Generous Orchid - Chapters 13 and 14
I’m here for you. . .
My husband had a heart attack. The night after we walked 5 miles. In a time when he was healthiest, or at least we thought so. I’ll never forget his phone call, “Suzie, I don’t think I’m going to make it,” he said.
I sat in the waiting room, unsure if my husband was going to be okay. I looked up and saw a friend, Anne. She came up the stairs. One hand holding a jug of coffee. The other holding a giant bag with breakfast, napkins, plates, utensils. I didn’t ask for any one in particular, but I had prayed for help.
God sent Anne, and others. They wrapped around us in that crisis.
Sometimes God sends unexpected people in answer to prayer. We don’t know where to turn, or what to do. And yet here they come. With the right words. With hope. With tangible help.
In today’s chapters, Joseph becomes help to a man who has run out of resources. And Sunsoo and two others show up when Annabelle is in crisis. I hope you love these chapters. I have to admit, I cried as I read Chapter 14.
If you are just now reading this, you can find previous chapters here:
Are you ready?
Let’s dive in to the next two chapters. There are book club questions at the end. I love that you are joining me in this new adventure of fiction.
Generous Orchid, Chapter 13
Annabelle held the book in front of the window. Glimmers of light revealed crinkled pages and thumbprints on rough edges of each page. Every day the students rushed to finish their work, which gave them the privilege of choosing a book of their favorite stories.
Tales of their progress spread, and more boys arrived, hands rough from the harsh work of the paddies or fields. Fathers or mothers stood near with hope etched on their faces, wondering if their boys could sit among the more privileged.
The classroom was hushed this morning and it felt like a haven. Joseph and William had slipped out to purchase food from the bustling market. Some students arrived hungry after a hard morning’s labor. Though the cost came out of their personal budget, the meager offerings calmed some of their student’s hunger and was worth the sacrifice.
A shadow blocked the sunlight.
Annabelle glanced up to find a man standing with two boys in the doorway. One of the boys in his early teens. Another closer to William’s age. They studied the classroom, as if the maps hanging from the wall, the chalkboard, and crude desks were a mystery.
“Please forgive our intrusion,” the man said. His skin was rough and dark from the punishing sun. Lines around his eyes crinkled, and his frame was thin, almost to the point of being gaunt.
Annabelle’s grasp of the language was growing greatly, thanks to weeks of Joseph’s intense nightly lessons and immersion with the students each day. She strode across the classroom and held out her hand. He clasped it briefly, then bowed, his face flushed at the touch. She heard her husband and son approaching, and called to them. William rushed to place the basket on his father’s desk, and turned, anxious to say hello. Joseph introduced himself.
The man took his hat off as he placed an arm protectively over the shoulder of the younger boy. “These are the sons of my eldest brother. Their mother died one year ago, and my brother left to seek work.”
“Father was supposed to return several weeks ago, but we’ve had no word from him.,” the younger boy said. “My uncle sacrificed a great deal to help us after the death of our mother, and he’s taken us in while our father looks for work.” He leaned against the older man.
As if stumbling over words to painful to utter, the man continued the story. “I have so little to offer them, but I’ve given them all I can.” The wrinkles in his face deepened in sorrow.
Annabelle noted how lean the boys were, but it was obvious the greater share of food came their way. The uncle wavered as if a strong wind might blow him over.
“I wonder if there is room for these boys in your school,” he said, a question mark in his words.
“We can take them,” Joseph replied instantly.
Annabelle stepped forward, but Joseph’s determined countenance halted any objections she might voice.
Joseph asked William to show the boys around the classroom and the play area behind the school. Once they were out of hearing, he confided in the stranger. “The Viceroy decreed that our classroom cannot grow any further, but if the boys will come after class, I will teach them.”
The man shook his head. “I cannot ask that of you,” he said.
“It won’t be for long. Next semester they’ll be among the first students enrolled. They will have a head start over others in some ways.”
A broad smile split the man’s face. He bowed again and again, until Joseph stayed him.
“Would today work?”
“Yes, teacher. They will be here.”
Joseph called William and the two boys in and introduced himself as their new tutor. He explained the arrangement, and the older boy staunchly nodded, while the younger gasped in wonder.
As the trio left, Annabelle implored quietly, “What are you doing, Joseph?”
“I am tutoring privately. The Viceroy may be able to tell me what to do in my classroom, but he cannot tell me what to do with my private time.”
A small feather of uncertainty tickled in Annabelle’s chest. Yet she pushed it away as she recalled the hope etched on the uncle’s face. Her contemplation was interrupted by morning students pouring in the room. As per usual, Junhei’s mother stood against the back wall. Annabelle offered her a seat many times, but the shy, intelligent woman declined, often standing for hours. Annabelle went from desk to desk, saying hello, noting progress of the boys’ work. Zhijian, the rickshaw driver’s son, tugged at her sleeve when she came to him.
“I know them,” he whispered.
“Who?”
“The boys that just left. We pass by the uncle as he walks to the fields before the sun rises. He works for a cruel landlord. They live in a home unfit for an ox. Many have wondered what will become of them when the father fails to return from his search for work. Some believe he died working for the railroad. Other say he lives as a bondservant.”
Annabelle didn’t grasp all of this information, but understood enough that she thanked God Joseph had made his decision in their favor. “How do you know this?” she asked.
“Rickshaw drivers run like the wind while words fly in their ears. If their uncle had not taken them in, others might have. But as laborers, not as second sons as their uncle has done. Their living quarters are poor but they have a good home. He risked much by coming here today.”
“In what way?”
“It is said the Viceroy will not allow new students.”
“Do they say why?”
A cloud of worry crossed Zhijian’s features. “The Viceroy hears the good reports traveling around the district about the students and Professor Rhodes.”
“And that is troublesome?”
The older boy leaned closer, his words barely above a murmur. “A man of power longs solely for all eyes to look upon him only.”
Annabelle patted the boy on the shoulder, before heading to the front of the class. A quick prayer rose on her lips, though fear trapped it before it reached her heart.
The baby was due in three weeks. A hand carved cradle, crafted by Joseph, stood in the corner, ready to embrace the new infant. Annabelle embroidered tiny rocking horses along the edge of the receiving blanket. William continued to insist the baby was a boy.
With the birth impending, Annabelle kept busy. She sewed tiny gowns. She let the hem out of William’s pants once again. She studied and read her Bible. She walked short distances each morning. She missed the bustle of the classroom, but Joseph insisted she remain home when she visited a doctor in the city who practiced Western medicine, and he cautioned that it was time to slow down.
“I’ll come when you feel your first birthing pain,” he said when he saw her swollen fingers and toes.
“William took nearly 16 hours,” Annabelle informed him. “I expect I shall have nearly half as much time since it is my second.” Yet she promised the concerned doctor she would not wait even one hour when the time came.
Annabelle lingered at the window. The classroom hours were lengthy. She was accustomed to arriving in the morning to prepare. She and William had fallen into a rhythm of studying while Joseph tutored the two boys who arrived at their classroom door weeks earlier. Being home all day felt strange. She startled when a woman walked just outside. Her face was handsome and open. She knelt beside an older woman, quite bent over, who pruned the bushes outside her door.
Annabelle tucked an errant curl behind her ear and slipped outside.
“Hello,” she called in greeting.
Both woman halted, but curiosity spread over the features of the younger woman. She appeared to be in her early thirties. She gestured for Annabelle to come closer. Annabelle gathered her skirts and fell into the footsteps of the woman, who led her into her modest home. She offered Annabelle a seat, and placed a steaming bowl of tea in front of her. Her eyes were wide and dark like pools of molasses. Her skin was smooth. Her robe embroidered with beautiful flowers.
“My name is Ting,” she said.
“I’m Annabelle.”
Hope stirred like flames as Ting pointed to Annabelle’s stomach and mimicked holding a baby. A wistful smile played on her mouth.
“Baby,” Annabelle said.
Ting was broad through her shoulders as if accustomed to heavy labor, but slim through the hips and waist. Annabelle longed to ask about her family but was hesitant because the answers might be painful. She had never seen a man at the house. Over a halting conversation, she learned the elderly woman was Ting’s grandmother, and they originally lived in a village several hours north.
When Annabelle rose to leave several minutes later, she thanked Ting for inviting her into her home. Though the language barrier was real, the unspoken invitation of a possible friendship was tangible.
As Annabelle strolled the short distance to her front door, she praised God for the sweet moment. She has become accustomed to women bowing their head or crossing the street at her passing. Though she saw Sunsoo frequently, the woman hid in the shadows, her intelligent features intent upon the lessons.
Annabelle fell into the rocking chair. Her wedding band cut into her finger. Her feet felt flat in her shoes. The skin across her stomach clawed tight and her skin itched, as if it could not bear the burden it carried.
When she visited the doctor last, he furrowed his brow. “You have not slowed down as promised,” he scolded. “The swelling is not a welcome sign.”
Annabelle sang to the child in her womb, wondering if it were a girl. It would be lovely to have a daughter to talk to, to sew with, and to wear dresses and bonnets.
“You are not even born yet, little one, and I have you quilting.” As she rocked, she could not ignore the dull pain thudding in her abdomen. Her time was close. The clock chimed as if to mock her.
“I have too much time to think.”
She rose from the chair and stared out the window. Streaks of dust zigzagged down the glass. She filled a bucket half full with water and soap and swished the window with a clean rag until bubbles rose to the surface, stretching for a spot in the corner just out of reach. She pulled a chair over and awkwardly stood.
A sudden pain wrenched her in half and the rag fell to the ground. She clutched the cheerful blue curtains, and they ripped away. Annabelle screamed, her heavy middle throwing her off balance, as she plummeted to the floor. The room felt like a yawning oven. Prickly lights flashed in front of her eyes. She gasped at the sensation of sticky warmth penetrating her clothing. Her hands twisted in agony as another violent cramp reached with greedy fingers. Annabelle stumbled to her feet and attempted to walk to the door, but every step delivered another searing sting, pinning her to a standstill. Groans escaped as she held her stomach with both hands, unable to make the distance.
Help me. God, I’m alone. Please help me. Show me what to do.
Her vision clouded as heat burned in her limbs and face. The room spun. Nausea bubbled from her stomach into her throat.
I need help.
Annabelle gripped the walls until she made it to the door. Sticky warmth ran down her legs. Blood soaked her dress. She opened her mouth to cry for help as darkness spun her to the ground, and strong arms caught her.
Chapter 14
Sunsoo peeled back dead leaves to expose new growth. Her plants were again thriving. Staying busy eased the fear that gripped her heart the day the official exposed her in the classroom so many weeks before. She feared recriminations of Viceroy Zhao, but greater feared Zhenming’s wrath if her motive for attending school was discovered.
She often worried that her hungry eyes and moving lips, as the words were etched on the board, might betray her.
However, time passed and classes continued without interruption. Sunsoo smiled at the memory of her son standing erect in the classroom, his bright mind exposed as he read the words on the board without hesitation while the low official scowled. Junhui was to be a scholar, a man of honor, thrusting pride and honor before his father and his grandfather Wu, but more so to testify to the greatness of the Wang dynasty.
She was sure the ancestors of her father cheered for her son that day.
Sunsoo was content. If this were her life, then she could be at peace. Her mind and spirit were flourishing like the plants she tended.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Sunsoo rushed to the door. William, son of the teacher, and Zhijian, son of the rickshaw driver, gasped for air. William’s hands were upon his knees and he searched for air like a fish on shore. When he looked up, his face was white, the freckles on his face stark. “Help,” he begged in English.
Sunsoo stared at him.
“Something is wrong with the teacher’s wife,” Zhijian said.
“The baby?”
Zhijian’s eyes grew large. “The baby will not come out of her womb. There is great difficulty. I was on my way home when I saw William in the street, begging for assistance. The teacher sent us to the clinic, but the doctor is away. I didn’t know where to go.”
Sunsoo grabbed a few items and stuffed them in her basket. She climbed in the rickshaw, pulling Junhui up beside her.
“My uncle’s cart is just down the street. We will trade the rickshaw for the cart and horse,” the older boy said.
Shumei rushed outside. “I heard shouting. Is everything all right?”
Sunsoo quickly explained.
“I will help,” she said.
They were soon moving smartly down the streets of the village in a cart. As they traveled, William sat between the women, his face masked with worry.
“It was the right thing to ask you. Yes?” Zhijian called out, looking to her for approval.
“Yes. It was the right decision.”
They soon arrived at the small house. Sunsoo rushed to the door. A neighbor stood nearby, wringing her hands. “I just came from the market. I can provide another set of hands.”
Sunsoo entered the home, followed by the two women. A beautiful quilt made from brilliant patches of fabric twisted around the teacher’s wife. Her dark hair hung loose, splayed across the pillows. Her clothing was damp and bloody. Her neck was arched, and she cried out in agony, her body tensing. The teacher stood nearby, a pot of boiling water steaming on the table beside him. His hair was tousled. Raw fear in his face. “Something is terribly wrong,” he said. “I came home and she fell into my arms. She is bleeding and weak, and the baby won’t come.” His eyes were wild with fear.
