The Girl in the Torch (14 page)

B
ACK AT
M
RS.
L
EE'S
, M
ARYK WENT
to the basement to rest. Sarah retreated upstairs, her head filled with concerns about all he had shared with her. Moving down the hall toward her room, Sarah was surprised to find Bao Yu standing by the door, waiting for her.

“Hello,” Sarah said.

“Hi,” Bao Yu replied. She spoke in a low voice, almost as if she was embarrassed to be speaking at all. “May I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yes,” Sarah said. “Come in.”

She ushered Bao Yu into Maryk's room and closed the door behind them.

Bao Yu stood in a spot just inside the door and tentatively looked around.

“My mother would not want me to be here,” she said. “She is taking a nap now.”

“She doesn't like me very much,” Sarah said.

“It's not you. It's me. She does not want me to mix with anyone.”

“Why not?”

“She hopes to find me a Chinese boy to marry from a good family, who will want a traditional girl. She doesn't want me to become too American.”

“She thinks I am too American?” Sarah almost laughed.

“No, but you are not Chinese. Chinese boys want to marry girls who know the old ways, who have not become too modern.”

Sarah giggled. How could anyone think of her as “modern”?

“She wants you to get married now?” Sarah said. “Aren't you my age?”

“I just turned twelve.”

“Isn't that too young to get married?”

“Maybe not married, but my mother believes it's never too early to find a match. My mother was promised to my father when she was half my age. Marriage came later, but the families made the arrangements long in advance. She's hoping to make a match as soon as possible.”

“That happened in my old country too,” Sarah said, excited to be sharing something of her past. “There were matchmakers who put boys and girls together. My friends and I used to worry about who the matchmaker would pair us with and pray it wasn't one of the ugly boys. There was one boy named Abram who had greasy hair and smelled like sour milk.” She winced at the memory.

“Yuck,” Bao Yu said, wrinkling her nose.

“All the girls called him Milk Boy behind his back,” Sarah said.

Both girls laughed. Then Bao Yu's smile disappeared and her brow furrowed.

“I have come to ask a favor,” she said.

“A favor?” Sarah said, wondering what anyone could want from her.

“I've seen you reading the newspaper. And even some of these books.” She gestured to Maryk's bookshelf. “Do you think you could teach me?”

“Your mother and father never taught you?”

“My mother doesn't know how to read either. She never went to school.”

“Mine didn't either,” Sarah said, feeling good that they shared something else in common.

“She took care of her parents and then she took care of me and my father. That was her job. But I need to learn if I'm ever going to help support my mother.”

“I suppose I could try,” Sarah said, flattered to be asked.

“I don't have any money to pay you.”

“Don't worry about that. It'll be nice for me just to have someone to talk to besides Mrs. Lee and Miss Jean.”

“But it would have to be our secret. My mother would be furious if she ever found out.”

“Of course,” Sarah said. “We can meet in the afternoons when your mother takes her nap.”

“That would be wonderful,” Bao Yu said.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sarah said.

“Of course.”

“What does the name Bao Yu mean?”

“It's Cantonese,” she said. “It means ‘precious jade.'”

“That's pretty,” Sarah said. “Those will be some of the first words I'll need to teach you.”

“Thank you,” Bao Yu said.

She reached into her pocket and handed Sarah something in a small white wrapper.

“It's ginger candy.”

Bao Yu bowed slightly and then quietly slipped out of the room.

Sarah unwrapped the candy and put it in her mouth. It was soft and sweet and slightly spicy and got stuck in her teeth as she chewed.

T
HAT NIGHT
, S
ARAH GOT
out of bed to use the toilet down the hall. Her thighs and calves ached from horseback riding as she squatted down on the cold wooden seat.

The house was dark and quiet as she made her way back to her room in her stocking feet. But she paused when she heard voices and noticed a dim light coming from downstairs. She wondered who could be up at that hour, so she tiptoed over to the stairs, leaned her head down, and listened.

The muffled voices of Maryk and Mrs. Lee drifted up from the kitchen. She couldn't make out what they were saying. So she carefully moved down to the bottom of the stairs until she could clearly hear their voices and the low rattle of glasses on the wood kitchen table.

“You drink too much of that stuff,” Mrs. Lee said. “Makes your stomach sour and eyes red.”

“You saying you don't want any?”

“Just a little,” she said.

“I figured as much.”

“I have nip in tea. You drink whole bottle. Not the same.”

“Everybody's got their poison.”

Sarah heard the sound of whiskey being poured. And then a long silence.

“So what you going to do with her?” Mrs. Lee finally said.

“What do you mean, what am
I
gonna do?”

“I mean, what you going to do with the girl?”

“It's not just me now. You're in this too.”

“You get me in. I don't want to be in. With Sarah here along with Chinese girls, people get wrong ideas, think I run slave ring. I could go to jail. I could lose everything.”

“No one's even noticed.”

“Not true. Mr. Wong next door ask who she is.”

“What'd you say?”

“I said she was your niece like we decide.”

“Did he believe you?”

“I think. Don't know.”

“Hmm,” Maryk grunted. “Well, Wong always has been a nosy son of a gun.”

“Not just Mr. Wong notice. Others too.”

“Who?”

“Lots others. Mrs. Fat not happy. She want job for Bao Yu.”

“Fat's never happy.”

“I told you she could stay for one week.”

“You want to throw her out on the street? Is that what you want?”

Another long silence followed. Sarah held her breath, waiting for the reply.

“She a good girl,” Mrs. Lee said softly.

“You think I don't know that?”

“So what
we
going to do with her?”

“I just don't know.”

Another silence. Mrs. Lee sighed.

“I need to sleep,” she finally said.

Sarah heard Mrs. Lee rise from the table. She quickly stepped back and felt the blood rush into her head. After gripping the railing to steady herself, she tiptoed up the stairs to Maryk's room and locked the door.

She got back into the bed, covered herself under the warm blankets, and propped Ivan on the pillow beside her.

“I've got to think of something to do so she'll have to let me stay.”

The toy bear looked back at her blankly.

“You're not any help. I don't know why I bother talking to you.”

She sighed, lay back, and stared at the ceiling. There was only one thing she could think to do.

B
Y FIVE THIRTY A.M.
S
ARAH'S KNEES
were raw. But she continued scrubbing the kitchen floor in the semidarkness. She had been cleaning for well over an hour, first straightening the front room, then setting the dining table for the morning meal, and finally landing in the kitchen to prepare breakfast and make the place as spotless as possible.

She was working a rough-bristled brush over and over a dark stain near the sink when Mrs. Lee entered and watched her in silence for a moment.

“That stain older than Mrs. Lee,” she said.

Sarah jumped. “You surprised me,” she said, rising to her feet.

“You surprised me too,” Mrs. Lee said.

“I was just cleaning.”

“I see. Parlor swept. Dining table set.”

“I can get up early and do the work, so you can sleep more.”

“You think Mrs. Lee so old she need more sleep?”

“No. I was just . . .”

“It was joke,” Mrs. Lee said.

“And I have some money,” Sarah said. She gestured to the kitchen table, where she had laid out the coins she'd collected on the Lady's island and working for Tommy. “It's not much,” she continued, “but I can make more and pay for a room.”

“Come here and sit,” Mrs. Lee said, with a gentler voice than Sarah was used to hearing.

Sarah placed her brush in the sink and sat at the kitchen table.

“You good worker.”

“Thank you.”

“You like it here?”

Sarah nodded.

“I make decision.”

“A decision?”

“Yes. I decide you can stay.”

Mrs. Lee patted Sarah's hand, crossed her arms, and nodded.

A lump formed in Sarah's throat.

“I can stay?”

“Yes, and work for me. You okay with working for mean old Chinese lady?”

“You aren't mean,” Sarah said.

“So you do think I am old.” Mrs. Lee's eyes went wide in mock anger.

“No . . . I . . . thank you.”

Sarah rose from her chair and hugged Mrs. Lee.

Mrs. Lee's face softened and she gave Sarah a pat on the back.

“And you keep your money,” she said, nodding to the coins. “You will earn your keep working for me. It is full-time job. No more wandering around. Don't want people asking questions either. You understand?”

Sarah wouldn't be able to help Tommy sell his papers anymore. As happy as she was about Mrs. Lee's decision, she dreaded telling Tommy that she would have to put their business partnership on hold.

“Yes,” she said. “I understand.”

Sarah retreated upstairs to Maryk's room, closed the door, and jumped onto the bed. She squeezed the pillow tightly, a rush of joy and relief washing over her. She had a home. It wasn't like any home she had ever imagined having, but it was enough to know she would have a roof over her head and be safe and welcome somewhere.

S
ARAH STAYED INSIDE NEARLY
all the next day. It was only when the sun had started to set that Mrs. Lee finally let her go out to buy the evening papers. Sarah nervously fingered the coins in her pocket as she wound her way down Mott Street, looking for Tommy.

She found him standing on the corner, calling out headlines with a heavy bag of evening papers weighing down his shoulder. She approached, dreading having to break the news.

“Where you been, Red?” he said. “I've been looking all over for you.”

He unslung the bag from his shoulder and placed it at his feet, so she could take it up.

“Sorry, I—”

“I didn't sell near as many of the morning paper as we did yesterday,” he interrupted. “But come on, let's see if we can unload these quick.”

Sarah took a deep breath.

“Tommy, I can't sell papers with you anymore.”

“What? But I thought we were partners. I thought you needed to save money to get your own place.”

“I did,” she said. “But now I will be able to stay with my uncle for a while. And the woman who runs the house wants me to work for her full-time.”

His face fell. “Oh,” he said.

“I am sorry.”

“It's okay. I'm happy for you. It's just that I told Mr. Duffy all about our partnership. He thought it was a good idea.”

“Will Mr. Duffy be mad?”

“Oh, no. He's a swell guy. He never gets mad at me.”

“Are you sure?” she said.

“Sure I'm sure,” Tommy said, forcing a smile. “Don't worry about me. Everyone knows Tommy Grogan's the best newsie in Manhattan. I just got to work on building up my muscles.”

He flexed his small biceps.

“I promise I'll always buy from you,” Sarah said. “And I'll take three now.”

She paid him and he handed her the papers.

“Thanks,” he said, hoisting the bag back on his shoulder. “Well, I'd better get a move on. Only a little more daylight to sell my stack.”

“Are you sure you're all right?”

“Sure,” he said. “Don't worry about me, Sarah.”

It was the first time Tommy had ever used her real name. Something about the way he said it, with all of his usual bravado
stripped away, made her worry about him even more.

“See you around,” he said.

Tommy moved off through the crowd, waving a paper in the air.

“Get your
New York World
here! All the dirt! Read all about it!”

Sarah watched him wander away and then headed back to the apartment building.

As she walked, Sarah glanced into shop windows until she froze at the sight of someone who looked familiar inside a small, dingy jewelry store. She moved closer and realized that it was Mrs. Fat, talking to the man behind the counter. At first, Sarah thought it was strange that Mrs. Fat would be jewelry shopping. Then she realized that the jeweler was holding a jade bracelet in his hand and examining it with a magnifying glass while Mrs. Fat talked.

Finally, the jeweler looked up and offered her a few dollars from a cashbox. Mrs. Fat threw up her hands, as if insulted by the offer. The jeweler shrugged and placed the money in the box and the bracelet back on the counter. Mrs. Fat didn't take the bracelet. She continued pleading with him, but he just shook his head. Finally she sighed and nodded. He produced the same measly collection of bills and handed them to Mrs. Fat.

As she counted the bills, Mrs. Fat glanced up and looked out the window.

Sarah quickly joined the flow of people moving down the sidewalk and hurried away. She thought of Bao Yu's name, “precious
jade,” and realized how difficult it must have been for Mrs. Fat to part with the bracelet.

When Sarah returned to the building, Miss Jean had just finished pulling the dried laundry from the line in the backyard. Sarah helped her fold the sheets and towels and then delivered the laundered linens to all the boarders.

Sarah made her delivery rounds and saved Mrs. Fat and Bao Yu's room for last, afraid of seeing the woman. She gently knocked on the door, holding their neatly folded pile of white sheets.

“Bao Yu, get the door,” she heard Mrs. Fat say from inside. Her voice sounded muffled and strange.

After a moment Bao Yu opened the door.

“I have your laundry,” Sarah said.

Sarah peered into the apartment and could see Mrs. Fat was on her knees crying before what appeared to be a small altar. At the center of the altar was a framed photograph of a Chinese man in a dark suit, surrounded by a ceramic bowl containing an orange; a statue of a fat, bald man sitting cross-legged; and two red candles.

Mrs. Fat caught sight of Sarah and wiped her eyes.

“Get out,” she said.

Sarah looked away.

Bao Yu took the pile of laundry from Sarah. Their eyes met. Sarah could see Bao Yu fighting back tears as she gently closed the door.