She shook her head shyly. “Not in China.”
“Here in California, you are beautiful.”
Sing Ye turned softly on feet that were too large to be considered pretty in her homeland, but Isabelle still thought they were small. Everything about Sing Ye seemed delicate, yet she had shown more strength than any woman Isabelle had ever known.
A year ago, Sing Ye had arrived on a steamer in San Francisco while Aunt Emeline was in the city commissioning a seamstress to make new curtains for the hotel. Most of the Chinese girls shipped to San Francisco were swept away by their so-called benefactors into the underworld of slave brothels and secret organizations called tongs. These women became known in Chinese asbaak haak chai. One hundred men’s wife.
But Aunt Emeline had rescued Sing Ye, paying for her passage before someone with sordid intentions bought her. Then she brought her back to live in Sacramento as a daughter instead of a slave.
“Nicolas Barr has proposed marriage to Sing Ye.”
Isabelle smiled. “That’s wonderful news.”
“He will take good care of her.”
Nicolas worked down at the wharf, and he seemed to be an honorable young man, a hard worker from Germany who had been spellbound by Sing Ye since they met months ago at church. Then he began visiting her at Aunt Emeline’s house every Sunday afternoon.
Isabelle hoped for Sing Ye’s sake that Nicolas was exactly who he purported to be.
Aunt Emeline clasped her hands together. “Now both my girls will be getting married.”
Isabelle’s smile fell. “Actually—”
“It’s exactly what I wanted before I leave this world.”
Isabelle leaned forward, kissing her wrinkled forehead. “You’re not leaving us anytime soon.”
“Oh, child.” Aunt Emeline reached forward with one of her hands to grasp Isabelle’s arm. “When God calls, I must go home.”
Isabelle wanted to keep her aunt here for many more years—she was the only family Isabelle had left—but Emeline’s heart longed to sweep through the gates of heaven that awaited her, to greet her Savior with William at her side.
“My only regret,” Aunt Emeline began, leaning back against the pillows, “is that I didn’t rescue hundreds of more girls like her.”
“You and Uncle William helped so many.” Isabelle wrapped her fingers over her aunt’s hand, blinking back the tears in her eyes. “I wish I could help women trapped in slavery too.”
Aunt Emeline’s gaze wandered toward the gray light in the window. “I suppose both of us must be faithful in caring for whomever God sends our way, like Queen Esther when God asked her to save her people.”
“You have been a faithful servant, Auntie. In many ways.”
Aunt Emeline began to cough, the hollow rasping of a woman whose body refused to heal, the coal smoke and stench of sewer in this city inflaming her lungs.
Isabelle helped her sit up, gently patting her back, but the cough persisted. “I’m going for the doctor,” Isabelle finally said.
“No.” Aunt Emeline shook her head. “I’m not ill, Isabelle. Just old.”
“He can still give you something for that cough.”
Her aunt pointed at the parade of blue and brown glass bottles lined up on the windowsill. “Nothing works anymore.”
Isabelle held up her pitcher. “I brought you eggnog.”
She poured the drink, and her aunt took several sips before smiling. “It reminds me of home.”
“Do you miss Uncle William?”
“Every day.”
Isabelle opened her satchel. “I have a gift for you.”
