Generous Orchid - Chapter 36
Decision time
Sometimes we find ourselves at a crossroads. We cannot ignore it any longer. We need to go right or left. It’s not easy when that happens, especially when so much depends upon the path that we choose.
One of the things that I treasure most about my faith is that God knows the direction we need to take. It’s not predetermined, but he knows where that path leads.
He knows the best for each of us.
Maybe it turns to a path that is easier, but often it’s a harder path — one that requires dependence on him, or has a learning curve, or one that feels hard because we must trust as we take it. The beautiful news is we do not walk alone because of our faith.
He walks with us, before us, and is watching over us.
In today’s chapter, Annabelle and Joseph are at a crossroads. They knew it was coming and it has caused tension, yet in that moment it also reminds them of their love for each other and their love for God.
We are only a few chapters to the conclusion of Generous Orchid. I can’t wait to unfold the next book in this series, but for now we continue on with the sweeping historical novel set in the Boxer Revolution in the early 1900’s. If you need to catch up on the last few chapters, I’ll share a few links with you.
I’m so glad you are on this new adventure of writing fiction with me. Thank you for that.
Generous Orchid, Chapter 36
Annabelle’s work came to a temporary halt the day the clinic burned. Dr. Wong was still in recovery, though he had moved from her father’s home to his own. Ting often made her way to the doctor’s side those first few weeks, faithfully caring for the man she loved.
The clinic walls sang a testimony of destruction, the blackened remainders a bold warning. Annabelle missed the trip along the winding roads to the clinic. She missed the patients and the camaraderie among the nurses. Rather than linger in her empty home, she pushed herself out of bed each morning, declaring to the sadness that longed to overwhelm her that she would participate in the day. Sometimes that led her to the classroom, where she sat quietly in the back and observed.
The singsong English from students rang beautiful to her ears. Different from their previous teaching post years earlier, many of the students were sons of the elite. Magistrate’s sons. Landlord’s sons. Yet, other than their fine clothing and soft hands, they were no different from the boys whose hands were rough; whose clothing was tattered but clean. These more impoverished students filtered in that first year, hoping for a place as a parent stood outside, eyes down, hands clasped, waiting to see if their child could join.
As was Joseph’s custom, he made room for as many as he could. Sometimes the son of a farmer, laborer, or rickshaw driver was able to attend two or more days a week. Those students worked diligently, knowing the call to the paddies or streets or factory could take them away at any time.
Annabelle loved watching Joseph in his element, but her heart ached at the distance she felt in their marriage. When she woke up to an empty bed weeks earlier, his absence remained a mystery. He returned hours later, eyes red, hair tousled, his face marked with determination. She questioned him and his response was gentle, yet vague. He never fully revealed what took place in those hours and the more Annabelle questioned, the more he withdrew.
Silence grew between them like a towering wall.
Joseph bent to read a student’s paper. While the less privileged students used chalk and a crude chalkboard, Shen, the son of a Magistrate and one of Thomas’ closest friends, had a dip pen and rice paper. He held it up for Joseph’s inspection. Annabelle heard him say, “My father has requested to speak with you” but he did not look at Joseph directly but gazed past him to the bookshelves. When he went back to complete his assignment, the boy’s hand trembled.
Joseph acknowledged the boy’s words and continued down the aisle, stopping to praise or encourage a student here or there. Moments later, he glanced at his timepiece and called the class to gather their things. As the students filed out, he wiped the chalkboard clean and put his desk to order. Once the classroom was put to rights, he swung open the door and sunlight spilled in.
As they exited, Annabelle saw Shen standing at the end of the street, grief a shadow on his fine features. His father stood behind him.
“Magistrate, it is good to see you,” Joseph called.
“Professor Rhodes,” the Magistrate said. “Come with me.” Two uniformed guards stepped out from behind a nearby building and joined him.
“What is this?” Joseph asked.
Annabelle fished out a key and dropped it in Thomas’ hand. “Go back into the classroom. Lock the door. Do not allow anyone in unless it is a friend. I shall come back for you, but I don’t know how long I will be. There are snacks in the cupboard, and water in the pitcher on your father’s desk.” Once he was inside, she pushed on the heavy door to assure herself that it was secure. Thomas peered out the window, his face a moon of anxiousness. Annabelle waved, then grabbed her skirts as she ran to catch up with her husband. Joseph strolled between the two guards, towering over them like a calm giant. Thomas’ friend, Shen, followed his father, his face creased in worry. He looked from his father to Annabelle, and she saw a streak of tears on his cheeks. As they continued down the street, her heart beat wildly. She was familiar with this path. As they approached their destination, the two guards dropped their pretense and shoved Joseph through an open door into the local prison.
“Joseph!” Annabelle shouted.
Shen ran toward her. She knelt in front of the boy. “Can you get a message to Dr. Wong, or ask someone to do it for you?” She ran a thumb over his cheek, the wetness of his tears fresh.
“It’s my fault.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble, but if you could have someone get a message to Dr. Wong, that would be so helpful, Shen.” She pulled the boy to her. “It’s okay. You have done nothing wrong. You are a good friend to Thomas, and you are not responsible for this.”
The boy rushed away, pushing past his father and running down the street.
Two hours later Annabelle remained on the uncomfortable bench outside the prison. As the sun dipped in the sky she worried about Thomas, just as she worried about what was taking place in the building behind her. Every prison had its own personality, depending upon location and those who were in control. This prison was not known as a horrible place. It was a mix of modern and old, both on the outside and within. It had separate cell blocks, which was new, but also overcrowding and a slow system of justice.
A woman passed, her head down. As she neared, she looked Annabelle in the eye. When she was within inches, she dropped a message on Annabelle’s lap, never stopping or saying a word. Annabelle took the small piece of paper from the lap of her dress and cautiously opened it, then sighed in relief. Dr. Wong had been notified. The message let her know that Thomas would be attended to and that help was underway.
“Come with me,” a guard called.
Annabelle crushed the message in her fist and rushed toward the door. She followed the guard down a dark hall with a row of cells, until she came to the one that held her beloved Joseph. He grasped the metal bars, staring out.
“Are you okay?”
“The Magistrate promised he would return soon,” Joseph said. “He assured me that I am not in harm’s way, but there are questions that must be answered.”
“Then why are you behind bars?”
“I don’t know, Annie.”
One of the guards unlocked the cell and stepped inside. He brutally shoved Joseph who staggered back in surprise.
“No!” Annabelle screamed. She ran to the cell and gripped the bars. Joseph was imposing, hands taller than the man in uniform, but passive. At the sounds of potential disorder, two more guards rushed into the cell. One wore a white uniform. His braid hung down his back and the top of his head was covered with a white tight-fitting cap. He was muscled and strong, as if accustomed to handling derelicts. He seized Joseph by the shoulders and pushed him into the unforgiving metal bars, while others tied his hands. Joseph’s eye bruised immediately from the impact of flesh on iron. A trickle of blood ran from his lip.
Just then, Annabelle heard the voice of the magistrate drifting from the front. She rushed down the hall, finding him standing nonchalantly.
“Come,” she cried.
He ran after her. In the few moments it took to reach the cell, Joseph had been tethered to the unforgiving iron bed. Frayed rope bit into his wrists. The guard held a staff above his head as a threat, daring Joseph to move. Another guard held a cangue, a stiff collar used on the most violent of criminals to subdue them.
“What is this?” the magistrate roared. He stormed into the cell. “Untie him now! He is only here for questioning.”
The man in the white uniform pursed his lips. “If he is in prison, then he is a prisoner. Is that not true, Magistrate?”
“Leave us,” he ordered.
Once they left, Joseph sat, clamping and unclamping his fists to return circulation to his hands. Annabelle stood outside the cell. She pressed her face into the bars to hear every word.
The Magistrate cleared his throat. “I have a friend . . . ”
Joseph looked up. The soft flesh of his eye was already turning a hue of purple.
The Magistrate continued. “He is a doctor at a clinic not far from here. He and I studied under the finest scholars. This doctor did well in exams, better than all of us.” He chuckled. “But then he went to America.”
Joseph continued to stretch his fingers, squeezing them several times in and out.
“Have they harmed you?” the Magistrate asked kindly.
“Why was I tied like a criminal? Why am I here?”
The Magistrate paid no heed to Joseph’s query. “My friend went to America to learn more about the terrible diseases that ravage our country. He came back with enthusiasm at the advances in medicine and talked of vaccinations and the discovery of drugs that worked miracles, but his homecoming came with other new findings.”
“His faith?” Annabelle asked.
The magistrate turned to face her. “Yes, his faith.” He stood and approached her. “I know that my old friend, Dr. Wong, makes use of your skills in the clinic. When we saw each other last, he spoke of you. He said that you are a capable nurse and could easily be a doctor with the right training.”
Annabelle blushed, confused by the compliment.
“My friend and I debate often about his faith. I have never understood it. He could serve as a doctor in any hospital in China, but he serves in a clinic for the poor. It is noble and I admire my friend for giving to others, but some have not been quite so understanding.”
Annabelle prayed that this conversation wasn’t a trap, choosing to remain silent.
“Dr. Wong’s father and mother have not recognized their son since he returned. That leaves him without family, and his parents will grow old without a son. I have often wondered what it is about this religion that causes a man to endure the hatred of his own people, but it is not my business.” The magistrate sat back down beside Joseph. “It never came to mind that I might one day be in the shoes of my friend or his family. Until of late.”
“What do you mean?” Joseph asked.
“My son informed me that he talks with your son about this very same faith.” He paused, looking intently at Joseph. “This leads me to a most important question: Did you travel to China to serve as a teacher or to convert our young men?”
Joseph’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t answer.
“I ask because there are many, and some that could cause great harm, who take great offense to converting our finest young men.”
“Is this a warning?” Joseph asked.
Annabelle’s heart pounded. She wished she could discern which way this conversation was going, but it felt like both a warning and a trap.
The Magistrate shifted awkwardly. “I must admit that I have another reason for this conversation. The news has come to the district that the clinic was burned and the doctor was injured.”
Annabelle spoke up. “He is recuperating.”
“And I also heard that the Society left handprints upon your door.”
“You seem to have a great deal of information. Why are you asking me?” Joseph replied.
The Magistrate stood and peered through the bars as if spying ears listened around every corner. “I know everything that goes on in my district, Professor Rhodes.” He straightened his shoulders. “And now I am hearing things in my own home that cause me grave concern. I feel there is only one option: You must leave China.”
Joseph stood, towering over the man. “Is this a threat?” he asked a second time. Though his presence filled the small cell, his words were mild.
“I have a responsibility as Magistrate. I have no other alternative but to tell the Viceroy that you are using the classroom to share the Christian faith.”
“But I’m not.”
“You may not be, but your son is speaking to my son. The word will travel soon enough if the Magistrate’s oldest boy adopts the faith of foreigners. Some will excuse him because he is a boy, but there are others who would use this as an opportunity to threaten not only my authority, but to potentially harm my family.” The Magistrate put his fingertip on his mouth as a guard passed by.
“Why arrest me?” Joseph said softly.
“You have not been arrested, only detained.”
Joseph scoffed. “I was tied against my will, put behind prison bars. My clothes are torn. My face is bruised. And if I had discussed my faith, it is not a crime according to the treaties signed by your government and my own.”
The Magistrate stood. “If the people believe I had you arrested, they will assume that I punished you, They will also assume that I do not embrace my son’s ideas; after all, he is only an impressionable young boy.” He glanced around, caution marked on his face.
Joseph leaned in, his bulk shielding the Magistrate as he continued to talk, his words so low that Annabelle pressed her face further into the metal bars, trying to catch them.
“The Viceroy desired that you leave from the time you first arrived. He tried to intimidate you, sending his men to the school, but you never gave him a reason to dismiss you. You lost your son and you stayed, so he moved you to a different school and even here you succeeded. But this is what he has been waiting for. When he learns that you are converting students, he will finally have something to use against you and your family. He will run you out of this country. I am here to help, if you will allow me to do so.”
Joseph cocked his head, his whole attention on the man before him.
“I will assure the Viceroy that you will never speak of your faith outside your home. It is your right to practice, but it is our right to live as we have for thousands of years. As you know, it is a dangerous time. While you are protected by your status as an American and as a teacher, the law is not your sole enemy.”
“I have converted no one.” Joseph’s words rang true, his sadness covering them like a blanket.
Annabelle studied the man she loved. Gray dusted his temples. Lines deepened around his eyes. As the years passed, the lack of converts haunted her beloved. He struggled to comprehend why God did not allow him to minister openly. He wrestled with the knowledge that even their closest friend, Sunsoo, did not believe.
“May I ask you something?” Joseph said.
The Magistrate turned. “Certainly.”
“What do you accept as truth?”
Annabelle’s mouth opened slightly.
Now?
