out into the street. The street was still empty, but I could hear the distant clatter of commerce from Mulberry and the Bowery.

As Frederick took my elbow to steer me down the steep outside steps, a young man came flying up the steps, nearly colliding with us and butting me in the middle. At the last minute he checked himself, realizing that he was almost touching a white woman’s skirt, and looked up into my face with astonishment.

“Why this person visit my father?” he demanded, not apologizing but glaring at me angrily for being in his way. And his very choice of the words, “this person,” made my hackles rise. I wondered for a moment whether he believed I was a prostitute until he added, “If she is missionary lady, then too bad. She won’t make my father change to her religion or make him change his ways.” He gave a scornful laugh, still looking at me as if I wasn’t a person at all.

I fought back my desire to tell him exactly what I thought of him, knowing I couldn’t reveal the reason for my visit. Also I was puzzled by his calling Lee Sing Tai his father.

“Your esteemed father requested to speak with this young woman,” Frederick Lee answered for me. He spoke with cold and measured formality.

“For what reason?” This young man spat out the words in clipped syllables like the man he had called his father but not with the latter’s command of English.

“As to that, it was personal business between Miss Murphy and your esteemed father,” Frederick said. “Even I was sent away while they were in discussion.”

“Even you? You are only secretary. I am his son.”

“A paper son. Very different,” Frederick said.

“In the eyes of the American law I am his son. That’s all that matters.” And with that he pushed past us and continued up the stairs.

“I must apologize for this man’s rude behavior,” Frederick said as we continued down the street.

“That was Mr. Lee’s son?” I asked. “But I thought he had no sons. I thought the reason for bringing…” I bit off the words at the last second. It was probable that Frederick Lee did not know his employer had brought in a young bride from China, or that she was now missing. That was why he had been dismissed from the room while we spoke.

“He is only a paper son,” Frederick said scornfully. “Bobby Lee.”

“A paper son? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the term.”

He looked surprised. “Perhaps the practice is not well known outside of Chinatown,” he said. “The Exclusion Act prevents Chinese men from bringing in their wives, but merchants are allowed to send for their sons. So one of the only ways for a Chinese man to come into this country is to pretend that he is the son of a merchant already here. This is simple to do. Your authorities do not read Chinese to understand our birth certificates. So if a young man in China is also from the Lee clan, who can prove he is not a true son? So he pays money, sometimes a lot of money. Mr. Lee accepts him as a son and he is allowed to enter. There are many paper sons in Chinatown.”

“And he becomes a true son in the eyes of the law over here? He will inherit if Mr. Lee dies?”

“This is clearly what Bobby Lee hopes. But my employer is a clever and cautious man. I am sure he has drawn up legal documents that state that Bobby Lee is not a son of his body. At the moment Bobby Lee is useful to him in his business. However, if he were to have a true son, as he so fervently hopes, then you can be certain that Bobby would be pushed aside or even sent back to China.”

“He doesn’t seem a very pleasant young man,” I said.

“He is not, and he has let the idea of being Lee Sing Tai’s son go to his head. He behaves as if he owns half of Chinatown. Such a man makes enemies, but unfortunately he is well positioned in On Leong, so we can say or do nothing.”

“Does he live with his father?” I asked, wondering how much he knew about the missing girl.

“He does not. He runs his father’s cigar factory in Brooklyn and he lives in rooms above the factory.”

We continued down Mott Street. “May I ask if Mr. Lee wants you to continue your search for this—jade?” he asked. “I know it’s not my business, but I just wondered…”

I glanced at him. “If Mr. Lee had wanted you to know, I suspect he’d have included you in the meeting,” I said. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but…”

“I quite understand,” he said. “It’s only that I—”

At that moment a voice called out after us. We turned to see Bobby Lee standing on the steps, beckoning. He barked out something in Chinese.

Frederick Lee flushed. “Please excuse me, Miss Murphy, but my employer wishes to have another word with me. If you would kindly wait here in the shade…”

“That’s all right,” I said. “I’m sure I can find my own way without anyone to escort me.”

“If you’re quite sure?”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “You’d better get back to your employer. I rather suspect he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

He nodded gratefully and hurried back down the street. I was about to go on my way when I realized that I should find out from Frederick where all the various church missions were located around Chinatown. There must be several of them if missionary ladies were seen as a problem. So I stepped under the shade of a balcony and waited. I studied the red silk lanterns hanging from the balconies, the scrolls of Chinese characters pasted to walls and windows, and then I noticed something that I had overlooked before. Across the street, presenting a hostile brick face to the world, was a Catholic church. A small board announced:
CHURCH OF THE TRANSFIGURATION, FATHER BARRY
, and mass times. There were no messages in Chinese here and the studded oak door was firmly shut. It appeared that the Catholics did not want to welcome their Chinese neighbors.

The street remained eerily empty until the two old men appeared again, bringing their caged birds back from their morning outing. I was busy observing them and jumped a mile when a door behind me suddenly opened. I half expected to be grabbed and dragged inside, but instead I turned around and found myself looking at the most unexpected person. She was a big-boned Irishwoman of middle age with a round, fresh-scrubbed face and faded red hair twisted up on top of her head. She was wearing a white apron over her summer dress, and she held a bucket in one hand and a scrubbing brush in the other.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, dearie,” she said, in an Irish accent even broader than my own. “Just coming out to do the step. I do like a nice clean front step, don’t you?” And she gave me a warm, friendly smile. “I saw you passing by yesterday. And I notice you’re wearing a ring on your left hand. So I thought I’d be bold enough to find out whether you’ve joined our ranks yet.”

“Ranks?”

“Are you marrying that nice Chinese boy I saw you with? Frederick Lee, isn’t it?”

“No! What gave you that idea?” I suppose I sounded shocked.

“Well, you don’t look like one of those earnest missionary ladies, so I couldn’t think of any other reason an Irish girl would be walking through Chinatown on the arm of a Chinaman. There’s quite a few of us, you know.”

“Married to Chinese men?”

“Exactly. Mrs. Chiu’s the name. Aileen Chiu.” She held out her hand to me. I shook it. It felt as rough as old leather.

“Molly Murphy,” I said.

“A fellow Irishwoman. I knew it.” She beamed at me. “What part of the old country are you from?”

“County Mayo. Near Westport.”

“Are you now? I’m from Limerick myself. I couldn’t wait to get away, but now I long for those green hills and that soft rain, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “Especially when the weather is as hot as it’s been lately.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” she said. “Like most of the neighborhood, we’ve taken to sleeping on the roof this summer, it’s been so unbearable in the house.” She hesitated then said, “Look, this may seem forward, but would you like to come in for a spot of tea, Miss Murphy? The kettle’s always on and I don’t get much company from the outside.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’d like that very much.” It had occurred to me how useful she might be, watching the street from behind her lace curtains. And besides, I liked the look of her face. I followed her into the darkness of a small entry hall. Only a couple of steps inside we came upon a screen, similar to the one in Mr. Lee’s apartment with a large painted dragon on it.

“Watch yourself,” Aileen warned as she steered me around it. “My man insisted on it. He’s a Christian, you know, but he can’t do away with all the old Chinese superstitions. ‘We have to have a screen, Aileen,’ he says to me when we are furnishing the place. To keep out the demons. And he still has an altar to the ancestors. Aren’t they funny, bless them?”