“To hell with it,” Sam said and wrapped Evie in his arms, kissing her fiercely.
Ling and Wai-Mae sat among the soft flowers in the meadow. The sun was bright and warm. The hills glowed, a constant gold. But for the first time in many nights, Ling couldn’t enjoy it fully. As Wai-Mae talked happily of her impending arrival in New York and her wedding day, Ling’s misery increased. She needed to tell Wai-Mae what she suspected about O’Bannion and Lee, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She didn’t want it to be true—for Wai-Mae’s sake and, selfishly, for her own.
Waiting for her courage to find her, Ling kept her eyes trained on the village below, basking in the beauty of the sun glinting on the red tile roofs. “It’s pretty. Is it your village back home?”
“No. It is a place I saw once and remembered. A place I loved.” Wai-Mae blinked up at the canopy of leaves. “They had the most beautiful opera there. It was so magical! I had been very sad and homesick, but I sat in the balcony watching the opera, and for a while, I was not sad anymore. I escape to it in my mind whenever I need to.” As Wai-Mae poured cups of tea for them, she flicked a glance at Ling. “Perhaps you need an escape. What’s troubling you, Little Warrior?”
“I…” Ling’s mouth had gone dry. Looking into Wai-Mae’s guileless face, all of Ling’s usual honesty deserted her. Wai-Mae would be heartbroken.
“It’s about this sleeping sickness, isn’t it?” Wai-Mae said, and Ling didn’t correct her. Wai-Mae waved the thought away with a gesture. “You worry too much, sister. For now, leave your troubles behind.”
“I can’t leave them behind.”
“Of course you can! Troubles have no business here in our perfect world. If we don’t like something here, we will simply change it.”
Ling’s sadness edged into annoyance. “You don’t understand. People have died. These are my neighbors. This is my neighborhood. It’s making trouble for us.”
A tiny centipede crawled across Wai-Mae’s leg. “They hate the Chinese. They have always hated us. Calling us names. The men, so full of hate, until the night when they come for you,” she said bitterly, crushing the bug with her thumb and wiping her hand in the grass.
“What do you mean?”
Wai-Mae looked up. For a moment, her expression was stormy, but then she blinked, and her smile returned. “Oh, dear Ling, I don’t like to hear about such things, to know that they are upsetting you.”
“Sometimes we have to hear upsetting things.”
“No. Not here. Never here.” Wai-Mae smiled, letting the sun warm her face.
“Yes. Even here. Especially here, away from the noise.” Ling took a deep breath. She’d put the truth off long enough. “Wai-Mae, I went looking for your matchmakers, O’Bannion and Lee. I’ve asked my uncle and at the library. There is no such firm. They don’t exist.”
Wai-Mae’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I believe there are some bad men bringing you over not to marry, but to…” Ling’s tongue couldn’t form the words. “To work.”
“Don’t be silly! My uncle arranged everything. Mr. O’Bannion will meet me at immigration,” Wai-Mae said decisively. “I will have a husband and a new life in New York.”
“I don’t think so. Wai-Mae, they mean to trick you. You’ll be a servant.” Ling swallowed hard. “Or worse.”
“Why are you saying these terrible things to me?”
“Because I don’t want you to be hurt! They’ll make you a…” Ling struggled with the word. “… a prostitute, Wai-Mae. You’ll never be married. You… you shouldn’t get off the ship.”
Two silent tears rolled down Wai-Mae’s cheeks. Her lips trembled. “It can’t be true. My passage is paid. My uncle arranged it.”
“I’m sorry,” Ling said.
“I won’t hear any more!”
“I’m trying to protect you!”
“I won’t hear it!” Wai-Mae stood up. She backed away, shaking her head. “No. You are wrong. I will be a wife to a merchant in America. A good man! A respected man!”
“Wai-Mae—”
Wai-Mae spun around, her mouth tight, her eyes hard. “You had no right to do that. To spy on me like an immigration official, questioning everything! I thought we were friends.”
“We are,” Ling said. She reached out for Wai-Mae’s hand, but Wai-Mae yanked it away.
“You will not take my dream from me!” Wai-Mae growled deep and low, her face hardening with anger, a transformation as startling as any they’d made themselves inside the dream. In the cup, the tea boiled over, splashing onto Ling’s hand. She gasped and dropped the cup as the liquid scalded her. An angry red welt rose up across the length of Ling’s thumb.