The Girl in the Torch Page 7

  What would he do with her now? she wondered. Would he turn her in? And if not, how would he ever explain her being here?

  Sarah looked out the window at the nearby trees and the waves lapping against the shore. She again calculated her limited escape options: run and hide in the tree or in the Lady, or dive into the water and attempt to swim away. Both ideas seemed impossible. She was in Maryk’s hands.

  Maryk also seemed to be considering his options. Then he hastily turned and cleared their coffee cups from the table and straightened the room.

  “Just follow my lead and don’t say anything, okay?”

  “Follow you?”

  “Yes. But don’t say too much if anyone asks you questions. Just short answers. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. I think.”

  “Short answers,” he said. “Yes and no.”

  Maryk straightened his jacket just as the man with the glasses reached the guardhouse, entered, and then took a step back in surprise. His eyes narrowed in on Sarah and then Maryk, who awkwardly stiffened his posture. There was a tense moment of silence. Sarah sensed that the two men didn’t like each other.

  She tried not to show her fear, by making her face as expressionless as possible.

  “What have we here?” the man said, arching an eyebrow. “You bring a drinking partner out with you last night, Maryk?”

  Sarah could tell by the man’s tone that it was not a friendly question.

  “No. I didn’t have anything to drink last night. Haven’t in two days.”

  “Two days? Is that a record? I guess I wouldn’t want to be distracted by booze either if I had my girlfriend with me.”

  “This is my niece, Johnson. So watch your mouth.”

  “Your niece?”

  “Yes,” Maryk said.

  “Didn’t know they had redheaded Indians. Redskins, yes. Redheads, no. I guess you half-breeds never know what you’re gonna look like, do you? You’re kind of like mutts that way.”

  “Watch it.”

  Maryk took a step toward Johnson, who threw up his hands in mock surrender.

  “What’s your name, girl?” he said, turning to Sarah.

  She stared back dumbly.

  “Her name is Sarah,” Maryk said.

  “Yes. Sarah,” she confirmed, nodding quickly.

  “Come on, Sarah, let’s go.”

  Maryk took her by the arm to lead her out of the guardhouse.

  Johnson stepped in front of them, blocking the door.

  “You know there are rules about having guests on the night shift, don’t you?” The man with the glasses looked her up and down. “Even if she is your niece.”

  Sarah could tell by his tone that he doubted their story.

  “Let’s go,” Maryk said.

  He pushed Sarah out the door and moved to board the ferry.

  “Don’t look back,” Maryk said. “Just get on the boat.”

  Sarah followed Maryk’s orders and boarded. The ferryboat captain seemed to know Maryk and nodded to him as they settled themselves in the passengers’ compartment belowdecks.

  Chinatown

  “DON’T MIND JOHNSON,” MARYK SAID. “He and I don’t get along. It has nothing to do with you. He’s been angling to get my job for his brother. You understand?”

  Sarah didn’t really, but she nodded anyway.

  She sat beside Maryk on the cold metal bench. They were the only passengers on board. An eerie, high-pitched squeal of wind swept through the boat’s interior, amplifying the silence between them. It was strange sitting next to Maryk in the semidarkness. For so long, he had been a scary giant whom she had avoided at all costs. Now, she was willingly following him even though she had no idea where he would take her. A chill settled over her as she recalled her mother warning her about strangers. She glanced at Maryk out of the corner of her eye, afraid to turn to look at him directly.

  He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, but his expression was hard and inscrutable. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back wall of the ferry. Then she noticed that both of his hands shook as he tried to hold them steady on his knees.

  Sarah gazed out the window at the Lady, whose strong, beautiful face seemed to be staring right at her. She was anxious about leaving the familiarity of the island, but also felt a rush of excitement at the prospect of finally reaching the shores of New York.

  When the ferry pulled into the dock, Maryk abruptly stood.

  “Come on.” He took her by the arm and led her up to the top deck and then down the gangplank.

  Sarah paused before stepping onshore. What would it feel like to finally set foot on the promised land?

  “Let’s go,” Maryk said impatiently.

  He pulled her along onto the street. Although the ground beneath her feet felt no different, her eyes, ears, and nose were overwhelmed by everything around her. She marveled at the sheer number of buildings lined up along the twisting streets and avenues, pressed together so close that they touched. Sarah was instantly jostled by a man in a bowler hat rushing along, reading his newspaper. The man didn’t even pause to say “excuse me”; he just kept walking.

  Horse-drawn carriages clattered down the avenue so loudly that she had to block her ears. Pushcart vendors called out their wares and newsboys shouted headlines trying to get people to buy their papers.

  Sarah was surprised at the number of newsboys and the variety of papers in different languages being sold. She tried to read the bold stories on the front pages, but she and Maryk were moving too fast for her to digest the words.

  A familiar smell struck her nose and she just managed to step around a fresh pile of horse manure. The cobblestone streets were covered with enough to fertilize all the farms back home. Dozens of horses trotted by on the street. Sarah jumped back, positioning herself close to the buildings, as far away from the animals as possible.

  As they came to a corner, a horse-drawn milk cart cut in front of them. Sarah recoiled.

  “What’s the matter?” Maryk said.

  “The horses . . .”

  “What about them?”

  “There are so many.”

  “So?”

  “I . . . don’t like them.”

  “Can’t be scared of horses if you expect to walk down the streets of Manhattan,” he said. “Now, let’s go.”

  He pulled her impatiently by the arm and they continued their trek.

  As they walked east, a massive stone tower appeared in the distance, topped with an American flag. Sarah gasped at the sight of it, thinking it must be the top of a huge castle or military fortress. Moving closer, she saw that there were actually two massive towers connected by a web of steel cables and that the whole thing was actually a bridge stretching over a wide river. As the full bridge came into view, she stopped in her tracks to admire it. Sarah had seen the bridge from the island but hadn’t understood how big it really was. It made the statue of the Lady seem small by comparison. Sarah’s eyes widened as she noticed the scores of people and wagons crossing back and forth.

  “What’s the matter?” Maryk said. “It’s just the Brooklyn Bridge.”

  “How does the road not fall into the water with all the horses and wagons riding on it?”

  “Do I look like an engineer? Come on. We’re not too far now.”

  They continued walking uptown, passing City Hall and other large and impressive stone buildings.

  Eventually they came to a series of streets that were more densely crowded with pedestrians and pushcarts. Nearly every person they passed had black hair, narrow eyes, and light beige skin. Many were dressed in strange clothes: men in plain blue, black, or gray tunics with ties instead of buttons, and a small handful of women in robes and plain dresses in the same colors. Some of the men wore their hair in long braids. They all seemed to be speaking a language that wasn’t English. Sarah stopped in her tracks, afraid to continue. Maryk turned to her, exasperated.

  “What is it now?”

  “This is stil
l the United States?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But the people . . . are they Americans?”

  “Most of them are Chinese. You’ve heard of China, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Can’t be afraid of horses or Chinamen if you expect to live in New York,” he said impatiently.

  He continued walking as she tentatively followed. She noticed that all the store signs were written in strange, unfamiliar letters, set against bold-colored backgrounds. Newsboys sold papers printed in the same alien characters. Pushcart vendors peddled exotic fruits and colorful trinkets. Some even had small coal stoves where men prepared food cooked in hot oil.

  Sarah breathed deeply to catch the enticing aroma of the food, but almost as soon as she’d managed to capture a good smell, her nose would be assaulted by an equally powerful stench as they passed a pile of garbage or an open fish market where an old man cleaned and gutted the daily catch on the curb. They walked by butcher shops whose windows were festooned with whole plucked ducks and geese and enormous pig carcasses alongside cages tightly packed with live chickens. Sarah couldn’t believe the sharp contrast in the sights, smells, and people she had encountered in the course of a few blocks.

  Maryk turned onto a narrow side street and stopped in front of a squat, gray six-floor apartment building that seemed to sag in the middle. A steep set of cracked concrete stairs led up to the entry door with a wooden sign attached to the outside wall by the front window. The sign had large Chinese characters painted against a black backdrop along with small English letters at the bottom reading ROOMS TO LET.

  Maryk ascended the stairs, beckoning Sarah to follow.

  Again the girl paused, her inner warning bells telling her that this might be her last opportunity to escape from Maryk.

  Before she had time to consider which way she should run, the front door of the apartment building swung open and a tiny old Chinese woman emerged, yelling at Maryk in a high-pitched, rapid-fire mix of Chinese and broken English. The woman had a small, angry face and shiny gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, and her skinny frame was draped in a black housedress and a long blue knitted coat. The sight of her fearlessly scolding Maryk, who was nearly three times her size, was so funny, Sarah had to bite her bottom lip to keep herself from laughing.

  Mrs. Lee

  “WHY YOU LEAVE LAUNDRY bag on stairs? Mrs. Lee almost break her neck! You want that? You want to kill old Chinese lady?”

  “No,” Maryk managed to reply.

  “I tell you to leave laundry in hallway next to back door. What you not understand about that? I speak English perfect.”

  “I know. I forgot.”

  “You forget? You forget and Mrs. Lee end up dead at the bottom of stairs.” She wagged her finger in his face. “Then who do your laundry? Who cook your meals?”

  “Sorry.”

  “No. Sorry won’t do laundry. Mrs. Lee do laundry. Mrs. Lee cook meals. But Mrs. Lee can’t do that if she dead at the bottom of the stairs because you left your smelly bag of clothes for me to trip on.”

  Sarah let out a small giggle. It was the first time she had laughed in weeks. Mrs. Lee paused in her rant and turned to the girl.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “It’s a long story,” said Maryk.

  “Long story? I just ask who she is. Why that a long story?”

  Sarah froze, wondering if Maryk would attempt to continue the illusion that she was his niece. Before he had time to say anything, Mrs. Lee yelled again.

  “I run a clean house, Maryk. I don’t let painted ladies in my house.”

  “She’s not a painted lady.”

  “No, she too skinny for that,” Mrs. Lee said, appraising Sarah’s frame.

  Sarah straightened her posture.

  “Who is she, then?”

  “Like I said, it’s a long story.”

  “I don’t want girl with long story in my house.”

  Maryk paused and exhaled a deep breath.

  “She’s in trouble,” he said. “And she needs help.”

  Mrs. Lee crossed her arms, and her eyes narrowed on Sarah.

  “You speak?”

  “Yes,” Sarah replied.

  “What kind of trouble you in?”

  “Look, can we go inside?” Maryk said. “I can explain.”

  Mrs. Lee looked hard at Sarah and then Maryk.

  “Five minutes inside. But then out! I don’t want trouble.”

  Sarah and Maryk followed Mrs. Lee inside. The interior hallway was dark with faded pink-and-blue floral wallpaper and a simple rag rug on the floor. A gaslight fixture hung from the ceiling, letting out shafts of yellow light and making a low hiss. Mrs. Lee led them to the front room just off the hall, and they all sat around a large wooden table that occupied most of the first-floor parlor.

  Maryk sat beside Sarah as she retold her story. By the time Sarah had finished, an hour had passed. Mrs. Lee sat with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed as she looked up at Maryk. She hadn’t said a word the entire time.

  “What you planning to do with her?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But for now, I thought she could stay here and help you run the house.”

  “I have Smitty and Miss Jean to run house,” Mrs. Lee shot back.

  “She could help with the cooking,” Maryk offered.

  “You think I need help to cook?”

  “No. But . . .”

  “I can do any work,” Sarah said. “I’ll work very hard.”

  “What if people ask questions?” Mrs. Lee said, turning to Maryk. “Don’t want anyone think I force the girl to work or do something illegal.”

  “They won’t,” Maryk said.

  “So some strange girl just appear at my door . . .”

  “Please,” Sarah interrupted. “I won’t make any trouble. And I will work hard. I promise.”

  “The kid could use a break,” Maryk said.

  Mrs. Lee took in the girl and exhaled.

  “You can stay one week. One week only. But after that, you have to go. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said.

  She had no idea what she would do after that, but it was better than nothing.

  “It’s dangerous for Mrs. Lee to have you here, so you make no trouble.” She turned to Maryk. “She sleep in your room, you sleep in basement. No funny business.”

  “Of course,” Maryk said.

  “Mrs. Lee have a soft heart and stupid head,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Sarah said.

  She pointed to Maryk. “You go set up cot in basement.” Then she turned to Sarah. “You come with me.”

  Mrs. Lee led her to the kitchen at the back of the first floor. Tall white cabinets lined one wall, and a large stove and icebox stood against the other. A deep old porcelain bathtub sat beside a galvanized metal sink and faucet.

  “Take off clothes,” she said.

  “Excuse me?” Sarah said.

  “You stink like old fish. Need a bath.”

  Mrs. Lee filled a battered brass teakettle and several pots and set them to boil on the stove. She filled the tub with some cold water from the tap and then mixed in the hot water as it came to a boil.

  Sarah had never been naked in front of anyone but her mother. The last thing she wanted to do was to undress in front of this strange woman.

  Stripped and Scrubbed

  “NO ONE TAKE BATH WITH CLOTHES on,” Mrs. Lee said. “And I can’t have stinky fish girl in house. Go on, before water get cold.”

  Sarah slowly started to undress. Mrs. Lee bustled about and continued to talk.

  “I see lots of naked girls before. I have two daughters. Grown now. And I’m a girl too. Old, but still a girl. I’ve got same parts as you.”

  Sarah had not disrobed completely since the first night she’d swum ashore, and she felt her entire body lighten as she unpeeled layer after layer. Dirt and grime were caked on most of her body, along with several cuts and bruis
es from her various falls and bumps. Mrs. Lee noticed her ravaged skin and shook her head.

  “You all skin and bones. Dirty skin and bones. Get in.”

  Sarah carefully dipped a toe into the water, and the warmth traveled up her leg and into her entire body. She stepped in and submerged herself. Every pore seemed to breathe a sigh of relief upon contact with the warm water. Sarah closed her eyes, leaned back, and rested her head against the back of the tub. She took a long, cleansing breath. Just as she was truly starting to relax, Mrs. Lee grabbed her hand and roughly scrubbed her arm with a brush and soap.

  “Bath not place to sleep. Place to get clean.”

  Mrs. Lee proceeded to vigorously wash every inch of Sarah with a hard-bristled wooden brush. Sarah was jarred by the force of the scrubbing, first her neck, then her back and underarms. Mrs. Lee worked her way down until she even got between her toes. It felt as if the old woman might take off a layer of skin. But Sarah didn’t want to upset her, so she didn’t complain. She hadn’t been bathed by anyone since her mother had done it when she was a little girl. Her mother had a much gentler hand. But it felt nice to be taken care of again, even if it was by a tough old Chinese woman she barely knew.

  “You have brothers? Sisters?”

  “No,” Sarah replied.

  “Any family?”

  “An uncle.”

  “Where he?”

  “Back in my country.”

  “Why you not go back to him?”

  “I am not sure he would take me,” Sarah said. “But also, he is not nice to girls.”

  “Lots of men not nice to girls. Mrs. Lee’s husband not nice to girls. He left us when daughters just babies. Poof, gone like that. I have to learn fast. Raise daughters. Run house. Become landlady. Do everything. Never trust a man. Men not reliable. Also lots of mean men in world. They like to feel big by making women feel small.”

  Sarah hesitated before asking the next question.

  “Is Maryk a mean man?”

  “Maryk not mean,” Mrs. Lee said. She considered the question for a moment before continuing. “Just sad.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know. Sometimes a person never talk about sadness, because it bring too much pain. You see it on their face. Maryk show sadness in his face.”