EIGHT
oooooooooo
As Ben Cartwright and his son sat down to talk with Roy Coffee, Hop Sing stood before the counter of the feed store. The Asian man had glanced out the window earlier and seen Adam sitting on the sheriff's porch, and then watched him go inside. As soon as he completed his tasks he would join them, though he knew not what good it would do.
What had he done?
Who had he offended?
Who had taken his sons, and who did they believe he had taken?
Such thoughts swam round in his mind like golden fish in a pond. They churned and turned as if a great blue heron peered down at them through the water. Golden fish meant happiness and brought wealth and prosperity. The great heron, with its giant wings spread wide, heralded death.
Whose death? Mistah Hoss? Little Joe?
Mistah Ben looked at him with eyes of sympathy, but Mistah Adam's eyes held a suspicion that he did not tell the truth. He would not lie. Concealing the truth was like wearing embroidered clothes and traveling at night. All men could see.
If Mistah Adam could see into his heart, he would see it was breaking.
"Hop Sing. Did you hear what I said?"
The Asian man looked up. "Sorry, no hear," he admitted.
"You're a million miles away today," the proprietor sighed. "I said, we just got in a new shipment of sugar. You want one of the boys to fetch it for you so you can finish out your list?"
"That be okay," he said. "Have time for boy to fetch, then Hop Sing must go."
"Is Ben waiting on you? I saw him come into the settlement with Adam earlier."
He nodded. "Yes. Mister Cartwright expect me soon."
"I saw them go into the office with Roy." The store owner lifted an eyebrow. "Anything wrong?"
Hop Sing blinked. His sons were missing. His life was ended.
"Nothing wrong."
"I…see. Well, anyway, it'll take about twenty minutes. Jake has to go down to the warehouse."
"Hop Sing go tell Mister Cartwright then. Let him know."
"Good enough! I assume Ben's gonna settle up the account before you leave?"
"I send Mister Cartwright in. You ask him."
"Okay. Okay! No need to get testy." As he turned his back, Hop Sing heard the man mutter under his breath. "Uppity Chink!"
He ignored him. The Asian man was used to such insults. They fell as rain on a man such as him whose skin was not white. Long ago he had learned a nut is hard to crack because its skin is tough. When he was a young man he did not know this. He had been like the peach whose skin is broken with the barest touch.
"Honorable Hop Sing, this one is pleased to see you today," a soft voice said.
The Asian man turned. In spite of his broken heart, he smiled. He had learned that long ago as well. A smile could heal where medicine could not.
"Honorable Lu Lin," he said with a bow. "It is good to see you as well."
"You have come for supplies?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Lu Lin see honorable Mister Cartwright and son at the jail." The young woman let out a little sigh. "Honorable son most handsome."
His smile widened. "Honorable Lu Lin most beautiful," he said.
She looked back toward the door. "Such a one as he does not see one such as me."
Hop Sing touched her arm. "You are wrong. To Mister Cartwright's number one son, no one is invisible." The Asian man paused as he noted something. Normally Lu Lin, who worked in the house of Sebastian Stephens, wore her hair up and held in place with ruby-studded combs given to her by her honorable mother. Today her hair was down; the thick black waves pulled close to her face to conceal a dark smudge near her ear. "Lu Lin. What is this?" he asked as he reached for it.
The young woman was a child compared to him and considered him as a father. She had no one and nothing in this world but a dishonorable brother who worked for the dishonorable Easterner Sebastian Stephens as gardener and driver. Her brother, Lu Yin, was young and foolish. Like his name, he was interested in money and rode the tiger.
Her hand darted to her cheek as she took a step back. "It is nothing, Honorable Hop Sing. This one fell while carrying dishes down the stairs."
"Then why do you hide the bruise?" he asked patiently.
Her dark eyes darted to his face. Then she looked down.
"Who did this to you?"
"What do you think you're doing, coolie? Get away from her!"
Hop Sing looked over Lu Lin's head. The man who had spoken stood on the threshold of the establishment. He was a tall man with a broad build, whose hat sat uneasily upon a head of thick dark hair. Like the wall of a mine, which is richly veined, it took the rising light to reveal the streaks of silver in it.
He wore an Easterner's suit that did not speak of his wealth, but shouted.
"Lu Lin, you will come here immediately if you wish to remain employed," the newcomer commanded.
The girl looked up at him. "I must go," she whispered.
So this was Sebastian Stephens. Hop Sing had never met the man, though he had heard much of him from his employer and Mistah Cartwright's number one son. When he left his homeland and came to this country he had hoped for a better life. In Guangdong there was much fighting and great upheaval. In the end, those who had wealth had none and so they pressed the poor farmer to pay for their foolishment. His father, Hop Ling, was such a farmer, working the land his father and his father's fathers had lived upon for untold years. Soon, Hop Ling could not afford to feed his wife or his many children. He was a young man then, without the fears or wisdom of age. He went to his father and told him of the opportunities in Gam Saan or Gold Mountain, and said he would go to America. He would work and earn money and send it to back them so that, in time, they too could come to the land of plenty. At first Hop Ling forbade it, but as he watched his many children grow thinner and thinner – and his wife's beautiful black hair turn gray as mist – his father gave him both his permission and his blessing.
And so he sailed away.
A few years before Mistah Cartwright's youngest son was born, the ship he boarded brought him to a port near Yerba Buena. There were few people there, and those who were there came from many lands – England, Spain, Russia, China and more. Each sought to find his place. He was no different. From the time he was a child, he had known all of the herbs and their uses. His mother said he knew them without her teaching. As a boy he had spent much time at her side learning how to use them not only to cook, but to heal. Upon his arrival he sought employment and found it with another man from China whose apothecary shop was on the wharf.
Hop Sing raised a hand to block the sun as he took a step forward. He wanted to see Sebastian Stephens better, but the shameful man's face was hidden like a tiger in the grass. All he could see was his narrowed eyes and they looked on him with hate.
Many men's eyes had looked upon him in this way when he first came to this land. Coolie. Ching-chong. Chink. These were words that stung but had no bite. At the time he had thought it was so with all white men; that they hated any who were not like them. In his heart he could not dream of such a man as Ben Cartwright. A man who looked at him and saw, not the color of his skin or the shape of his eyes, but him.
Lu Lin had reached the door. She bowed humbly and went to wait on the porch. Hop Sing did not miss where the man's hand went as she passed and it angered him. Lu Lin did not dare speak for fear of retribution.
He did not fear retribution.
"Most honorable sir," he said.
Stephens turned from the girl. "Are you addressing me, chink?" he hissed.
Hop Sing moved closer. "Yes. Most honorable sir forget something."
Lu Lin's employer looked directly at him. "Is that right?"
The Asian man stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Honorable sir has eye on Lu Lin." He paused. "Many eyes on honorable sir."
The man snorted. "Is that a threat, coolie?"
"It is no more than an observation."
"Yes. Well, this is my observation. Eyes that look where they shouldn't end up being put out. Lu Lin is my business. Ben Cartwright is yours; him and his children."
Hop Sing drew in a sharp breath. There was something in the way Stephens said the word that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. The cruel man caught Lu Lin's arm and propelled her down the steps and into the street. Just as they reached his rig, he turned back.
"I've got two words for you, ching-chong, and two words only. Maiden Lane."
The water parted.
And the Great blue heron devoured the golden fish.
oooooooooo
Sixteen-year-old Hoss Cartwright drew in a weary breath and let it whistle out softly through his nose. He was tired and achin' and hungry and, if the truth be told, more than a little bit scared. It had been bad enough before, bein' taken without warnin', blindfolded and hog-tied, and then quick-marched into wherever he was and left to rot.
It had been bad enough before them bad men did the same thing to his little brother.
Little Joe was still sittin' on the floor pushed up against him, close as he could be. The boy was makin' little gruntin' sounds in his sleep. Hoss wasn't sure if it was 'cause he was dreamin' bad dreams or if Little Joe was actually hurtin'. Most like it was both. It was dark and no one had come for a while, so the big teen had gone ahead and taken off his calfskin vest and put it underneath his little brother so his tailbone was cushioned. He had to hope that whoever came in next to bring them food didn't notice. Little Joe had pleaded with him to untie his hands and he'd felt about as low as a low-bellied snake when he said 'no'. There weren't no way to hide the fact that he'd done it, and if their captors noticed Joe was free then they'd know he was free too. Their only hopelay in the fact that he was free. His captors had left his feet loose since he was tied tight to a beam.
If the opportunity arose, he'd take it and get them out of there.
Hoss touched his little brother's matted curls. Punkin had been awful brave. He'd sucked in his disappointment and nodded his head and then leaned into him and let the tears silently fall. Little Joe probably thought he didn't know he'd been cryin'. After all they just about couldn't see a single thing. But he'd heard him and the sound of it had near tore his heart in two.
He'd get them out of this. He would!
He just didn't know how.
Hoss' stomach rumbled as he turned toward the door. Every so many hours someone came in with water and, once in a while, with a bit of food. In the beginning it had been Pratt Shade or Bush Sears, but lately the footsteps told him it was a woman. He guessed whoever was holdin' them didn't want them dead – at least not yet. The woman smelled like vanilla and ginger. The last time she'd come she'd said something, he thought it was in Chinese, and touched his cheek before she stood up and left.
It was awful lonely when she did.
Hoss looked down at Little Joe as his brother shifted. He listened to him breathe and noted how the breaths began to come more rapidly as if he was beginnin' to panic.
"Little Joe, you awake?" he asked.
His brother shuddered. A second later, he asked, "Hoss?"
"Yeah, it's me." He put his arm around his brother's tiny shoulders and squeezed. "I got you. You feel my arm, don't you?"
Joe blew out a breath. "I couldn't wake up. I thought this…. I thought I was still caught in a nightmare."
'You are, little brother,' the big teen thought, but he said, "Nah. Ain't much of any light in here, so it's hard to know if you're awake or not."
Joe inched in a closer. "They still got us."
"Yeah, they still got us. But don't you worry none, Little Joe. I'll figure me a way to get us out of here."
There was a pause. "Do you think Pa's coming?"
Pa and Little Joe were mighty close. Maybe on account of Mama dyin', and maybe just 'cause they was. Pa was Joe's hero and he couldn't have a better one.
"Pa's on his way," he said firmly and he meant it.
"But…he won't know where we are."
Hoss hesitated, forming his reply. "Little Joe, you know how people tell me I'm just about the most natural tracker around?"
His brother nodded.
"I ain't nothin' compared to an old mama grizzly when her babies go missin'. I tell you, they got themselves some unnatural natural sense that leads them right to their cubs." He paused to wet his lips. "You and me, punkin, we're Pa's cubs. He'll find us."
Joe seemed to relax a bit at that. There was another silence and then he said, "I'm hungry."
"I am too. I tell you I could just about eat you right now!"
"I can hear your belly grumblin'," Joe giggled.
"It's tellin' them varmints what took us that it's supper time." Or dinner, or breakfast. He didn't really know which it was.
"Hoss?"
"Yeah?"
"Won't they know somethin's different when they see I don't have my gag on anymore?"
He'd thought about that. There's been more than one man comin' and goin', checkin' on them. Some of them were strangers. He just prayed they didn't talk to one another and would think one of the others had done it – takin' off Little Joe's gag, that was. The big teen's fingers touched the vest he'd put under his brother's skinny little hiney. That was another prayer. He prayed it was so dark whoever came in wouldn't see it, 'cause if they did, they'd figure out his hands were free. As it was, he had lean down and have Joe pull his blind back into place and then shove his hands behind his back every time one of them bad men came in. They never checked his hands.
"I wouldn't worry about it, Little Joe. I think they got other things on their mind."
Even as the words came out of his mouth, footsteps sounded, echoing through the corridor outside. Hoss leaned down so Joe could tug his blind into place and scooted a foot or so away from his brother. Whoever it was stopped just inside the room and stood there, saying nothing. A second set of footsteps told Hoss they had more than one 'visitor'. He heard a curt order issued and then the door closed. As the man moved off, the woman headed for them.
He knew it was her 'cause the scent of vanilla and ginger came before her.
"Xiǎo nánhái," she groaned as she knelt beside him.
He knew that one. Hop Sing used it often enough. "Yeah, Joe's awful young," Hoss agreed, his tone edgy.
"I ain't little," his brother protested in a very little voice.
The woman shifted. He thought she was lookin' back toward the door. He could tell because he heard her feet move. She remained silent for several moments and then moved in close so she could feed him.
"Duìbùqǐ," she breathed as the spoon touched his lips.
"Huh?"
"She's sorry," Little Joe said. After a moment the little boy added, "Hop Sing made me learn that one."
'Sorry' about what, he wondered? What she was doin', maybe. Or, maybe, the fact that they were bein' held. Or maybe just that his little brother was?
In-between bites he said, "You gotta help Little Joe."
"I ain't goin' anywhere without you Hoss," Joe stubbornly insisted. "No way no how!"
The woman turned. She seemed to be listenin'. Then she moved from him to Little Joe. He heard the spoon scrape the bowl.
"I ain't eatin' no bad guys food!" Joe declared.
"Litte Joe, you hear me. You take what she offers and you eat it right down."
"But, Hoss…."
"No, buts." He was worried sick about the kid. Little Joe was worn down from his accident. He had to keep up his strength. The cold and the damp and the pain and the worry were like to be enough to kill him. "You do what I say."
Joe was silent a moment. "Okay, Adam," he huffed smartly
Hoss couldn't help it. He chuckled. Then he smiled as he heard his brother swallow.
"Ma'am, could I ask you one thing?"
"I cannot help you escape," she replied.
"I'm not askin' you to. I… Well, it's two things really. Can you take off my blindfold?" He wanted it off. It was hard to remember to put it back on every time someone came in. Little Joe could have worked his own gag free by reachin' up with his hands, even bound, but there was no way either of them should have been able to work off his blindfold. "Please."
A moment later her fingers touched each side of his head. "Not think master care," she said as she pulled it loose.
That was kind of frightenin' since it meant he might see someone when they came in. If her 'master' didn't 'care', the odds were he didn't think it was gonna matter, which meant he probably did mean to kill them before it was over.
"What is second thing?" she asked.
"Next time you come, could you bring a blanket for my little brother? He was sick afore those men took him and I'm worried he's gonna get worse."
"I'm okay, Hoss," Joe insisted. "I don't want a blanket if you can't have one."
Suddenly, a man's voice called out, 'Nǚhái. Lái zhèlǐ ba!'
It was an order.
The girl gasped and rose to her feet. He caught a glimpse of her before the lantern light disappeared. She was young and pretty. Hoss thought he might know her, or at least, had seen her in the settlement. The trouble was most all of Chinese girls looked the same to him. They was all pretty and usually pretty small, with pretty dark eyes and shy smiles.
And scared.
"You know that one?" Hoss asked after she left.
"Yeah," Little Joe replied as he laid his head on his leg. "He told her she had to go now."
"Did you see her, Little Joe?" he asked.
"Mm-mm," his brother nodded. It sounded like Joe was fallin' asleep.
"You know who she is?"
His brother yawned. "I've seen her before."
"Where?"
"In the store, when I went to the settlement with Hop Sing." Joe yawned. "I think he called her Lulu or somethin'."
That was a mighty funny name for a Chinese woman.
"Lulu? You sure?"
"Or somethin'."
Hoss thought about it. Lulu. Lu lu. Or maybe Lu Lin?
"Was it Lu Lin? Little Joe?"
"Don't know. Don't care," his brother grumbled. "Let me sleep."
"Okay, Little Joe. You go to sleep."
Hoss pulled his hands from behind his back. He pulled his brother in closer and once again circled the little boy's shoulders with his arm. He was still thinkin' about Lulu or Lu Lin or whoever she was when he realized somethin' else. Reachin' over with his other hand, Hoss laid it on Little Joe's forehead.
Punkin was on fire.
oooooooooo
Hop Sing watched from the window of the livery as his grieving master and number one son left the sheriff's office and crossed the street to the mercantile. They hitched their horses behind the supply wagon, climbed into it, and headed for the Ponderosa.
He would never see it or them again.
Such was his shame that he would never be able to return to his home or to those he loved. From triumph to failure was but one step. The choice he had made so long ago cast a shadow so deep that the bright sun of his time with Mistah Ben and his sons was lost.
Mr. Ben's sons.
His sons.
Hop Sing's jaw tightened with grief. Tears filled his eyes and fell like morning dew to wet his cheeks. He remembered the time before he left China. Wise father tell him as he left his home, 'A truth spoken before its time can be dangerous.'
Wise Father had been wrong.
Time betrays and hangs the thief.
As the wagon trundled out of sight, Hop Sing turned and bowed to the stable owner. After paying what was owed, he took the horse he'd rented into the light of the noon day sun. He did not mount, but led the animal down the muddy streets toward the center of the settlement. The Asian man had no need to ask for directions. Mistahs Ben and Adam had spoken often enough of the magnificent house Sebastian Stephens had built that rose like a temple above the smaller siheyuan. Once there, he led the horse into a small stand of trees. He did not wish to see the elegant men and women who entered by its front door. He watched for one young woman. Lu Lin would not be allowed to use this door. If she disobeyed, she would pay the price.
As had another young woman many long years before.
ooooooooooo
Adam Cartwright coiled his gun belt and slammed it down on the credenza before heading into the great room. He was tired and frustrated and about at his wit's end. He and his pa had headed out for a time with Roy Coffee, but all they'd found was frustration. Now, it was the end of the day, and they were back home with nothing to show for it. The sun's dying rays had tracked them as they rode into the yard, casting long black shadows before them that matched his mood. He shouldn't be angry, but he was and he knew why.
He felt impotent.
"Adam," his father said as he closed the door behind him. "Son…. Please."
He knew his pa felt the same way. They'd suppered on surprise and shared a breakfast of despair. Neither one of them had slept more than two or three hours since Hoss and Little Joe had gone missing. He'd heard his father pacing in the great room all night because he'd been pacing in his room upstairs.
As he fell into his chair, the black-haired man let out a sigh. "Sorry, Pa. I don't mean to make things worse."
The older man looked at him. "Son, I don't think there is any way you could."
The remaining contracts, the timber, the cattle and horse business – all been forgotten, as had the daily needs of the ranch. Not that they could be forever, but at this moment who really gave a damn as to whether or not a horse was shoed or a tree felled? Nothing mattered but finding Hoss and Little Joe. Nothing.
And there was simply nowhere to start.
"Do you think you could eat something?" Pa asked. "I think Hop Sing left some cold cuts in the ice box."
The subject turned his stomach – Hop Sing, not the cold cuts.
What did they really know about him?
All the way home his father had defended the Asian man, but, really, who was he? Pa admitted he knew very little other than the fact that Hop Sing was a son of Hop Ling and had come highly recommended by his last employer, a man in Hangtown. Before that he had worked in the bay area in what served as the upscale part of Yerba Buena, California. It wasn't much. Hop Sing had been in the US for approximately fifteen years, arriving when he was a bit older than him. That left at least four years unaccounted for.
He'd spent four years away at college. He knew how long a time that was and how much a young man could get into and up to during it. Adam knew as well that he had secrets he'd never told his family and did not intend to tell.
Could Hop Sing be any different?
"You're very quiet, son," his father remarked as he took a seat in the leather chair by the fire.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"You know what about, Pa," he admitted with a sigh. "Until we solve the puzzle of Hop Sing and who he is and was, we're not going to solve the puzzle of who took Hoss and Little Joe."
Pa winced at the mention his younger brother's name. It wasn't that Pa wasn't just as worried about Hoss, but – at least when he left – Hoss had been whole.
Little Joe was not.
"We just need to ask him, son. I'm sure Hop Sing will tell us – "
"Then where is he?!" he demanded, jumping to his feet and beginning to pace. "Pa, you have to admit his absence looks like an admission of guilt!"
His father pursed his lips. "Or shame," he said softly. "You have to remember, son, there are ways in which Hop Sing is not like us. It's not a matter of bigotry to say that, but of fact. Ours – the Western man's – is a system based on guilt and innocence. For Hop Sing, who is from the East, it's about honor."
"Maybe he prizes his 'honor' more than Hoss and Little Joe's lives," Adam said and instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry, Pa. I'm clutching at straws."
"I understand, son, just as I understand that your knowledge of Hop Sing is a child's." His father held up a hand to stifle his protest. "What I mean is, you were twelve when you first met him. Barely older than Little Joe is now. The world was lived from your perspective – what could you get from it, what could it give you – what would make you happy.
His son grinned. "Well, Hop Sing certainly made me happy when you brought him here to cook. Nothing against Marie, but cooking was not one of her strong suits."
His father chuckled. "No, it wasn't. Much as I loved her, Marie had little skill in cooking or any other task associated with running a household. She'd been…." The older man paused as if rethinking the word he had chosen. " In many ways she'd been a kept woman. There was always someone else to perform menial chores whether it be a servant or slave."
It galled him to think that anyone felt they had the right to enslave another and yet it was part and parcel of the founding of their country. That was part of what had drawn Pa to the West as it offered a fresh start to men of all colors and races.
And yet, was it really any different? There were men right now petitioning the government to put more and more restrictions on the Chinese who had come into the area during and after the Gold Rush. In some ways they were seen as an 'uppity' slave population that expected wages. The California legislature was considering a bill known as the Foreign Miner's License Tax that would stipulate a tax of three dollars per month on every foreign miner who chose not to become a citizen. Many Chinese did not want to do so as they intended to return to China once they had earned enough money to support their families. The irony – and this was not lost on the men writing the bill – was that an earlier law, the Naturalization Act of 1790, only allowed free white persons to become citizens.
Pa leaned his head back against the warm leather of his chair. "That man in Hangtown, he wasn't really Hop sing's employer."
"No?"
His father looked at him. "He was his owner. Hop Sing was indentured to him. He never told me why, but I had to buy out his contract in order to bring him with me."
This was news to him.
"I didn't think…." Adam cleared his throat. "I mean, does that kind of thing still happen?"
"Old ways die hard. I asked him about it, but Hop Sing was tight-lipped and I decided it didn't matter."
The past, in other words, was the past.
"Do you think that could have anything to do with…well…with what's happened?" he asked.
His father leaned forward. He nodded.
"What are you going to do?"
Standing, the older man replied. "Something I thought I would never do. Go through Hop Sing's things."
oooooooooo