Read Online Dreams of the Red Phoenix by Virginia Pye - Free Book Online

responsible for the care and treat ment of an army. That’s absurd.”
    â€œDo not think of them as an army. With the Japanese here, my men will not come to you in uniform but will look like everyone else. The truth is, they are just country boys, the sons of farmers. None of us has ever seen a doctor before. Whatever you do to help us will be more than we have ever received. We just need care and attention, not complicated medical procedures, though I will see what supplies I can find. A mother’s love would be a most generous and needed gift to my boys. I am sure your husband would approve.”
    Shirley didn’t know what to say. She was about to decline the captain’s request again when Charles called to her from the sec ond floor.
    â€œMother, come quick,” he shouted.
    She did not hesitate but hurried upstairs. “What is it, Charles? Are you all right?” she called.
    But when she reached the top step, her son looked perfectly fine. He held a stack of towels and other supplies but managed to grab her hand and pulled her into his bedroom. Lian was there already, standing beside the window with several rolls of bandag es limp in her hands. Dao-Ming clung to her side.
    Charles stood close beside Shirley at the window; his large, damp hand continued to grip hers. She placed her other palm against the warm windowpane and pressed. When Charles was young, they would sit on the window seat in the parlor on rainy days and together trace raindrops with their fingertips. They’d press their palms to the glass and leave ghostly prints, each trying to catch the other’s shadow before it faded. Now, through the glass, her hand felt vibrations.
    â€œSee them out there,” Charles said. “Aren’t they awful?”
    The thudding footfalls of Japanese soldiers shook the win dowpane as they marched in unison on the dirt road outside the missionary compound. Before them staggered a line of Chinese men, most in tan Nationalist uniforms but some in peasant cloth ing, all with their hands and feet in iron chains. The Japanese sol diers lined the prisoners beside a ditch at a bend in the road that the Americans passed every time they went to and from market. The Japanese then took their positions, and Shirley couldn’t tell which one gave the signal, but suddenly a staggering of sharp retorts sounded as a half-dozen rifles fired in quick succession. The Chinese fell, their bodies splayed in awkward positions on the ground. A cloud of yellow dust rose around them and filtered down onto their bodies, sticking where the blood quickly pooled. Then the Japanese soldiers sauntered forward, no longer in for mation, and kicked the Chinese the rest of the way into the ditch.
    A high-pitched moan like that of a wounded cat issued from Dao-Ming. Lian patted her back and cooed reassuring words to calm her sorrow. Or perhaps it wasn’t sorrow the strange girl expressed but anger, for suddenly Lian had to block her from charging out of the room and down the stairs. Dao-Ming had certainly gotten larger since Shirley had last taken notice and was a more determined creature than she had realized. The girl’s pink cheeks became streaked with tears shed from piercing eyes, but a surprising fearlessness caused her arms to flail as her voice mounted into an uncontrolled, vengeful howl.
    The Japanese fishmonger’s family appeared at the threshold of Charles’s room and bowed their heads out of respect. Old Tupan Feng pushed past them, his complexion scarlet and his sword raised.
    â€œWe will fight the enemy!” he announced.
    â€œGo back to sleep, Old One,” Lian said. “We don’t need your help. We need only the skilled and the brave. We need only the good.”
    Charles squeezed Shirley’s fingers harder and muttered, “Can’t we do something about this, Mother? Really, we must.”
    Shirley didn’t answer but looked across to Lian in reply.

Six
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