"THE SOUL OF LIN LI MEI"
during "THE HEART OF PONY ALICE"?
"THE SOUL OF LIN LI MEI" PART FIVE
Li Mei turned to Wu Chang. "Go, bring tea. Go!"
When Wu Chang hesitated, she repeated the command. The man cautiously rose to his feet, offered Scott a perfunctory bow and hurried towards the kitchen.
It seemed unlikely Wu Chang would return; if he did, it would probably be with something other than a hospitable pot of tea.
"Your English seems to have improved."
"Doh je," Li Mei replied solemnly, slowly inclining her head.
With difficulty, Scott swallowed his anger, striving to keep his tone level. "You're coming with me, Li Mei. Now, let's go."
Somehow the woman managed to overlay her inscrutable expression with a veneer of mild amusement. "No."
"You forget, I still have this." So that he could remove the sheet of paper from the left inside pocket of his jacket, Scott shifted his gun to his left hand. Although he didn't intend to use it, he had good reason to be wary of Pan Lee.
When Scott held up the indenture document, Pan Lee erupted into cackling glee.
Li Mei merely smiled. "Says nothing."
"What do you mean?"
"Lao Pan ---- Old Pan----he make these marks. Means nothing. You think Lao Pan is wise man?"
Pan Lee gap-toothed smile widened. Scott had to acknowledge that the wizened old man hardly seemed the mastermind of the con. Like most of the population of Modesto's Chinatown, he was more likely an illiterate peasant than a great scholar. And it was clear that he himself had been identified as a great fool-an easy mark.
The document was a fake.
At least it was unlikely that either of them could read the lines he himself had added, magnanimously granting Lin Li Mei her freedom. A poor consolation. Scott allowed the paper to fall to the floor, and transferred his gun back to his still bandaged right hand.
"What about him--- is he really your uncle?"
"Phffft. Lao Pan? He is nothing to me."
"So you lied to us, to me and Mrs. Farnham."
"So sorry. Mrs. Farnham is a 'very nice lay-dee'," was Li Mei's mocking rejoinder.
Just then the door, which had bounced closed after Scott's entrance, creaked open, and he quickly turned, pointing his gun towards the newcomer. The face peeking in was possibly that of the proprietor of the bathhouse and laundry; whoever it was beat a hasty retreat.
Scott turned towards Li Mei. "I guess he'll be back later, for his share."
"Business is very good."
"Then you won't object . . . if I take back my $120."
"You had chance, last night, get money's worth. Now you go."
Last night . . . he'd believed her young, frightened . . . and innocent. He'd tried hard not to even consider . . . Scott shook off the thought.
"Now, I'm not leaving without that money. Half of it belongs to my father."
A tiny derringer appeared in Li Mei's hand. "I will shoot," she assured him. Coolly regarding Scott's own weapon, she added "You . . . will not."
She was right, of course. In the face of her knowing smile, Scott holstered his weapon.
"Your father make mistake, give so much money to you."
"I guess he did. And I made a bigger one, trusting you."
Li Mei agreed. "Very big mistake." Pan Lee cackled again.
"Mrs. Farnham believed you too, she trusted you. And she'd still be willing to help."
"Good Christian lay-dee will pray for me."
"Yes, she will."
Li Mei watched with interest as Scott removed his billfold and withdrew a piece of paper. "She gave me this, her address in San Francisco. You can use it, to return what you stole from her."
As Scott moved closer to the table, Li Mei's expression grew more alert and she repositioned the tiny gun. Scott raised his hands and took one more step. When he released the slip of paper, it wafted to the table, landing between two small piles of coins.
"I'll still go with you to San Francisco, make sure you get there safely. Think about it. You could . . . you could have a better life."
"I will have very good life, be like Madam Ah Toy. Much money and freedom."
Scott was taken aback. He'd been thinking of a home, a husband, children, when what Li Mei had in mind was operating a string of pleasure houses.
"Mrs. Farnham told me about . . . the bruises. Do you call that freedom?"
Li Mei pressed her lips together, but those exotic eyes blazed with anger.
"Who gave them to you? One of your customers? Or is there someone else, someone you owe money to?"
"You know nothing!" Li Mei rose to her feet, leveling the derringer. "Now you go!"
Scott removed his hat, and dropped it on the table. "No, not until you think about it. Then if you tell me this is what you really want, well, then I'll leave." Scott kicked out the nearest chair and sat down facing Li Mei and her tiny gun.
Li Mei addressed a sharp command to Pan Lee.
The elderly man looked puzzled, then shrugged his shoulders and began chanting.
"Yat. Yi. Sam. Sei . . ."
Scott's eyes flicked to Li Mei's serene smile, then back to Pan Lee.
"Mm. Look. Chat. Baat."
"What's he saying?"
"Count to ten. Give me time to 'think.'"
"Gau," said Pan Lee. Then, with finality, "Sap."
"Finished," Li Mei announced. "Now you go."
With a sigh, Scott reached for his hat. He studied it for a moment, then deliberately set it back down on the table. Despite the cruel pleasure she seemed to be taking in his discomfiture, Li Mei was a young woman in a strange land, far from her home and family. Surely her performance had been too convincing to be entirely an act. She was being used-by someone. He was certain of it.
"No. Not until you really think about it."
Scott turned to Pan Lee. "Keep counting."
Despite the glimmer of amusement in the old man's eyes, Scott felt gratified when, after a brief hesitation, Pan Lee obeyed.
"Sap yat. Sap yi . . ."
Scott folded his arms across his chest and studied Li Mei.
The girl lifted her chin and coolly met his gaze, before lowering herself with dignity to her seat. The small handgun, she placed on the table beside her. Then Li Mei resumed sorting the money, ignoring both Pan Lee's counting and Scott's continued presence.
When Wu Chang came out from the kitchen carrying a tray and tea things, Li Mei ignored him too. The eating house owner set the tray down close to Scott. He didn't speak. No one spoke, except for Pan Lee.
"Sei sap. Sei sap yat. Sei sap yi . . ."
It was getting darker---the sun was setting. Wu Chang lit the lamps, then stood uncertainly for a moment, before slipping away once more.
Scott wasn't interested in the tea, though he was curious about Li Mei's gun. It was a fine weapon, the right size for a woman to carry in her purse for protection. It wasn't a single shot, but a Remington double derringer with a polished wooden handle. The gun looked new, and he wondered if it had ever been fired.
There was also a small tin box on the table near Pan Lee. Li Mei opened it and proceeded to put the greenbacks and notes inside. The larger denomination bills were layered on the bottom, the smaller ones she placed on top.
"Look sap chat . . . look sap baat . . . ."
Her tiny hands seemed considerably less dainty as they collected the stacks of coins, storing them in a dark fabric bag.
"Baat sap . . . Baat sap yat . . ."
The tea was growing cold. Pan Lee was flagging, his cadence noticeably slower. Li Mei added the bag of coins to the box and closed it. All that remained in the center of the table was the slip of paper with the address written in Mrs. Farnham's hand.
Li Mei sat staring at him, her face once more "inscrutable."
"Gau sap . . . " Pan Lee was reviving, his pace quickened.
"Gau sap baat. Gau sap gau. Baak."
"One hundred," Li Mei translated.
Scott allowed himself to cock a questioning brow.
"I think . . . we will not go to Dai Fou together, Scott Lan-cer."
"Mrs. Farnham---"
"Christian lay-dee want to save my soul."
"Not just your soul. And she cares what happens to you. So do I."
"Care about soul---or body?" she asked archly. "I can come see you -----tonight."
Scott studied his hands. Last night----well, last night he might possibly have been tempted. Now he considered it, briefly, only as another opportunity to try to persuade her. During the 'auction' he'd been sitting right here, in this same chair; even knowing it had all been a pretense, it was still difficult to forget that mute appeal.
"Without freedom," Scott said slowly, "it's easy to lose your soul." He looked up, tried to see past the coldness in her eyes. "That kind of life isn't freedom, no matter what you think."
Li Mei stood. "You leave. Now."
"Or you'll shoot me?"
"I will scream. Very loud. Many Chinamen come, some Hip Sings. Very bad for you."
Pan Lee's eyes were darting back and forth between them, but when he caught Scott looking at him, the elderly man nodded vigorously.
Scott slowly got to his feet, then reached for his hat. He gestured at the small piece of paper still lying on the table. "You should keep Mrs. Farnham's address; maybe someday you'll use it. And . . . mine is on the back."
Li Mei made no move to pick up the slip. She didn't even glance at it. Scott's own eyes dropped to the sham indenture document lying forgotten on the floor at his feet. The counterfeit Chinese characters suddenly took on a new meaning.
"Caveat emptor, quia ignorare non debuit quod jus alienum emit," he murmured.
"What are these words?"
"Latin. You may not comprehend their meaning, but you seem to understand the principle. Take advantage of those who trust."
After placing his hat squarely on his head, Scott studied her for another long moment. There was no indication that any of his words had reached her. Still, he meant it, when he told her "Good luck."
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There was no reason to remain in Modesto.
Scott was up early the next morning, packing his saddlebags. Now all that was left was to try to wedge in the two books he'd purchased from Mr. Hanson at the mercantile. The slender volume of local history slid easily into the right bag; The Innocents Abroad would be a tighter fit.
He snorted softly as he considered the title. Scott certainly didn't consider himself naïve or innocent, far from it; however, recalling that the book was based upon an assemblage of newspaper columns, he could only grimly imagine how the journalist might have treated the subject of "A Bostonian in Modesto." However, Scott had read enough of Twain's work to know that despite the title, the overall tone was . . . cynical. Like his brother Johnny, who "didn't give anyone too much credit" and surely would never have been taken in so badly.
Scott slung the over-stuffed saddlebags across one shoulder, put on his hat, picked up his jacket and gloves and headed downstairs to pay the bill.
"We'll hope to see you again, the next time you're in town, Mr. Lancer."
Scott didn't recognize the man behind the desk, and wondered if he might be the manager, Mr. Clark. Not that he was curious enough to care; right now all he wanted was to get the hell out of Modesto.
He was just reaching for the door when the hotel man's voice stopped him. "Oh, excuse me, Mr. Lancer, I almost forgot, the night clerk, Lambert, said that someone left this package for you."
The small brown paper package was tied tightly with a silken cord, strong enough that he'd need a knife to cut it. Scott had a suspicion, based upon its size and shape, so decided to wait until he reached the livery before getting out his knife.
Inside he found a ten dollar gold piece and at least sixty dollars in bills, a mixture of greenbacks and national bank notes. A gold chain was wrapped around the paper currency. And attached to the chain was a simple gold cross.
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Scott took his time getting back to the ranch. He slept better on the trail than he had in Modesto.
It was mid afternoon when he arrived. Surprised at being able to reach the stable without attracting any attention, Scott set about unsaddling Brunswick. He planned to take his time tending to the horse and to his tack, knowing his family would fill him in on everything that had happened in his absence when they gathered for supper. He was still undecided as to how much to share of his adventure in Modesto. Scott was so lost in thought that he never heard the girl until he looked up and saw her peering over the top of the stall, a freckled face framed with straight blond hair.
"So I guess you're Johnny's brother," the little stranger said in a challenging tone.
Scott glanced quickly down at the hay-strewn floor, then back up again at those solemn eyes, and fought hard to keep the grin from his face.
"I don't keep that a secret," he managed in a serious tone.
"Well, I guess you look smarter 'n him-though that ain't saying much."
It was impossible to hold back a smile at that assessment, so Scott didn't try. Draping one arm across Brunswick's back, he gestured with the dandy brush he held in his other hand.
"It seems you know my brother rather well."
"I'd say I do."
"And now who would you be?"
"Pony Alice is what people call me," she announced. "Last name's Guthrie."
Scott swept his hat from his head. "Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Guthrie."
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Scott continued grooming Brunswick, under Miss Guthrie's close supervision. In response to a few careful questions, Pony Alice told Scott just enough about her Uncle Wilf and someone named Miss Florida for him to begin to guess at the basics of her story, whereupon he deftly shifted the conversation back to the 'proper' method of grooming horses. Before supper, Teresa was able to provide him with a few more details, including the fact that the two adults in young Alice's life were in San Francisco consulting with doctors. Scott was not really all that surprised to learn that it had been his cynical ---yet soft-hearted--- brother who had taken the girl under his wing and brought her to Lancer.
From the looks of him, Johnny had had a long day, wearily stopping in the alcove to remove his gun belt and taking only time to murmur a mild "'Bout time you got home, Boston" by way of greeting before heading off to clean up for supper.
Wondering what tasks in the endless round of ranch work awaited him the next day, Scott wandered over to the liquor table and poured himself a drink. He filled a generous glass for his brother as well, but ended up handing it off to Murdoch instead, when his father came in soon after Johnny. Murdoch offered a warm greeting, then asked if the palominos had gotten off okay.
Assured that they had, Murdoch seemed about to depart, drink in hand, without noticing the two books on his desk.
"I ah . . . I brought you some reading material."
Scott had finished both of his Modesto Mercantile purchases on the return trip; since Murdoch was also a voracious reader, he would no doubt be pleased to see the new volumes. Now Murdoch stopped and returned to his desk to investigate. "Not another birthday present?" he asked with a smile.
"Well, I've already read them; that makes them used. Besides, your birthday was last month . . ."
Murdoch raised his glass of scotch whiskey. "And you got me this case of Glencadam."
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Pony Alice came in with Jelly when it was time for supper. Since the girl claimed the seat opposite Johnny, Scott gestured Jelly to his own usual place across from Teresa. He positioned himself at the foot of the table facing Murdoch, so that he was between his brother and his interesting young friend.
It was clear that the entire family was very fond of the blond haired child. It was also apparent from her frequent references to him, that little Alice missed her uncle very much. In response to Scott's questions about her home in Witness Tree, she talked at length about her Uncle Wilf's business, trading horses.
"That reminds me, Johnny, how was that auction that you stayed to attend?"
"Oh, I'll tell you all about that later, Brother," Johnny drawled softly.
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It wasn't until after Juanita had served coffee and dessert that Scott thought to ask another question, one that had occurred to him when Pony Alice had first introduced herself.
"So tell me, Miss Guthrie, are you related to anyone in Morro Coyo?"
The question caused hands and utensils to freeze in midair-----everyone's except for Pony Alice, who simply shrugged her little shoulders and scooped up another spoonful of bread pudding.
Concerned that he had inadvertently opened the door to some Guthrie family skeleton, Scott looked to his brother for some explanation, and was relieved to see Johnny grinning as he shook his head in appreciation.
"Well, that's a very good question, Scott," Murdoch intoned from the head of the table. "Apparently one that none of us thought of."
"We've all been calling her 'Pony' or 'Alice', that's probably why. Do you think they could be, related, I mean?" Teresa asked eagerly; she seemed delighted by the possibility.
"How about it, Pony?" Johnny asked. "You ever hear of havin' a relative that's a lady blacksmith?"
"There ain't no such thing, Johnny. Quit teasin' me!"
Breaking his uncharacteristic silence, Jelly roused to his good friend's defense. "Waal, yer wrong there, Gus Guthrie's as fine a smith as you'd ever need and t'ain't anyone kin say she isn't a lady ta boot. Why, I'd sure hate ta hear anyone say otherwise,'cause I'd hafta---- "
"She's quite a lady, Miss Guthrie," Scott agreed quickly. "Now Jelly, what exactly is her given name? Is it Augusta?"
"'Course not."
The company waited expectantly for Jelly to reveal Gus' true identity, all except for Pony Alice, who scraped the last bit of pudding from her bowl. Finally the girl looked sideways at Jelly. "Well, what is it then?"
Jelly huffed. "You just never mind, it'll come to me. Just can't put my finger on it right now, that's all."
"I'm sure it will come to you, Jelly. Her brother's name was Joseph," Murdoch offered.
"Waal, everyone knows that."
"He was working a mine not far from here, called 'the Lorelei'," Murdoch continued, with an annoyed glance at Jelly. "There was a cave-in . . . I'm afraid Joe didn't make it."
Murdoch's words sent several concerned glances in Alice's direction. Scott returned to his previous subject. "Perhaps Gus signed her real name on the back of that photograph, Jelly."
"The one she gave you for Christmas," Johnny added helpfully.
"As if I didn't know which picture you're talkin' about. Don't need ta go diggin' that up. All it takes is fer you two ta hold your tongues for ten seconds so's I kin think about it."
"Is that all you need, Jelly, ten seconds?" Johnny demanded.
Scott slid a glance at Johnny and wondered . . .
"One . . . two . . . three . . ." the brothers began counting, in unison.
When they reached "ten" Jelly still had no answer. Pushing up to his feet, Jelly waggled his head a bit, but by calling upon all of his dignity was able to refrain from speaking as he turned and stomped towards the door. It was only when he was about to exit the hacienda that the words "smart alecks" were heard, foiling the brothers' valiant effort to contain their laughter.
As the sound of the slamming door reverberated, Murdoch shook his head, and Teresa frowned, but it was Pony Alice who spoke up.
"Well, you two sure are stupid enough to shoot yourselves in the rumps!"
"Alice!"
"Well, I think she's right, Murdoch."
With a stern look at the two abashed looking young men, Teresa tossed her napkin on the table, then got up and walked around to Pony Alice. She took the girl by the hand and the two of them followed Jelly to his quarters.
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When Jelly strutted back into the Great Room, he waited for Scott and Johnny to each offer up an apology, which he then ignored in order to announce to Murdoch that Gus Guthrie's given name was "Anna----jist like I thought."
Alice was unaware of having any female relatives by that name. None of them thought there was any resemblance at all between the two Miss Guthries, but Scott pointed out that a family resemblance-or the lack of one---didn't necessarily prove anything. And Johnny allowed that although blood wasn't everything, it did count, so it was worth asking the question.
The next day Jelly and Teresa drove Pony Alice into town to call upon the blacksmith. As it turned out, Dan Guthrie, Wilf's father and Alice's grandfather, was another one of Gus Guthrie's brothers, one that she'd had little contact with over the years, though she'd known he'd passed on. Miss Guthrie had last seen her brother's children when they were young boys. While saddened to learn that one nephew was dead and the other dying, Gus resolutely wiped away her tears and proudly showed Alice around her workshop, even bending a few horseshoes to demonstrate to the skeptical child that she was, indeed, a lady blacksmith.
Wilf Guthrie was pleased to be reunited with his maiden aunt. Gus subsequently made several trips to Witness Tree and made it clear that she intended to stay in contact with her great-niece. After Wilf died peacefully in his sleep, Alice continued to make her home with Miss Florida, but from time to time she would come to visit her Great-Aunt Anna as well as her friends at Lancer.
In order to enclose a letter detailing his final encounter with Lin Li Mei, Scott had waited until his return to the ranch before posting Juditha Farnham's necklace and ten dollar gold piece to San Francisco. Eventually, he received a reply from Mrs. Farnham thanking him for sending the money and her treasured gold cross and chain, along with his own generous donation to the mission. Sadly, her letter also revealed that she had received news that her brother John had been killed in a tragic railroad accident.
On his next visit to San Francisco, Scott made a point of calling upon the mission in order to personally express his condolences to Mrs. Farnham. Juditha introduced Scott to her husband, the Reverend Charles Farnham, and the couple insisted that he join them for tea. Scott readily agreed, and for a time they made small talk, speaking in general terms about the city and the missionaries' efforts.
"I received a visitor, a short time ago," Juditha finally confided. "A man who worked on one of the railroad crews. He said he had a message from someone who knew John, a Chinese elder named Han Fei, and that Han Fei . . . Han Fei wanted me to know . . . "
When his wife faltered, Charles Farnham took up the tale, reaching over to clasp his wife's hand as he did so. "It was a short message, and our emissary had obviously committed it to memory; he said: 'Han Fei wishes Mr. McKay's sister to know he was a most honorable man.'"
Juditha nodded. Charles released her hand so that she could dab at her eyes with a handkerchief.
"Was he able to tell you anything more about what happened?" Scott asked.
"No. We did try to contact this Han Fei, but unfortunately he's passed away," Charles explained sadly. "No one even seems to be able to tell us exactly where John is buried."
"Han Fei's messenger did tell us that prayers were recited over the grave by a Shaolin priest." Juditha smiled apologetically at her husband. "Although Charles finds it strange, somehow I take great comfort in that."
They talked a bit about the time they'd spent together in Modesto and Scott asked whether Mrs. Farnham had ever heard from Li Mei.
"Yes, we did hear from her," Juditha replied, her expression brightening as she excused herself and exited the room. As he resumed his seat, the Reverend Farnham grimly informed Scott that Madam Lin Li Mei had acquired something of a reputation and was now operating her own pleasure house in Marysville, north of Sacramento.
Scott was therefore taken by surprise when Mrs. Farnham returned. Li Mei followed her into the room, dressed in simple western attire, a plain dark dress like the one Juditha herself wore. Then, on second glance, Scott could see that he was mistaken. Although there was a strong resemblance, the newcomer was in fact even younger than the Oriental woman he had, briefly, known.
Juditha Farnham smiled as she performed the introductions. "Scott Lancer, may I present Lin Fung-mei. Fung-mei, this is Mr. Lancer. She came here to Gold Mountain to join her sister, but Li Mei has sent her to us."
"Have much heard about Lancer Gong," Fung-mei said shyly. "I am most honored to meet you."
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The End
March 2007
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Author's notes:
Gong (lord): Today, this respectful honorific is mainly applied to deceased male relatives. In imperial times, it was a title of nobility equivalent to duke. Whenever it is used, it always follows the surname of the person being referred to (e.g. Chiang Kai-shek is posthumously known in Taiwan as the Lord Chiang, Jiang gong).
For basic Cantonese phrases, including numbers:
http://www.achildsdesire.org/cantonesewords.htm
An interesting article entitled "The Duke's Derringer" can be found on the Cobra Pistols website
http://www.cobrapistols.com/media/article_dukederringer.htm
in the "Kung Fu" series pilot episode
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