Generous Orchid - Chapters 34 and 35
It’s time
Do you remember a time in your faith when you felt like God was saying it’s time. Time to act. Time to speak. Time to love sacrificially. Time to trust.
I do, and that can feel intimidating because we don’t know what is on the other side.
In today’s chapters, things are coming to a head. It seems like it might be the time to shy away or pull back, and yet there is one character that feels that call of “now.”
What does that look like? He doesn’t know and that brings uncertainty to all of them.
Trusting God, hearing his voice, stepping into obedience is beautiful, brave, and oh-so-hard.
Thank you for taking this journey with Sunsoo, Junhui, Annabelle, Joseph, and Thomas. I hope you love these characters and this story as much as I do.
If you missed the last two or three Substack issues, you can catch up with those chapters. I’ll share links below just for you. Following that are Chapters 33 and 34. We only have a few chapters left in this historical novel. I’m so thankful you are taking this journey with me.
Generous Orchid, Chapter 34
Annabelle stared out the window covered with soot as she tried to process the mixed messages received over the past few days. While impending violence was mentioned over dinner, it was just as soon dismissed. They talked about the missionary killed in front of his church as casually as if discussing picking out fruit at the market.
The ambassador’s wife frowned at her husband when he brought up the topic, but Annabelle later discovered her concern was not about the missionary or those who attended his church, but the fact that the topic was not proper over dinner.
Joseph sat beside Annabelle. Deep in thought, he clasped and unclasped his hands. His face was lined and weary. Annabelle glanced at Thomas who sat across the way reading a book. He had abandoned his fancy clothes and sat comfortably in the loose-fitted, long-sleeved garment that his fellow students wore.
She lowered her voice. “What did the Ambassador advise?”
Joseph sighed deeply. “He said we should wait it out.”
“What does that mean?”
While the other passengers chatted or read or somehow slumbered on the roaring train, Joseph took Annabelle by the hand and led her to a vacant portion at the end of the car. They took empty seats, and he turned to face her. “The Ambassador has heard these same rumors for years,” he said. “He knows of their activities, but doesn’t believe anything will come of it. When he questioned the government of China, he received letters that pacified him. He showed me official correspondence.”
“Even as a man has lost his life. . .”
“It is clear these matters are not of concern to the Empress, so the ambassador refuses to listen. He didn’t say it outright, but implied that I am only a humble teacher and that my concerns are not his highest priority.”
Annabelle groaned. “Most of the women I met were occupied with parties and decorum. They live in an isolated world. The only contact they have with the country they live in is the servants that clean their home and serve their food. . .” She brushed a stray curl from her cheek. “They wore beautiful dresses and sipped tea and talked about fashion and children and travel.”
“To be fair, this is what women do at parties,” Joseph replied. “Perhaps they did not want to talk about such heavy things.”
Annabelle turned away from him and stared at the scenery lolling by.
Joseph took her by the hand. “Look at me, Annie. I’m not trying to hurt you. I want to protect my family and my students. I wonder if these women are thoughtless, or if they see their role as hosting parties and entertaining while their husbands fulfill their commitments. I’m not saying it’s right, but if we expect them to step outside of that role and confront their husbands or to resist official government policies, we may be expecting too much.”
Annabelle turned, tears in her eyes. His words stung. She had lost touch with women of her own culture and she felt it keenly this past week. Yet her husband’s words, the man who loved her more than anyone else in the world, fell short.
“I’ve sat often with my sisters and friends and we talked of lighter matters, but not while bloodshed occurred around us. When the ambassador mentioned that a missionary had been killed, most didn’t raise an eyebrow, and the only reason the ambassador’s wife fussed was because of propriety.”
“I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“Then don’t patronize me.”
He cupped her chin. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to put all of our heart and energy into criticism of those who may not change. Instead, we’ll be aware of what we are up against and who will or will not aid us. We’ll make a plan that makes sense for those we care about.”
“Knowledge is power. Is that what you are saying?”
“If used properly, yes. I talked for hours with men who have authority but refuse to open their eyes. They are convinced the missionary angered his neighbors when he went to court to defend a convert against a landlord. They believe his death is retaliation and that fault lies with him. They trust district officials to calm their own people and bring offenders to justice.”
The smell of coffee filtered down the aisle. It was a reminder of the meal they had not touched but remained in a basket by Thomas. Yet Annabelle wasn’t satisfied with the conversation; there was more to talk about, and this was as good a time as any.
“Sunsoo believes they will soon be in the open,” she said. “She is worried that they will act upon their growing anger. Her husband has been a leader for a long time. The Ambassador remarked that it was only peasants who are coming with hammer and tongs, but with men like Zhenming in the fray, this is more pervasive than anyone believes.”
Thomas ran toward them, basket in hand. “I’m hungry,” he said.
They tabled the conversation as they pulled out thick sandwiches, quietly watching the countryside as they ate.
Sights and smells of the city welcomed them as the train pulled into the station. Annabelle was homesick for her quiet home with no frivolous celebrations or rich foods carried in platter after platter.
They tumbled from the train. Joseph carried their bags and soon they were on the way home. When they finally arrived, they quickly climbed down onto the dusty street. Annabelle gathered the smaller satchel and now-empty basket. When she turned she heard a gasp from inside the humble courtyard. She ran through the gate. Joseph stood in front of the door, an astonished look upon his face, staring at the angry red handprints drummed upon the heavy wood.
She set her burden down and clutched Thomas to her.
“Mama, what is this?”
“It’s a message,” Joseph whispered.
The young boy was solemn as he traced his fingers over the paint.
Annabelle pushed open the door and propelled her son through. She lighted the room, thankful as light cast away shadows in the corners of the room, but also the shadows of her thoughts.
Joseph walked over to his desk and pulled out a box tied with a crimson ribbon. He carried it to the table and tugged at the ribbon, then gently opened the box. He lifted out a stack of paper with carefully inscribed Chinese characters. “I’ve been working on this for a very long time.”
Annabelle took the first page and read. She glanced up in wonder. “The Gospel of John. You did this?”
He nodded. “It’s my favorite gospel. John was a rash young boy when he started to follow Jesus. He became a wizened man who had gone through trials and trouble, but he loved his Savior all the way to the end. It is his words that compelled me to follow Jesus when I was a boy.”
“This is a very difficult task you undertook. What do you plan to do with this?”
“Perhaps Sun Soo would be fond of it,” Thomas offered.
“I don’t know how God will use this, but I do know that translating this gospel was part of my assignment. It not only reminded me of John’s journey but reminded me of my own.”
She looked around the room, at her home, and then at her son. The red handprints on the other side of the door might as well have been on Annabelle’s throat.
She knelt to open a trunk, sorting through the modest possessions inside. “What will we keep? What will we leave behind?” She clutched a quilt to her face, wiping the tears that bled into the warmth of the hand-stitched treasure.
Joseph knelt beside her. “It is too soon to pack our things, Annie.”
“Did you not witness the handprints on the door? I refuse to put my son in danger! We have already lost one son. I will not lose another.”
“Then pack your and Thomas’s things, but leave mine.”
“I don’t understand.” Annabelle put her head on his chest.
“It’s time.”
“Time?”
“It’s time to openly share the gospel.”
Annabelle shook her head in dismay. “You kept silent while it was permissible, and now you say it is time when danger has come to our own door? You are esteemed by your neighbors and your students. If you share your faith openly, you cross a line and become a man of the gospel, a missionary rather than a teacher.”
“Do you remember when I told you we had to earn their trust?”
“I do.”
“I was restrained by the hand of God for eight long years. When I saw the handprints, I felt a release. It is in moments of danger that men look for truth. I am a friend to the parents of the children who sit in my classroom each day. Our neighbors trust us. It is time. It is time!” he shouted, standing to his feet. The light in his eyes was inescapable. “I don’t know how or when it will take place, but we have come for such a time as this.”
“Father?” Thomas said.
Joseph knelt in front of his son. “You have been raised to believe in Jesus, but many do not know him. We’ve talked of our faith with Sunsoo and Junhui, and with Ting and Dr. Wong. But we have kept silent in every other way.”
“I have talked about it with Yu Shen Gong,” Thomas said softly.
Annabelle sucked in her breath. “The son of the magistrate?”
“You never said that I was not able to talk about it with my friends.” His voice was respectful, but Annabelle could see that her child’s faith ran as deeply as his father’s.
“You have done nothing wrong.” Joseph ran his hand through his son’s fine blond hair.
“Joseph! Hear your own words.”
Annabelle fell back in the rocker, her fists covering her eyes. She felt weak. Shame rose as fear exploded inside of her. She leaned forward, clenched fists in her lap. “Do you not recognize the peril?”
“God will take care of us.”
“Platitudes, Joseph! Will he care for you and Thomas like he took care of William?” she said. Pain sprang from a deep well at the thought of losing another loved one. That thought was interrupted by an urgent knock coming from the front door.
Annabelle ran to open it. Sunsoo slipped in, her expression stark.
Once Sunsoo left, Annabelle and Joseph talked for most of the night. The news of the burning of the clinic and the attack upon Dr. Wong left them shaken. The Society was no longer secret. They had revealed their hand.
She and Joseph fought bitterly.
It wasn’t that Annabelle didn’t trust God. Hadn’t she felt peace after William’s death?Hadn’t their faith served as a shelter after they chose to remain in China? She was fulfilled in her work at the clinic. She no longer endured hostile stares or curiosity from neighbors. She and Joseph and Thomas were as much a part of the community as those born in the native land. Their son wore the robes of his classmates, throwing off the binding trousers his mother attempted to put on him. Though he did not have the long braid of his friends, Thomas had a heart for this land, for these people and the beauty around him for it was all that he knew. Women greeted her in the marketplace; many called her friend at the clinic.
She treasured her letters from her mother and sisters, but she no longer missed home because this was home.
Wasn’t that enough for God?
Finally, exhausted, she fell asleep in her husband’s arms. Though they argued, she knew his heart. He had never failed to protect them. The call must be strong for him to raise his head in a time that might cut him down.
She planned to argue her case the next morning more gently, when fear wasn’t driving her. She fell into a fitful sleep, dreams of extravagant balls and flags waving signs of death clashing. When she awakened, she rolled over to nestle against the broad back of Joseph, but the blankets were cast aside, and his spot was empty.
When she stepped outside, the odor of lye greeted her.
The door was wet. The handprints were gone, and so was her husband.
Chapter 35
Sounds of “Sha, Sha” filled the air: Kill, Kill.
The men looked like a swarm of peevish red ants. They swung their fists in unison as they shadowboxed, training in the time-honored art of Kung Fu.
Sunsoo pushed away the sticky fingers of the bush and peered from her hiding place. It was impossible to discern one man from among the hundreds that assembled below. She crouched tighter as she searched for one face among hundreds.
The old gossip had murmured something under her vile breath as she passed Sunsoo earlier that day in the old marketplace. “Secondary foreign devils must not sleep soundly,” she hissed. “Especially when they are so close with those whose husband waits to strike.” She smiled at Sunsoo, her gold tooth catching the sun.
