The Language of Threads (11 page)

“Come in, come in,” a high, tight voice with a strange accent rang out even before the door was fully opened.

Pei bowed her head and smiled shyly.

“Do come in,” the voice repeated. It was sharp and cheerful, as if on the verge of laughter. “We won't get to know each other any better with you standing outside my front door!”

Pei raised her gaze to see a thin, smiling woman with a face full of wrinkles, her gray hair knotted loosely at the top of her head.

“I've come about the—”

“You must be Pei. I'm Caroline Finch. Please, come in.” She opened the door wider, reached for Pei's arm, and pulled her gently inside.

Pei had never been in a room quite like this one before. Large and comfortable, it was dark and embracing, with sturdy rose-colored velvet furniture and heavy damask drapes. Crowded bookcases lined one entire wall, and throughout the room, on white embroidered doilies, were glass figurines of all sizes and shapes. There were more glass pieces than Pei had ever seen before.

“I'm a collector of sorts,” Mrs. Finch said, following Pei's gaze. “The figurines are from all around the world. The late Mr.
Finch often brought them back to me when I was unable to travel with him.”

Pei smiled. “They're very beautiful.”

“Dust collectors mostly, but they remind me of other places, other times.” Mrs. Finch pointed to an overstuffed armchair. A tray of tea already stood on the table in front of it. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Pei sank down on the edge of the smooth velvet cushion. When Mrs. Finch sat down, a soft scent of lily of the valley rose from her.

“I'm not the type to mince words,” Mrs. Finch began. “So tell me, what's all this about you taking a necklace?” She eyed Pei closely.

“I didn't take it,” Pei answered flatly, feeling hot as blood flushed her face. She had never expected this Englishwoman to know what had happened in a Chinese household. She'd always felt a world apart from the white devils, with their strange ways and strong odors.

Mrs. Finch watched her for a moment longer. “Hong Kong is a ridiculously small place, after all, with everyone scampering to get ahead. My mother taught me early on to go by my instincts. ‘Trust yourself,' she said. ‘Then there'll be no one to blame but you!' Somehow, I don't believe you would take the necklace.”

Pei lowered her gaze and felt a rush of tears well up behind her eyes. How could this stranger, a white devil, believe her when so many Chinese had already condemned her?

“Tea?” Mrs. Finch poured from a shiny silver pot.

“Shouldn't I do that?” Pei asked, startled. She couldn't imagine Chen tai pouring tea for her.

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.

1941

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.

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.”