Read Online As the Earth Turns Silver by Alison Wong - Free Book Online Page A

wandered into Wong Chung Bros. People said Chinamen all looked alike, but there was no mistaking these two. One was younger, more her own age. And he was tall. Unusually tall for a Chinaman. His hair was cut short in the western style, and he had straight white teeth – nothing like the buck-toothed caricatures you saw in the newspapers. Katherine had nothing against the other Mr Wong, but he never smiled, at least not in a way that seemed like he meant it; and even if, on the rare occasion she paid full price, sometimes the fruit he gave her softened into decay in just a few days.
    The younger Mr Wong had a warm, generous smile that half closed and softened his eyes. And he liked to linger in conversation. She’d come into the shop to find him chatting with Mr or Mrs Paterson or with Mr Krupp from the pharmacy across the road. It seemed anyone with a friendly face was fair game. His accent was strong and his English limited, but he liked to gesticulate, laugh, commiserate. And not just about the wind and the weather, which in Wellington was always a likely topic of conversation.
    One day he pointed at a photograph in the newspaper. ‘Who this man?’ he asked. ‘People talking.’
    She looked at the man in his motorcar, read the caption. ‘He’s the first to drive all around the North Island,’ she said. ‘In a motorcar.’
    He grinned. ‘You drive motorcar?’
    â€˜Me?’ She laughed. ‘You’re joking!’
    â€˜Joking?’
    â€˜You make me laugh.’
    He looked her in the eyes, and his face crinkled into a smile. ‘You sit motorcar?’
    â€˜No.’ She laughed again. ‘I’ve never sat in a motorcar.’
    â€˜Motorcar good,’ he said as he wrapped her cabbage. ‘I like drive motorcar.’
    â€˜You’ve driven a motorcar?’ How many were there in Wellington? You could probably count on your fingers.
    â€˜One day,’ he said as he handed her the vegetables.
    She walked out into the southerly. She could see him with his big grin, slender fingers around the steering wheel. How long had it been since she’d laughed? Her mother always said if the wind changed she’d be stuck like that, with that same stupid look on her face. She laughed again.
    Let the wind change. For once, let it change.

A Woman of Independent Means
    Katherine walked to Sutcliffe’s, placed one penny on the counter and carried the Post home. Then over a milky tea she examined the Wanted column:
    Wanted, lady willing to give corporal punishment to widower’s four girls. Good salary. State age and experience.
    Maid required for light duties by respectable gentleman. No Irish need apply.
    Assistant required for woman of independent means.
    After she’d graduated from Gilbys, Katherine had taken a job in the office of Kirkcaldie & Stains and had taken her own money home every week. But married women did not have careers. They gave up their jobs to younger unmarried girls, or to men who had families to support. It would have been shameful for Donald if he could not provide.
    Now Katherine did not feel capable of anything, let alone taking on the role of an assistant. Yet some people had dreams. For a moment she saw Mr Wong’s grinning face, his fingers wrapped around a steering wheel. She laid her head on the table, staring at the blurred page. A woman of independent means . The words conjured up a strange new world, a world that could only be realised once you walked through a doorway.
    The house was on Wellington Terrace, a huge, new, two-storey bay villa with a first-floor balcony, turret and flagpole. The maid showed Katherine past the magnificent kauri staircase and into the study.
    Mrs Margaret Newman, wife of Alexander Newman, Member of the House of Representatives for Lambton, only daughter of the late Sir Harold Salmond QC, sat facing the door. She motioned for Katherine to sit opposite her, and offered her