Read Online River of Dust by Virginia Pye - Free Book Online Page B

breathlessly, "the day has come! Dress me quickly, please. I have seen my son."
        Mai Lin rose, and as she came forward, Grace noticed something she had not before.
        "I have been remiss," she said as she lifted a brush from her dressing table and combed her hair for the first time in weeks. "I have never asked you, Mai Lin: are you in great pain? You hobble from the feetbinding of your childhood. I wonder if every step hurts. Is that how it feels?"
        Mai Lin waved a hand as if brushing away a fly. "It is no matter about me. Mistress is feeling better today. She sees her baby coming back to her."
        "Yes, yes, that's right," Grace said and let Mai Lin take the brush from her hand to continue the job. "Let's hurry now, so he doesn't leave again like that other time."
        Mai Lin dressed her in a simple frock because the autumn afternoon was still warm and Grace could not be bothered with all the layers of petticoats. Her enlarged belly was visible, and she felt certain the others would understand that in her condition, she couldn't possibly be encumbered by all the usual undergarments.
        She allowed Mai Lin to tie her sash, but not too tightly. Then she dashed out of the room.
        "Careful on the steps, Mistress," Mai Lin called after her. "You are more light-headed than you realize."
        Grace could not be bothered with such concerns, although she did find that her vision was playing tricks on her. When she went to hold the balustrade at the top of the stairs, there were two finials, not the usual one. She must remember to speak to Mai Lin about her dosage. The medicines were crucial to controlling her nervous condition, but much of the time, they left her feeling as drunk as a sailor, which was not proper of course but did add to her mood of levity. The reunion she had dreamed of was about to transpire.
        She traipsed lightly down the wooden steps, flew across the wide front hallway, and opened the screen door. Grace stepped out onto the grand porch and abruptly came to a halt. Before her were swarms of people. Chinese people. She had known they had entered, but from upstairs she had not seen their distinct features, their slick black hair, their dusty lined faces, the stained or missing teeth. And the stench emanating from them almost made her gag. What on earth were they all doing here? she wondered.
        Then she remembered what had taken place on this same soil about a decade before. She had learned about it on the day she had first met the Reverend in Ohio. The story of the Boxer Rebellion had been seared into her mind, and it had never been far from her thoughts since her arrival in Shansi Province.
        The dear missionary families of the past had been swarmed by angry Chinese. The crazed peasants came down from the villages in the mountains. They swooped in from every desert hamlet. They bore sticks and rocks and even guns. With war cries, they rallied their own into a frenzy of violence. Grace had heard stories of it any number of times over the past four years since her arrival here.
        "Foreign devils," they had shouted, "you have poisoned our wells, dried up our fields, and sent our children to heaven! Soon we shall all die unless we kill you first."
        "The gods are angry that we smoked the opium of the white man's religion," others had shouted. "It is because of this Jesus person that we are slaves now and starving. We will make the rain come, but first, we begin with a rain of blood!"
        Grace shivered at the thought. On an afternoon not unlike this one, the bands of barbarians had killed those who they believed were the source of their misery. Grace would forever remember the final count: 180 missionaries murdered— men, women, and innocent children. Their valiant story, and then the young Reverend Watson's contagious plan to be amongst the first brave souls returning to this land only a few years after the onslaught had taken