Generous Orchid - Chapters 38 and 39
Home is more than a place
I’ve lived a lot of places.
What I’ve come to believe is that home is not a specific place; it’s where you find yourself. You feel a connection. You find your people. You find your purpose. Those are the deep roots that make a place feel like home, and those deep roots of belonging follow you wherever you go.
In today’s chapters, one of our characters is leaving what she has come to know as home. Another is staying because it’s not time to leave.
And yet another finds home in a brave, courageous move.
Thank you for being with me on this novel adventure. I still pinch myself at the sheer joy of stepping into the deferred dream of writing fiction. After 14 nonfiction books and decades of ministry, getting to write in this new way makes me want to dance in my living room. And the fact that some of you are joining me, encouraging me, and reading this novel is not something I take for granted.
If you’ve missed the last few chapters, the following links are for you. Right after that, you’ll dive into two new chapters of Generous Orchid. Thanks for sitting at this table. I’m so glad you are here. ~ Suzie
FYI: Chapter 38 trigger warning - contains domestic violence
Generous Orchid, Chapter 38
“Timothy and his family will offer you both refuge. I will come as soon as my task here is complete,” Joseph instructed.
Annabelle threw up her arms in dismay. “Are you asking Thomas and I to leave without you? That makes no sense! And what is this task?” Her hands shook as she picked up the plate to carry it to the basin. It slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor. Annabelle knelt to pick up the shards, and Joseph joined her.
“You’ve cut yourself,” she said, noting the trickle of blood running across Joseph’s thumb. She made her way to the pantry to gather her nursing bag, whipping out a short length of clean cloth to press against the wound.
“You come to my rescue again, nurse?”
She held his hand up to the light. “You have a sliver embedded,” she said. “I’ll need a needle.”
“Be gentle, nurse. I’m an old man, you know.”
“You’re a stubborn man,” she said. She grabbed a sewing needle and concentrated on nudging the sliver out of his flesh. When she was through, she kissed his finger and held it against her face.
Joseph pulled her into his lap.
“Annie, unrest is surging,” he said. “It will not go away by ignoring it. The day we arrived in Shanghai, we understood there was anger and bitterness simmering in the hearts of a few. It is not the Chinese way to march in swiftly and cut the root off at the ground. They’ve waited, watching to see if the old ways might return, waiting to see if the Empress would be true to her word. Change was promised and those changes produced fledgling prosperity and hope, but it also made way for foreigners to storm through their ports with their currency and definition of progress.”
“A history lesson?” Annabelle said. “Must you always be the teacher?”
Annabelle knew this history lesson well without Joseph telling her.
When the empress banished her nephew, she promised she would continue to enrich their country, but at a pace and in a way that would benefit her countrymen rather than foreigners. After time, it was clear she was putting on a show. She assuaged leaders of countries like the United States and others, even as she gave permission to renegades like the Secret Society to take matters into their own hands.
Joseph walked to the rugged desk and pulled out the box tied with a scarlet ribbon. Annabelle stood beside him to read the now familiar characters. “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was God. . .” she read. She ran her finger down the page.
Joseph held the pages tenderly. “I started this shortly after our arrival. I was so idealistic. I planned to give it to my first convert so they could read these precious words for themselves, and perhaps teach others about the faith.” He set the pages back in the box and tied the scarlet ribbon. “I’ve taught many boys, some who are now young men. You and I buried William, our beloved son. In all these years, life has dipped and moved on and yet there is no convert to whom I can give this book,” he said with remorse. “There have been times that I believed God had forgotten us, that he played a cruel yarn on us all these years. I wondered if perchance I imagined those dreams and if they were just silly thoughts that danced in my head while I slept.”
“Joseph, no . . .”
“Don’t worry, Annie.” He pulled her close, his breath on her forehead. “Deep inside I still hear the voice of the Holy Spirit, and he tells me that I wasn’t given a promise of converts. He simply invited me to come. We were meant to be in this city during this time for a reason, even if we don’t know why. God is not a cruel puppet master dangling the strings of our lives just to entertain himself. He had a purpose and I trust that.”
“What will you do with this?” Annabelle asked, pointing to the box.
His lips brushed her hair. “I don’t know, but I do know with every fiber of my being that you need to take Thomas back to Kentucky and wait for me there. I beg you.”
Annabelle smiled through her tears. “Who will bind up your wounds if I am not here, old man?”
“Leave a few bandages, just in case.” He joined in her levity.
Thomas burst through the front door, interrupting their conversation. His blonde curls were plastered on his forehead, most likely from running with the neighborhood children. “Mother, I’m hungry,” he said. His loose-fitting clothing was dusty, and his smile broad.
Joseph whispered in her ear. “He must be safe. You understand?”
She nodded her head, her heart heavy.
She understood far too well.
Annabelle packed the remnants of their lives in the trunks they had stored in the barn. In faith, she took two of Joseph’s shirts and a few of his favorite things. He might not have the luxury of preparation when it was time to leave. Along with clothing, she placed a few precious items inside the trunk that she had carried across the sea when they first came — items that smelled, looked, and reminded her of Kentucky and the people she had left behind. She also tucked in small mementos of their life over the past several years. Little things that she could hold in the future, reminding her of the home she was now leaving.
After a few hours, she fell exhausted in bed. Joseph joined her, his strong arms encircling her.
When she awoke the next morning, fatigue wrapped around her like fog. The spot beside her was warm, but empty. She rose and changed into her day dress. When she called for Joseph, there was no answer. She trailed through the few empty rooms, but there was no sight of him. He was not in the barn, or courtyard. Annabelle put on her sturdiest shoes, pressed her curls into a submissive coif, and left a note for her sleeping son to stay in the house once he woke.
She strode down the street, looking for the broad back of her husband. Parents of students called out as she passed. When she asked if anyone had seen the professor, one told her she had seen him walking toward the market a little earlier.
She quickened her pace. It took several minutes, but she finally spotted him in the distance. Surprised, she noted that he wore traditional clothing. This was not something he did often. Though their son lived in his flowing robes, Joseph wore them in times when they were needed as a sign of respect — at a funeral or a gathering where his less traditional clothes were a distraction.
Annabelle pressed in, passing carts and clusters of people. When she reached the square, she heard Joseph’s voice above the crowd. There were many gathered, faces upturned as Joseph spoke.
She tried to get closer, but the throng was too great.
Joseph climbed onto a small platform.
“Neighbors,” he called. “May I speak with you?”
A sudden hush came over the boisterous marketplace. Several onlookers pushed closer, clutching dried noodles, duck eggs, and fruit, among other things. An older woman ducked her head and smiled shyly, as if anticipating entertainment. A young boy, running after a friend, stopped in front of Joseph curiously. A man peered over the goods stacked on his cart.
As she studied her husband, she saw determination in his eyes, but also compassion. She wondered if these were the faces he saw in his dreams for over 40 years. Faces that were curious, veiled, and uncertain. As the crowd hushed, Joseph took a breath and peered at them, looking from person to person as if seeking a kind face.
And then he spoke, his voice carrying, his words gentle.
“Neighbors, my name is Joseph Rhodes. You have honored me by allowing me to teach some of your children. I have been blessed to know you and many of you know me and my family.” He paused. “It is no secret that I am a man of faith.”
“You are a Christian. Speak it,” one man said.
If there were any sounds before, they suddenly ceased. The smell of sticky rice wafted by Annabelle.
God, help him.
“I have not imposed my faith upon any of you, but I wondered if some of you might have questions. The good book says that the message of Christ is good news to all that hear it. It reminds us that knowing God, being known by Him, is a gift and available to all.”
A man pushed through the crowd. “A living god?” he spat. “I have many gods and they all exact a price. What does your god want?”
“My God gives rather than takes,” Joseph replied. “But I am not here to preach. Instead, I would like to invite any of you to my home where we can discuss this further, if you wish. I will share this good news with only my neighbors who desire to come.”
“Why not today?” A man raised his arms in the air as if to orchestrate the crowd. “You have our attention. Can you not speak now?”
Several raised their voices in unison, calling for Joseph to speak. Annabelle noticed that some had slipped away in the beginning of his speech, but returned moments later with a friend or neighbor. Curious onlookers gathered on the fringe.
“I don’t want to share this with any that are unwilling,” Joseph called. “That is why I am inviting you to my home. We’ll have tea. We’ll talk.”
“We want to hear what you have to say now,” the man said loudly. “Unless you fear the Magistrate?”
“We don’t want to hear your poison,” one woman shouted. “Leave our marketplace and keep your tongue in your mouth.”
“I desire to hear what he has to say. You can leave if you want,” the man said to her. “Speak, Professor Rhodes. You have an audience.”
Joseph looked upward, as if praying for guidance.
Then, he began to talk to the crowd as if teaching his eager students. With a clear voice, he unfolded the story of Jesus. Of his birth, of the cross and resurrection. He told them that Christ came for them, and now lives in the heart of any who would receive him. He told them God loved them.
Ash from burning pots drifted by the onlookers as they took in his words.
“God has pursued you through the gift of his son. You only need to receive that gift. You are beloved to him,” Joseph said in conclusion.
A woman pushed through the crowd. She was dressed in the traditional gown of a sorceress. She narrowed her eyes. “I know the meaning of sacrifice. It is not much different than the doves and chickens I kill for my gods. It is their blood that satisfies this thirst. Why would we trade our gods, the gods of our fathers, for the god of a white man who demands the blood of another to ease his anger?”
Joseph stepped down from his platform and met her. Annabelle leaned in to hear their conversation.
“God provided the sacrifice so that no other would ever be necessary. My God loves you. This was not about vengeance, but mercy.”
“You are asking these people to anger their ancestors.” She turned to the crowd, waving her arms above her head. “Close your ears to this man’s speech. He is deceitful and his motives are impure.”
“If I were deceitful,” Joseph said, “then I would have not lived among you as a neighbor and a friend. I would not have left my family and my friends to teach your children. I would not have lost my son to the black plague. . .”
“You put us in danger by saying these words,” one man called out. “Do you not hear the whisperings of the rebellion?” Fear etched across his face. He pointed. “No one wants to hear what you have to say.”
Joseph nodded. “I understand. That is why I’m inviting anyone who wants to know more to join me in my home.”
“Weren’t you in jail recently?” a man shouted.
“Yes, I spent a day in jail because my son shared his faith with a friend. He didn’t know it might be considered wrong. All he knew is that he loved his friend, and he wanted him to hear the good news for himself.” He rubbed his hand across his neck.
“What does this God want in return?”
“He wants relationship with you. That’s where the heart is changed,” Joseph replied.
“We do not want to hear what you have to say,” the man shouted, his face red and angry.
“I do.”
Suddenly a woman appeared in front of Joseph. The crowd grew silent. Annabelle stood on her tiptoes to try to see what was happening, but with Joseph in the street and the tiny woman in front of him, she could only hear the words that drifted her way.
“I want your God,” the woman said. “Pray with me, teacher, so that I may serve him.”
The swarm of people began to buzz. Several cleared, as if witnessing something so painful they could not bear it. Annabelle pushed through, not caring if she might seem abrupt. Her heart raced. Finally, she found her way to the front. There she witnessed Joseph praying, his hand tenderly on the shoulder of the woman kneeling in front of him.
It was the woman she called friend, her beloved Sunsoo.
Chapter 39
“What of the traitor that lives under your roof?” a neighbor called. “She has brought danger to us. You are the Ti-pao. We demand you do something.”
Sunsoo ran upstairs, viewing her neighbors from the window, draping the curtain to hide her face.
It was an accident that she happened to be in the marketplace.
Junhui was angry as a bear since his father demanded he stay in the Wu home. The search for a suitable scholar might take weeks, which left Junhui drifting. He shut himself away, reading and studying by the lingering light. Tension echoed in the corridors of the massive house in every quarter.
That morning Sunsoo grabbed a basket and fled, welcoming the sunshine that basked her upturned face.
Surely Zhenming would not be grieved at a short trip to the market.
She asked a servant to harness the horse and drive her to the large marketplace in the next village, refusing to be carried around in a sedan like royalty as Zhenming insisted, runners calling out her presence. She was not Mother Wu, and such trappings made her feel silly.
Though servants now cared for her every need, combing and oiling her long black hair, dressing her, bathing her, bringing her tea in bed, she desired nothing more than the freedom to be with her friends and her family.
Her wings were golden, but also clipped.
Her husband was unaccustomed to leadership. Nagging voices followed him in the marketplace, asking for favor, or to air a grievance with a neighbor. After the first few days, he closed himself in the darkness of his bedchamber, begging away a headache or sitting at his father’s ornate desk writing until the late hours.
His need for isolation had allowed Sunsoo the luxury of an impromptu journey such as this.
As she entered the village, smells of the market beckoned. Yet it seemed there was also turmoil. Women tugged children by the hand, strolling toward the heart of the square. Men stood in clumps around storefronts, staring and gesturing as if in intense conversation. That’s when she saw the tall form standing like a ghost on a platform.
