Em’ly.
I am sure I loved that baby quite as truly,
quite as tenderly . . . that can enter into the best
love of a later time of life . . .”
—David Copperfield, Charles Dickens, 1850
BUT FOR THE MOMENT, HELPLESS AS I WAS, I HAD TO MAKE my way out of this alley. I forced my shaky legs to carry me toward the avenue, and I lurched in that direction, when, like drawing magic out of a hat, I ran smack into David Wong.
“Miss Baker?”
I was flooded with relief, so much so that I had to hold my knees rigid to keep from collapsing into a heap right there. I looked back down the alley to see Wilkie and Min disappearing into a dark doorway, her skirt a flag of defeat.
“Miss Baker?” David repeated. “Are you all right?”
I turned back to David. “Mr. Wong. You have no idea . . .”
“What were you doing down there?” David’s arm pointed down the alley.
“I . . . I ran into this, this man. Josiah Wilkie—”
“What were you doing with him ? How do you know Wilkie ? ” David asked, anger storming his face.
“I wasn’t doing anything with him! I wish I’d never met him!” Just what was David accusing me of? I’d never felt such hurt. “I hate that man!”
“Then you do know him.” David lowered his arm, loosened his fingers.
“Yes, I do. He’s making my life miserable.” I caught myself. I braced my shoulders. “But wait. How do you know him?”
David’s eyes went dark. “He traffics in evil.”
I thought about Min. “Yes. Indeed he does.” I still breathed hard.
“I don’t think you can imagine. He—or those he works with—they . . .” He couldn’t finish and looked away, hiding his face, before turning back to me.
We regarded one another in silence. My heart eased, just seeing him there. And then something passed between us. I reached my right hand out to touch his left, a brief touch of my fingers on the back of his hand. And still we stood there.
I spoke softly. “This is the second time you’ve come upon me in distress, Mr. Wong.”
“I wish you’d call me David.” Warmth flooded my skin, a swift and bracing change of mood from fear to longing. David Wong reached right into my heart.
“David. Do you make a habit of showing up when I need you most?”
“I wish even more you’d tell me your given name.”
“Such presumption!” But I was smiling now. “It’s Kula.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
My cheeks burned. “It comes down from my father’s side. I don’t know the whole story of it.”
“Why not?”
“I . . .” Why not. I examined the ground, mining the road for pebbles with my toe. I fidgeted with my jacket. I was ashamed, I could have said. My grandmother was native, an Indian. But to say this to a Chinese man, to admit my fear of the stigma attached to someone who looked like me, whose blood clearly ran with the taint of native blood, to admit to David that I was ashamed, why, he might not forgive me. And I’d discovered how much I wanted him to like me. “I never pursued it.”
“Miss Kula, it suits you.”
That blush crept right down my neck, and all my skin tingled so, and I met David’s smile. “Thank you.” I cocked my head. “And just how did you happen to be here?”
“I was meeting someone. And you?”
I adjusted Miss Everts’s hat, fiddled with the ribbon under my chin. “I was shopping.”
“Did you recover your other things?”
“No.”
“That’s a shame.” His gaze strayed from me to the alley behind me, to where Wilkie had disappeared. “Stay away from him if you can.”
David’s words reminded me of Pa’s words. “I didn’t come looking for him. He came looking for me.”
His eyes shot back to meet mine. “Why?”
“He . . . knows my pa.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“He’s dangerous.”
“I know that already. What exactly do you know?”
David’s voice came out low and deep, thick with emotion. “There’s another side to San Francisco. Other than the stores on
I am sure I loved that baby quite as truly,
quite as tenderly . . . that can enter into the best
love of a later time of life . . .”
—David Copperfield, Charles Dickens, 1850
BUT FOR THE MOMENT, HELPLESS AS I WAS, I HAD TO MAKE my way out of this alley. I forced my shaky legs to carry me toward the avenue, and I lurched in that direction, when, like drawing magic out of a hat, I ran smack into David Wong.
“Miss Baker?”
I was flooded with relief, so much so that I had to hold my knees rigid to keep from collapsing into a heap right there. I looked back down the alley to see Wilkie and Min disappearing into a dark doorway, her skirt a flag of defeat.
“Miss Baker?” David repeated. “Are you all right?”
I turned back to David. “Mr. Wong. You have no idea . . .”
“What were you doing down there?” David’s arm pointed down the alley.
“I . . . I ran into this, this man. Josiah Wilkie—”
“What were you doing with him ? How do you know Wilkie ? ” David asked, anger storming his face.
“I wasn’t doing anything with him! I wish I’d never met him!” Just what was David accusing me of? I’d never felt such hurt. “I hate that man!”
“Then you do know him.” David lowered his arm, loosened his fingers.
“Yes, I do. He’s making my life miserable.” I caught myself. I braced my shoulders. “But wait. How do you know him?”
David’s eyes went dark. “He traffics in evil.”
I thought about Min. “Yes. Indeed he does.” I still breathed hard.
“I don’t think you can imagine. He—or those he works with—they . . .” He couldn’t finish and looked away, hiding his face, before turning back to me.
We regarded one another in silence. My heart eased, just seeing him there. And then something passed between us. I reached my right hand out to touch his left, a brief touch of my fingers on the back of his hand. And still we stood there.
I spoke softly. “This is the second time you’ve come upon me in distress, Mr. Wong.”
“I wish you’d call me David.” Warmth flooded my skin, a swift and bracing change of mood from fear to longing. David Wong reached right into my heart.
“David. Do you make a habit of showing up when I need you most?”
“I wish even more you’d tell me your given name.”
“Such presumption!” But I was smiling now. “It’s Kula.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
My cheeks burned. “It comes down from my father’s side. I don’t know the whole story of it.”
“Why not?”
“I . . .” Why not. I examined the ground, mining the road for pebbles with my toe. I fidgeted with my jacket. I was ashamed, I could have said. My grandmother was native, an Indian. But to say this to a Chinese man, to admit my fear of the stigma attached to someone who looked like me, whose blood clearly ran with the taint of native blood, to admit to David that I was ashamed, why, he might not forgive me. And I’d discovered how much I wanted him to like me. “I never pursued it.”
“Miss Kula, it suits you.”
That blush crept right down my neck, and all my skin tingled so, and I met David’s smile. “Thank you.” I cocked my head. “And just how did you happen to be here?”
“I was meeting someone. And you?”
I adjusted Miss Everts’s hat, fiddled with the ribbon under my chin. “I was shopping.”
“Did you recover your other things?”
“No.”
“That’s a shame.” His gaze strayed from me to the alley behind me, to where Wilkie had disappeared. “Stay away from him if you can.”
David’s words reminded me of Pa’s words. “I didn’t come looking for him. He came looking for me.”
His eyes shot back to meet mine. “Why?”
“He . . . knows my pa.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“He’s dangerous.”
“I know that already. What exactly do you know?”
David’s voice came out low and deep, thick with emotion. “There’s another side to San Francisco. Other than the stores on
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