Samaritan perspective and wanted to grab and kiss her.
Shu-Ann went to the table where the sheet of butcher paper lay and drew circles with little lines coming out of the top.
“Um, apples? You want me to bring you some apples? Sure.”
“Appu,” she said, and then spoke a word in Chinese.
“Ping,” Alan echoed then went to get some from the store.
At the end of the day, after he’d bid Jeremy good-night and closed the shop, Alan returned to a fragrant kitchen. A cloth covered the set table and steam wafted from a pan on the stove. In the years he’d lived here, it was the first time he’d felt as if he was entering a real home.
A moment later, Shu-Ann padded down the stairs, her slippered feet almost silent. Alan bowed and she returned the greeting. She went to the stove and began dishing up a plateful of food while Alan sat down at the table.
After placing the plate in front of him, she went to the corner of the room and stood like a servant with her hands folded and her eyes downcast.
“Please, sit.” Alan gestured to the other chair.
She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, looking as if she’d like to sink into it. Perhaps she was trying to Bonnie Dee
63
establish her place as a servant in his house, or maybe it was taboo for an unmarried Chinese women to eat with a strange man. Whatever the reason, Alan felt self-conscious shoveling food into his mouth while she hovered nearby. The meal was delicious. She’d done amazing things with the tinned beef and beans, adding slices of barely cooked apple and spices that gave it a different flavor and texture, but it was hard to swallow when he was the only one eating.
Alan devoured his food quickly. Before she could step forward and whisk it away, he rose and put it in the sink. Taking another plate from the cupboard, he filled it, set it on the table and pulled back the chair, making it impossible for Shu-Ann to refuse his offer.
She perched on the edge of the seat and touched the fork and spoon which Alan gave her. At last she chose the spoon, holding it awkwardly as she scooped a bite of food.
Alan left her to eat in peace, picking up the buckets to fill them at the pump. It was a balmy evening. A few stars were sprinkled in the square of sky surrounded by buildings on all sides. Alan didn’t like the confining courtyard penning him in, but ignored his growing sense of anxiety and concentrated on pumping water.
By the time he returned to the kitchen, Shu-Ann was washing the dishes. When he tried to help, she waved a hand at him and squawked like an angry jay.
She jabbed her finger at her chest, indicating it was her job.
He held his hands up in surrender and retired upstairs to leave her to her work. He removed his boots and washed up at the basin in his room then 64
Captive Bride
couldn’t resist a peek into the spare room to see what Shu-Ann had made of it.
The white dress hung from one of the hooks on the wall. The bedroll was laid out below the window, the green wool blanket tucked in so tightly there wasn’t a single wrinkle. The rest of the room was bare except for the little table he’d left in the room. She’d placed it beside the bed and on its surface were the two decorative combs she’d taken from her hair.
Alan walked across the bare, clean-swept floor and picked up the ivory combs. The strings of shells tickled his hand as they brushed against it. He lifted the combs to his face and sniffed, trying to catch a whiff of her hair. A noise from below made him jump.
He quickly set the combs back in place and retreated from the room to go sit in the parlor.
After lighting the lamp, he picked up the book on city planning he’d been reading the previous evening, but he could no more concentrate on the page than he’d been able to count screws earlier. The printed words swam in front of his unfocused eyes while he listened to the tiniest movement from the woman downstairs.
Finally, the stairs creaked as she came upstairs. His pulse
Shu-Ann went to the table where the sheet of butcher paper lay and drew circles with little lines coming out of the top.
“Um, apples? You want me to bring you some apples? Sure.”
“Appu,” she said, and then spoke a word in Chinese.
“Ping,” Alan echoed then went to get some from the store.
At the end of the day, after he’d bid Jeremy good-night and closed the shop, Alan returned to a fragrant kitchen. A cloth covered the set table and steam wafted from a pan on the stove. In the years he’d lived here, it was the first time he’d felt as if he was entering a real home.
A moment later, Shu-Ann padded down the stairs, her slippered feet almost silent. Alan bowed and she returned the greeting. She went to the stove and began dishing up a plateful of food while Alan sat down at the table.
After placing the plate in front of him, she went to the corner of the room and stood like a servant with her hands folded and her eyes downcast.
“Please, sit.” Alan gestured to the other chair.
She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, looking as if she’d like to sink into it. Perhaps she was trying to Bonnie Dee
63
establish her place as a servant in his house, or maybe it was taboo for an unmarried Chinese women to eat with a strange man. Whatever the reason, Alan felt self-conscious shoveling food into his mouth while she hovered nearby. The meal was delicious. She’d done amazing things with the tinned beef and beans, adding slices of barely cooked apple and spices that gave it a different flavor and texture, but it was hard to swallow when he was the only one eating.
Alan devoured his food quickly. Before she could step forward and whisk it away, he rose and put it in the sink. Taking another plate from the cupboard, he filled it, set it on the table and pulled back the chair, making it impossible for Shu-Ann to refuse his offer.
She perched on the edge of the seat and touched the fork and spoon which Alan gave her. At last she chose the spoon, holding it awkwardly as she scooped a bite of food.
Alan left her to eat in peace, picking up the buckets to fill them at the pump. It was a balmy evening. A few stars were sprinkled in the square of sky surrounded by buildings on all sides. Alan didn’t like the confining courtyard penning him in, but ignored his growing sense of anxiety and concentrated on pumping water.
By the time he returned to the kitchen, Shu-Ann was washing the dishes. When he tried to help, she waved a hand at him and squawked like an angry jay.
She jabbed her finger at her chest, indicating it was her job.
He held his hands up in surrender and retired upstairs to leave her to her work. He removed his boots and washed up at the basin in his room then 64
Captive Bride
couldn’t resist a peek into the spare room to see what Shu-Ann had made of it.
The white dress hung from one of the hooks on the wall. The bedroll was laid out below the window, the green wool blanket tucked in so tightly there wasn’t a single wrinkle. The rest of the room was bare except for the little table he’d left in the room. She’d placed it beside the bed and on its surface were the two decorative combs she’d taken from her hair.
Alan walked across the bare, clean-swept floor and picked up the ivory combs. The strings of shells tickled his hand as they brushed against it. He lifted the combs to his face and sniffed, trying to catch a whiff of her hair. A noise from below made him jump.
He quickly set the combs back in place and retreated from the room to go sit in the parlor.
After lighting the lamp, he picked up the book on city planning he’d been reading the previous evening, but he could no more concentrate on the page than he’d been able to count screws earlier. The printed words swam in front of his unfocused eyes while he listened to the tiniest movement from the woman downstairs.
Finally, the stairs creaked as she came upstairs. His pulse
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