The Language of Threads

  Mrs. Finch filled a china teacup with red roses on it. “Nonsense! I’m certainly capable of pouring a cup or two of tea.”

  Pei flinched. “I’m sorry.” She clenched her hands tightly in her lap, not knowing what to do next.

  Mrs. Finch smiled and handed her a cup. “Don’t be frightened. I just want you to know that I’m capable of pouring my own tea, as well as a host of other duties. I don’t expect you to cater to my every whim, though you will have to listen to me go on about things.” She poured herself a cup of tea and sat back. “I do expect you to do the cleaning and some cooking, and to run the daily errands. Everything else, we’ll deal with when we come to it. Now, is that acceptable to you? If it isn’t, I’d prefer that you speak up now.”

  Pei grasped the warm teacup in her hands. She’d never been spoken to so directly before. It took a moment before all Mrs. Finch’s words sank in. “Yes,” Pei answered. “Yes, it is very acceptable.”

  “Good; then it’s settled. Well, you can begin next week if you’d like.”

  “There’s one more thing.” Pei turned to Mrs. Finch and looked directly into her green eyes. She’d made a decision: This time, she wouldn’t leave Ji Shen behind. “I have a younger cousin who’s still in school. She has no one else. She has to come with me.”

  “Well . . .” Mrs. Finch spooned another lump of sugar into her tea and stirred. “I’ve rattled around this old apartment for years since Howard passed on. Never needed anyone. Lately, I’ve wanted to hear the sound of another voice again. Not to mention that I could use help dusting all these bloody figurines. A nuisance, really.” Mrs. Finch smiled and sipped from her teacup. “Perhaps it’s two voices I need, after all. Bring the child along, then.”

  Pei cleared her throat, wondering what the English word “bloody” meant, but simply smiled back in relief. The cluttered room felt warm and welcoming. She watched Mrs. Finch reach for the silver teapot, her hand trembling slightly, but refrained from helping her. Only when Mrs. Finch offered her more tea did Pei lift the light, fragile cup toward her.

  Chapter Five

  1941

  Pei

  The music that floated from Mrs. Finch’s room every morning sounded like a low moan that moved up and down in waves. Pei stood mesmerized outside the door, balancing the heavy silver breakfast tray, and waited for a pause in the music before she knocked and entered. Since Pei had begun working for Mrs. Finch almost a year ago, this had become their morning ritual. Mrs. Finch had tea and toast in bed before she rose and “stepped into a new day,” as she’d put it the first morning Pei came to work for her.

  “Ah, there you are!” Mrs. Finch raised herself to a sitting position and patted the yellow chenille bedspread next to her. “Bach’s Cello Suites,” she whispered. “Music for the soul.” Mrs. Finch closed her eyes as she listened to the music.

  Pei smiled, set the tray down on the bedspread, and flung open the heavy drapes. She tidied up the stacks of records on the desk, then turned back to Mrs. Finch, who squinted and raised her hand against the bright autumn light.

  “Twenty years I’ve lived in Hong Kong, and the only thing I’ve ever missed about England is the dear old London fog.” She laughed. “Just look what this tropical heat has done to my skin!”

  “It looks fine to me,” Pei said. She opened the rosewood armoire, pulled out two flower-print cotton dresses on hangers, and held them up. The comforting scent of lily of the valley floated into the room.

  Mrs. Finch poured her tea, then looked up. “The one on the left, thank you.”

  Pei carefully laid the dress on the chair by the door and hung the other up. In the past year she had come to learn the simple habits of her employer. Unlike Chen tai, who had kept Pei on pins and needles with just a look or gesture, Mrs. Finch was kind and straightforward. There were no confusing contradictions in the small household. And it wasn’t long before Pei learned to trust that what Mrs. Finch said was what she meant.

  “Did Ji Shen get off to school all right?” Mrs. Finch scraped butter across her toast, then dropped a spoonful of marmalade on top.

  “Oh, yes.”

  Pei was grateful that Mrs. Finch and Ji Shen liked each other. At first, she’d struggled with doubt—could Ji Shen live in such a different world? Even the air in the flat seemed to harbor a foreign scent. It was Song Lee who had finally put all her fears to rest. “Ji Shen has already been through so much in her young life,” she said. “Do you think adapting to a new household will harm her? The important thing is that she’s with you. Besides, I can tell by this woman’s large eyes that she has an open heart.”

  Pei couldn’t imagine how difficult things might be if Ji Shen were still as unhappy as she had been a year ago. But they’d settled into their new life at Mrs. Finch’s with relative ease, and Ji Shen seemed to like St. Cecilia’s much better than Spring Valley School. It was thanks to Mrs. Finch’s kindness that Ji Shen was attending St. Cecilia’s instead of a public school farther away. Mrs. Finch was a staunch Catholic, and St. Cecilia’s had long benefited from her donations and charity work. They weren’t about to turn Ji Shen away when she arrived there one morning with Mrs. Finch.

  “She’s such a bright child,” Mrs. Finch said now. “It’s a pity Howard and I never had any children of our own. God’s will, I suppose.”

  “You would have been a wonderful mother,” Pei offered.

  Without answering, Mrs. Finch took a bite of her toast.

  Pei would never forget how generous Mrs. Finch had been on the day they arrived. The living room was warm and dark, the drapes still drawn tight against the morning light. Opening them, Mrs. Finch looked down at the street. “Is the young man down there with you?”

  Quan had brought them to Conduit Road in his rickshaw.

  “Yes; he just wants to make sure we’re all right.” Pei waved for him to leave.

  “Ah, it’s nice to know that chivalry is still alive and well.”

  But then Ji Shen rushed to peek out the window—and knocked over a glass swan. It cracked against the table. “I’m sorry!” Ji Shen cried. “I didn’t mean it.” She hovered behind Pei.

  In the pause that fell before their next words, Pei was sure they would have to return to Ma-ling’s. She stood there helpless, holding the two broken pieces in her hands.

  But Mrs. Finch surprised them by shaking her head. “Those knickknacks are a nuisance. Well, one less to dust this way. Come along, then, let me show you to your room.”

  All Pei’s second thoughts about working for the Englishwoman began to fade. And then were banished forever when, instead of leading them toward the kitchen quarters as Pei had expected, Mrs. Finch led them down the hall to a good-sized guest room with two single beds, a dresser, and a mirror. Pei couldn’t imagine ever sleeping in a room next to Chen tai and Chen seen-san. Only the baby amah would be allowed to stay on the same floor as her employers, much less in a room so close to theirs.

  “Here?” Pei exclaimed. “It’s so big!”

  “It’s about time it was used for something other than a storage room for my past exploits as a teacher.” Mrs. Finch waved apologetically at a stack of boxes at one side of the room. “It could use some cleaning, though.”

  Ji Shen looked out the window. “There’s a beautiful garden.” She smiled, dropping her bag.

  Pei whispered, “Thank you.”

  “Welcome to your new home.” Mrs. Finch cleared her throat. “You must be thirsty. What would you both say to some tea?” On her way out of the room, Mrs. Finch gently pushed aside one of the boxes, and the clinking of glass filled the room.

  Everything was uncomplicated for Mrs. Finch. Pei’s cooking was mediocre at best, but she had no trouble boiling Mrs. Finch’s potatoes and frying her piece of meat. Afterward, she prepared rice and a plate of fish and vegetables for herself and Ji Shen. Pei was thankful that Mrs. Finch had to have her food plain and simple. “I’m afraid my days of rich, spicy sauces are over,” she often said with a sigh.

&n
bsp; The first time Mrs. Finch had showed her how to cook her meals, Pei could barely resist lifting the meat out of the pan before it became too dry and overcooked. “Just leave it,” Mrs. Finch directed. “I like my meat cooked all through, just like my mum used to make it!”

  It was much more difficult to please Ji Shen, who had eaten Moi’s cooking back at the girls’ house and found Pei’s efforts decidedly less satisfying.

  Each morning, Mrs. Finch had taught Pei a few simple words of English, words she might use at the marketplace, names of fruits and vegetables mainly: “ap-ple” and “or-ange,” “po-ta-to” and “toma-to.” Pei was thrilled with each new word that came from her lips. Mrs. Finch had even rummaged through one of her boxes and produced a small blackboard to teach Pei to write the funnysounding words.

  “A lifetime ago I was a teacher,” Mrs. Finch explained. “It runs through my veins, but you have my permission to stop me if I get carried away.”

  Pei never stopped Mrs. Finch. As if she’d been starved, she couldn’t seem to learn fast enough. She moved from words to phrases, the new language rolling off her tongue like a song. Not since Lin had taught her to read and write Chinese characters at the girls’ house had anyone taken the time to teach her. Pei smiled to think how much fun Lin would have had repeating over and over, “One, two, three ap-ples in the bas-ket.”

  Sometimes, in the late afternoon, after the flat had been cleaned and dusted, Pei found some spare time to sit with Ji Shen as she finished her homework in the kitchen. These were her few precious free moments before she began preparing dinner. She loved to sit down across from Ji Shen and practice writing her words on the blackboard, the chalk screeching across the surface until Ji Shen couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’ll finish the rest of my work in the bedroom!” she said, more times than not, gathering her books and stomping off.

  Now Mrs. Finch patted the bed next to her. “Sit down for a moment. I want to tell you something.”

  Pei knew Mrs. Finch’s “moments” could easily lead into hours of reminiscing and stories. During Pei’s first few months on Conduit Road, Mrs. Finch had recounted her life story. “I was born and raised in Cheltenham, England,” she said. “I knew if I didn’t find my way to London as soon as I was out of school, I’d marry, live, and die in a small English village.”

  Pei had listened intently; then, for the first time she began to divulge bits and pieces of her own life to someone outside the sisterhood.

  “I thought I would live the rest of my life in Yung Kee doing the silk work,” she began, “but it seems that life plays tricks on you.”

  Mrs. Finch smiled. “For better or worse, I suppose. But at least we were destined to meet.”

  Pei nodded, a sad stillness running through her. She couldn’t help but wish Lin had lived to meet Mrs. Finch. “I had a friend who would have loved talking to you.”

  “Had?”

  “She died in a fire.” She realized it was the first time she’d ever said the words aloud.

  “I’m sorry; it must have been horrid for you.”

  Pei suddenly wished she hadn’t brought up Lin’s death. “Yes,” she said, unable to say any more.

  “Time heals,” Mrs. Finch said gently, then turned toward the window and changed the subject, as if she could read Pei’s mind. “Well, it looks as if it’ll be another nice day.”

  Pei removed the breakfast tray and sat down on the yellow chenille bedspread. Mrs. Finch closed her eyes again, opening them when the music ended. “Since the end of summer, there have been rumors,” she began, “that the Japanese will eventually make their way to Hong Kong.”

  Pei nodded grimly. She’d heard the same rumors down at the Central Market, the prating of servants who insisted Hong Kong would be swallowed up by the Japanese even though it was a British colony. Still other servants spoke of the thick layer of fear rising in the households of the Westerners they worked for: “The wife had everything packed and ready to be shipped back to England by the time the husband came home from work!”

  During the first few weeks of September 1941, although Pei watched and waited, she saw little change in the carefree, extravagant Hong Kong way of life. She said nothing to Ji Shen, who had barely survived the Nanking massacre, and who still suffered from nightmares about the death and dying she had witnessed. It wasn’t fair that she should have to relive the horror. Without Lin’s guidance, Pei wouldn’t know where to go if they had to leave Hong Kong. Now, she wondered if she should seek out Ho Yung, who had been so kind to them once before, but then she shyly put the thought to rest.

  “Will you be leaving Hong Kong?” Pei asked.

  Mrs. Finch smiled. “Oh, no, my dear, I have no intention of leaving. If the Japanese want me out, they are going to have to carry me out of this flat! And I promise you, that won’t be an easy task. But in the event that something so awful does happen, I’d just like us to be prepared, that’s all. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Pei breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Yes, of course.”

  “Bottled water, canned food—we need to stock those kinds of things. You can never be too safe. I don’t know how Mr. Finch and I made it through the war back in 1914. London was all but shut down; there was so little food and no fuel. It’s the only time I’ve ever thanked God that we had no small children to worry about.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Go? We stayed put. London was our home. I was still teaching at the time. Howard hadn’t been called to serve because he was already in his forties. He never did feel right about it. Volunteered in every civilian war effort he could. Sometimes, he was out till all hours. I worried about him just as if he were out on the battlefield.” Mrs. Finch smiled. “I remember those nights sitting in wait, trying to concentrate on some book by candlelight, while all the time I was wondering when he’d come stumbling back in.” Mrs. Finch’s voice trailed off. “Only this time, Howard won’t be here.”

  Pei touched Mrs. Finch lightly on her thin wrist. “But Ji Shen and I will be.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Finch perked up. “And we girls shall prevail, won’t we!”

  By the first week of October, Pei had bought dozens of cans of meat and vegetables, sardines, and boxes of crackers. Now she packed everything into a cardboard box and rearranged the pantry. She planned to continue buying a few more cans each week, just in case. As she pushed the box back behind the other dry foods, she suddenly remembered Moi hiding her clay jars of herbs and dried fruit in Auntie Yee’s room. Almost three years ago, the Japanese had seized Canton, and most likely Yung Kee, in one clean sweep. Pei hoped Moi had somehow kept herself safe at the girls’ house. She pressed her hands to her knees and forced herself to rise. A wave of fear swept over her as she hurried to her room and carried back the jars of dried herbs and fruits Moi had given them to hide among their other supplies.

  Ji Shen

  A year ago, when Ji Shen first arrived at Mrs. Finch’s Conduit Road flat in Quan’s rickshaw, she hadn’t really known what to expect.

  Quan had shown up at Ma-ling’s boardinghouse the morning they left. He insisted on taking them to Conduit Road.

  “It’s too far,” Pei protested.

  “I’ve taken white devils all the way up to the Peak,” Quan boasted. He flexed his long, thin arms as if to prove his strength.

  Ji Shen smiled. “It’s very nice of you to think of us.”

  Quan seemed to take that as a yes; he began loading their few possessions and Moi’s jars into a basket behind his rickshaw. “Get in,” he said, “and enjoy the ride.”

  Ma-ling had packed them sweet rice cakes and dried plums, and even the old herbalist emerged from his shop and stood in the doorway to send them off. In the bright sunlight, Ji Shen thought he looked small and fragile as he helped Pei into the rickshaw. Then he smiled and handed Pei a cloth bag, fastened with a piece of blue ribbon.

  “It’s tea,” he said. “The kind that helps you dream.”

  Ji Shen watched Pei squeeze his hand
tightly before letting go. Then, in the rickshaw, sitting next to Pei as they climbed up the paved streets, she felt both happiness and excitement for the first time in months.

  Ji Shen never thought she would feel comfortable in a gwei lo’s home, but Mrs. Finch was as unlike a “white devil” as she could imagine. The flat was dark and crowded, and Ji Shen had never seen so many objects in one room before. Every table was covered with glass figures. Mrs. Finch hadn’t even been angry when Ji Shen accidentally broke a glass swan. From what Ji Shen had heard from Quan, many Chinese Tai tais would have beaten her for less.

  “At least most Westerners pay me,” Quan told her a few months later. “When they yell ‘Sha!’ from the doorways of restaurants and hotels, it’s a race to see which puller reaches them first. But one time I couldn’t get to the Hong Kong Hotel fast enough for one Chinese Tai tai, and she just climbed down from my rickshaw and walked off without paying. When I ran after her, she told the doorman I was bothering her!”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “You can’t trust anyone out there.” Quan shook his head. “But this Englishwoman seems nice enough.”

  Ji Shen nodded. “Pei likes her a great deal. Mrs. Finch is even teaching her English.”

  Quan laughed. “From what I’ve been hearing, she’d probably be better off learning Japanese!”

  “Don’t say such things!” Ji Shen scolded, her voice harsher than she had expected. She caught herself, realized Quan knew nothing of the murders of her parents and sister by the Japanese devils in Nanking. “It might come true.” She clutched the edge of her tunic.

  Quan wiped his dirty palms against his trousers. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he said with a shy smile.

  Even though Pei said little about the Japanese armies making their way to Hong Kong, Ji Shen’s classmates whispered among themselves: It was just a matter of time before the Japanese came. Some of the European families had already left. Now sixteen, Ji Shen felt her past terrors begin to loom large again. Most of the time, she refused to believe anything was going to change—she liked Mrs. Finch and St. Cecilia’s, and the uniform dark blue sweater and skirt that made her feel she was no different from any other girl there. And she loved living with Pei again. Not since Ji Shen was a little girl with her own family in Nanking, before the Japanese invasion, had she felt so secure.