White Tigress (29 page)

Dearest Li Hua, what am I to do? I cannot even bring myself to end my studies in English. In fact, I am applying myself even harder than before. Ru Shan, too. We are studying English like fiends, all because of one whiskered barbarian.

I should take opium. Let it kill me as it has begun to kill my mother-in-law. Do not ever touch that evil substance, Li Hua. It will kill you, and you will not even realize what it is doing. My mother-in-law is never happy unless the pipe is in her hand. And yet, bit by bit, she is dying. It is ugly and brutal, but only to those who watch. She is in bliss, she says. And, corrupt woman that I am, I enjoy the peace the opium brings. At least the children know now not to touch it. Even my daughter sees its devastation and has stopped asking for it.

Aii, Li Hua, I am so lonely. I wish you could come for a visit.

—Mei Lan

The Master said: To bless means to help. Heaven helps the man who is devoted; men help the man who is true. He who walks in truth and is devoted in his thinking, and furthermore reveres the worthy, is blessed by Heaven. He has good fortune.

—Ta Chuan

~

Chapter 12

Ru Shan spent an entire day learning what he could about Lydia's fiancé, so the next morning he was not at all surprised to see Maxwell Slade walk into his shop. The Tao often worked that way.

The Englishman tried to be subtle, casting a disdainful eye here and there. Ru Shan was not fooled. He had much more experience in prevarication than the ghost people. After all, not only did he study the dragon/tigress way, but he lived in occupied China. Though the Mongolians had been ruling poorly for hundreds of years now, his family and all true Chinese remembered their heritage. No, the ghost people did not have even the first understanding of subtlety.

And that, apparently, included Lydia's fiancé.

The man looked about the shop, his lip curling in distaste. At what, Ru Shan didn't know, but he allowed the man to sneer.

Bowing politely, Ru Shan smiled. "How may I serve you, honorable gentleman?"

"Your shop is dirty, its stock poor."

"Yes, your honor, it is. But it is all we have, and so I count it a castle."

The man nodded, clearly annoyed. Then he abruptly smiled, as if he had just thought of an amazing idea. "Perhaps you would be better suited for another line of work. Have you considered anything else you might enjoy doing? A restaurant, perhaps. In the Chinese section."

Again Ru Shan bowed. Not because courtesy required he do so, but because it annoyed this ape. "You make a worthy suggestion," he lied. "But alas, my family has owned this shop for generation upon generation. We know nothing else. Every dirty shelf, every lost grain of rice has its story rooted deep in my family history. Surely, as a man of breeding, you understand." Lydia had once told him that the ghost people put great stock in their heritage. It was one thing their two peoples had in common.

"Well," the man drawled, taking another too-dainty stroll around the shop. "I may just have an idea of how to help you, old chum."

Ru Shan did not know this English word,
chum,
but he did not like the sound of it. It was too familiar, in that apelike way of the ghost people. As if merely smiling at a man could make him your friend. But Ru Shan had a plan, so he bowed again to annoy the ghost man and smiled as if in great relief.

"Assistance from so worthy a gentleman is always welcome."

The man's lip curled. "I'm sure it is," he said. "Look here, I've got a friend looking for a shop. He's most particular, you understand, but he fancies this general area. Now, there's a place down the street he might prefer, and the man there's willing to sell. But seeing as how you've touched my heart, how about we talk about a price for this shop, hmm?"

Was the man a baboon? Did he think that Ru Shan could have grown up here, learned this business at his father's knee, and
not
learned every boy on the street? Every child—now a man—who would stand in his shop now just as Ru Shan did? No one on this street would sell. And certainly not to an ape like this.

But this man's stupidity was Ru Shan's gain. Perhaps he could create his solution. The Tao often smoothed the way if a man took the first steps and trusted that the rest would be made clear.

"Oh," Ru Shan groaned in a most un-Chinese-like fashion. "My heart is full of cares today. First, my dearest friend has need of a wife—immediately—and he cannot find one. And now, you come and offer me a wonderful opportunity that I cannot accept. Oh, my pain is deep." Then he moaned and bowed to his knees. In truth, he was hiding his grin. He could not believe the look of surprise and shock on the ghost man's face. Could the man really think he would sell his inheritance to the first person to walk in and offer?

"Your friend needs a wife?" Lydia's fiancé asked.

"Oh, most desperately. But he has odd tastes. He wishes for a white woman." Ru Shan shook his head in despair. "No one understands it. He is a dressmaker, you know, but with such strange tastes. He wishes this white woman to help him in his shop. To work with him making clothes. None of us has ever heard of such a thing, but he says he must have one immediately."

"Or what will happen?"

Ru Shan let his shoulders droop and bowed again, as if a great weight pulled him over. "Oh, it is most evil. A curse, honorable gentleman. A curse that will not be satisfied by a Chinese girl. He must do these things or die." Ru Shan winced at the lie. No Chinese would speak lightly of curses. And yet, he felt the situation dire enough. "He would treat the woman most honorably, great sir, or the curse will strike him dead. But where would he find such a person? A white woman? To make dresses as his wife? It is inconceivable."

"Reeeeeeally,"
the fiancé said. His thick mind was obviously churning.

Ru Shan smiled. It was indeed as he had suspected. Maxwell Slade was too thickheaded to appreciate Lydia. Indeed, Ru Shan suspected that Lydia had somehow asked the man to buy the Cheng family shop. But Slade clearly had no head for this business at all.

"An honorable marriage, you say?" the fiancé continued. "To a dressmaker." Then he frowned. "But the man is Chinese."

Again, Ru Shan bowed to hide his smiles. "Yes, most honorable gentleman. Do you have a woman who would serve? If so, we could meet at the Siccawei mission at four o'clock this afternoon."

The ghost ape smiled. It was a cold expression, filled with malice. He nodded. "I," he said with a jaunty wave, "shall provide the bride." Then he was gone, taking his foul scent and his stupidity with him.

Which left Ru Shan to make his own preparations.

* * *

Lydia was speechless. She did not for one second believe that Maxwell had seen the error of his ways, had suddenly realized he was deeply and devotedly in love with her, and abruptly wanted to marry her at an out-of-the-way Jesuit mission on the outskirts of Shanghai. He had shown up carrying flowers and falling over himself trying to please her.

In truth, she was a little sickened by the sight. Had he always been this stupid? Had she been so in love with the idea of love that she'd ignored what was right in front of her? Possibly. Of course, it was also true that she hadn't seen much of Maxwell for many years. Perhaps he had been kinder before. He'd been younger, certainly. And never so cruel.

Truly, foreign travel did change a person. Now he was here pretending to a love he obviously didn't feel. And that, perhaps, hurt even more than yesterday's dismissal. Yesterday, he simply hadn't wanted her and was looking for the easiest way to extricate himself. Today, he was scheming.

But what was the scheme? And why?

The only way to find out was to go along. And so it was that at precisely four o'clock in the afternoon, she found herself carrying a bridal bouquet into a Jesuit mission, feeling more unbridelike than she'd ever thought possible.

It was a spare building, quiet and not at all filled with the pomp of the churches back home. The altar was simple, lighted by a pair of plain candelabra, and the air was dusty in the way of large rooms that cannot remain clean no matter how many times they are swept.

Lydia moved slowly, afraid of what was coming. Two months ago she would have been appalled by the thoughts running through her mind. Would Maxwell try to kill her? Surely not in a church. Neither would he sell her back into slavery—would he? He wouldn't, she reassured herself over and over—and yet he certainly had not brought her here to marry her. One look at his face and she knew all his earlier friendliness had been a lie.

His gaze flew everywhere but her, scanning the shadows, the pews, the altar. More telling still, when a priest joined them from a side room, he grew more nervous, not less. Then another person stepped into the light, and all of Lydia's thoughts disappeared.

Ru Shan.

Her steps faltered, but having seen Ru Shan, Maxwell sped up, dragging Lydia along with him. "Stop," she whispered, but he wasn't listening, and all too soon they stood before the priest and her former captor.

Ru Shan was dressed handsomely, in what was possibly the most beautiful clothing she'd seen him wear yet. It was black silk with bright yellow embroidery. The stitched character was his family name—a kind of family crest, she supposed—bright and bold in the center of his back, while smaller characters seemed to float upon the lapels. Very simple, very elegant. And in his hands he carried a package folded in coarse brown paper.

Lydia felt the air closing in about her, her breath thickening until she nearly choked on it. Maxwell had a firm hand on her arm, and he snapped at Ru Shan, "So? Where's the groom?"

Groom?

Ru Shan bowed deeply—to her, though, not to Max—and when he spoke, his eyes were on her. "He is here."

"Here?" Max said. "Where?"

Lydia began speaking, her voice rising from a hoarse whisper to a near squeak of hysteria. "You're selling me. You're selling me back to him." She shook her head. "No. I won't go back!" She abruptly jerked her arm out of Max's grip, then she fled, running in the opposite direction.

There were voices behind her—Max's, the priest's—but she couldn't make sense of what they were saying. She didn't even try. She was heading for the door with all speed.

Except that Ru Shan stood before her, blocking the way. She had not realized how large he was. How solid. Like the mountain that formed part of his name. And he would not let her pass.

She skidded to a stop, abruptly reversing direction, but he extended his arm, moving swiftly as he followed. Soon she was blocked in, a column at her back, a pew at her side, and Ru Shan before her, preventing movement in any other direction.

"No!" she said on a sob. "I won't be sold again! I won't!"

"Sold?" snapped Maxwell. "No one's talking about selling. This is a church, for God's sake. You're getting married."

She shook her head, tears blurring her vision as she searched for a way to escape.

Maxwell was continuing to spout words, but they made no sense. The priest was also babbling, his high voice intermingling with Max's, garbling both of their messages. And all the time Ru Shan stood before her, blocking her escape.

"Breathe easily, Lydia. No one will force you today. You have all the choice here."

Why she believed him, she wasn't sure. Perhaps it was because he had never lied to her before, even when she'd been in his power. Max, on the other hand, had shown himself unfaithful on so many levels. Ru Shan's words at last penetrated her panic, and she began to calm down. Though her heart still raced, her mind cleared and her body relaxed some. She was still poised to run, but for the moment she would stand and listen.

While she stood there, trapped between Ru Shan and the furniture, he extended his hand, gently lifting a tear off her cheek. "Stolen yin can be powerful," he said in Chinese, "but it twists and poisons." He threw her tear away. "I did not understand that before, but I do now."

She blinked, wondering if she had heard his words correctly. Then Max and the priest were confusing things again. They were there beside her, the priest asking if she was well, saying soothing words that made no sense. Max was bellowing at Ru Shan, demanding to know the meaning of all this.