Paper Wife Read online

  ALSO BY LAILA IBRAHIM

  Yellow Crocus

  Living Right

  Mustard Seed

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Laila Ibrahim

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503904576

  ISBN-10: 1503904571

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant

  For my parents, Hilmi Ibrahim and Margaret Loughlin, whose choice to immigrate to new lands gave me the wild and precious life I’m so immensely grateful for.

  CONTENTS

  START READING

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  RESOURCES

  BOOK DISCUSSION

  GLOSSARY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  I am satisfied the present Chinese labor invasion (it is not in any proper sense immigration—women and children do not come) is pernicious and should be discouraged. Our experience in dealing with the weaker races—the negroes and Indians, for example—is not encouraging.

  —US President Rutherford B. Hayes

  CHAPTER 1

  Ancestral village

  Guangdong Province, China

  March 1923

  Before opening the door, Mei Ling turned back for one last look at her family. Swallowing hard, she studied them, burning the tableau of faces into the folds of her memory. Soon they would be separated, perhaps forever.

  Jah Jeh, Mei Ling’s nineteen-year-old sister, perched like a prized bird between their parents. A fancy comb pulled back her shiny black hair. The bit of red in her pale cheeks was the only hint of turmoil on her smooth, calm face. Fuchan’s weary dark eyes told of defeat, while Mah-ma’s held a steely pride.

  A single glance around this room told how far her family had fallen. Their glossy black lacquered table sat on the old, dusty floor like a jewel in a pig barn. Elegant scrolls hung on roughly finished wood walls. As with countless other families in Guangdong Province, the triple devastation of war, famine, and disease had chipped away their family’s fortune until all they were left with was this, surrendering their beloved Jah Jeh to a stranger.

  Years ago, Mah-ma had set a foundation for a different path for her daughters. She faced the contempt of her neighbors by leaving their feet unbound, allowing the girls—born so close to one another they were mistaken for twins—to run freely through childhood.

  She insisted that her daughters be educated as well as her sons, going so far as to send them to school when they lived in the city. That had been a radical choice too. They didn’t know if that long-ago decision would increase or decrease their chances for fortuitous marriages.

  As their fortune fell over the last two years, the questions in their family mirrored the battle in their land: Keep the old ways or adapt to the new? Fuchan, a scholar and teacher, fell back to the Confucian practices of his childhood, believing his ancestors would intervene if he held true. With each setback he burned more incense and gave more offerings. But ghosts were no match for the gunpowder of the power-hungry warlords or the greedy foreign invaders who carved up China for profit. All her father’s petitions to their ancestors were nothing in the face of a singular devotion to the wealth that came from controlling the import and export of goods.

  So it had come to this: Fuchan would go through the charade of negotiations with the matchmaker waiting behind the door. But when you are out of options, there is no debate, only the opportunity to accept the terms offered to you.

  Mei Ling thought she’d already lost all hope, but a single silk strand of it still danced in her soul. This moment held the possibility Jah Jeh would stay in their lives, that she would marry into a family that lived nearby and would permit her to visit them.

  Ahma, Fuchan’s mother, stared at Mei Ling. Her white hair was pulled back into a tight bun and her dark eyes were surrounded by wrinkles. They took one breath in unison, and then Ahma nodded. It was time for Mei Ling to open the door.

  March was the most beautiful month of the year, but the spring morning framed in the doorway held no joy for Mei Ling. The cool air that blew in with the matchmaker didn’t clear the chaos in her heart. Mei Ling stood by the open door and bowed to welcome in the destructive savior. The woman, knowing she had no business with Mei Ling, strode past without acknowledgment.

  Fuchan’s hand trembled as he gestured to the place of honor for the old woman. Mah-ma poured fragrant tea into two cups. Mei Ling stood by Ahma’s chair and breathed in the enticing scent. She imagined her youngest brother was listening from the kitchen where he couldn’t be seen. At ten years old he understood this was important family business but not the full implications of this meeting.

  Mei Ling’s eyes traveled to Jah Jeh’s face. There was fear in her sister’s eyes but also acceptance, resignation. She looked at the matchmaker. The old woman sipped her tea and nodded with a tight smile. The silent waiting was unbearable.

  Fuchan cleared his throat. The woman arched her right eyebrow. Mah-ma suddenly bobbed her head in understanding and flicked her eyes downward to Fuchan’s hand. He looked lost, as he had the day Mei Ling’s eldest brother took his last breath; then Fuchan grasped her mother’s meaning. He pulled a coin from his pouch and placed it on the black surface. They had to pay simply to learn of the offer.

  The old woman cradled her tea against her chest with both hands. She shrugged while barely lifting two fingers from the cup. Fuchan sighed and placed another coin on the table in front of him. The woman stared at the coins across from her. When he didn’t move, Mah-ma leaned forward and slid them to the matchmaker.

  With the coins in her grasp, the woman’s demeanor immediately changed and she declared, “I bring good news to your honorable family.”

  “We are grateful for your services,” Mah-ma replied. “Please tell us your news.”

  “I have found a fortuitous match for your eldest daughter. He is a recent widower in search of a new bride.”

  A widower. He might be old with many children. Mei Ling searched the woman’s words and expression for meaning.

  “He has only one son, two years in age. His wife died . . .” The woman hesitated as she chose her words. “Very recently.”

  Only one child meant he was most likely young.

  “He was born in the year of the Ox, which makes him the most suitable husband for your Rabbit.” The woman smiled.

  Mei Ling calculated. He was either two years or fourteen years older than Jah Jeh; she could not entertain the idea that he was twenty-six years older, but that
was not unheard of. She studied the woman’s face, trying to discern more information about her sister’s fate.

  Where does he live?! Even with modern forms of transportation and the dream of the end to the wars, distance mattered as much as philosophy. Once they were married, many women saw their own families rarely, if at all. Traditional mothers-in-law demanded their new daughters act as if their original family had died. Mei Ling prayed that Jah Jeh’s new family would not require her to have a singular devotion to them.

  “He is a merchant,” the woman declared, clearly pleased to reveal this detail.

  Mei Ling’s mind flashed to the most likely places for his residence: Shanghai or Hong Kong. Please let it be Hong Kong, only two days’ journey away, and not far-off Shanghai. Though many merchants preferred their families to live in their ancestral village with their elders, rather than with them in the bustling cities.

  A challenge entered the woman’s voice and she said, “He is a Gam Saan Haak.”

  Mei Ling’s stomach dropped. Gold Mountain. He lived in California.

  “Perhaps our daughter will stay in his village in Guangdong Province, as so many Gam Saan Haak choose?” Mah-ma spoke out loud Mei Ling’s fervent hope.

  The woman shook her head, looked at Jah Jeh with some sympathy in her eyes, and said, “He has three return tickets from Hong Kong to the United States.”

  An audible gasp escaped from Fuchan, Mah-ma’s face tightened, and pain flashed in Mei Ling’s sister’s eyes.

  California. A lifetime away.

  The old woman explained, “The Americans have changed their laws in order to restrict Chinese men from traveling back and forth to visit their families. There is a rush to bring wives and children to California before the law is enforced. The long-held practice of families here and husbands there is ending.”

  Sorrow and fear gripped at Mei Ling’s throat. Her sister was leaving China, likely forever. She grew so dizzy that she reached for the back of her grandmother’s chair to steady herself. She felt her Dragon rumble inside her. She took a steadying breath to calm it.

  “When . . . ?” Jah Jeh burst out, breaking protocol.

  “The ship leaves in ten days,” the matchmaker replied. “You must decide today—right now.”

  Mei Ling grabbed her grandmother’s shoulder. A cool hand patted her fingers.

  “I have an appointment with another family should you turn down this match. As you can imagine, he is eager to have this settled.”

  A gloomy silence filled the room. Mei Ling’s stomach filled with mud. When she could stand the unbearable silence no longer, she finally asked a respectful question: “What is his name?”

  The woman turned her head, looked Mei Ling up and down as if seeing her for the first time, and replied, “Chinn Kai Li.”

  Strong start. It was a powerful name, fortuitous for Jah Jeh, her timid Rabbit of a sister.

  “There is another issue to which you must agree.” The woman turned her attention back to Mei Ling’s parents. “She must be a paper wife.”

  Fuchan’s face pulled inward in anguish. Paper wife. Her sister would have to take on the identity of a stranger, officially become someone else to live in California.

  The matchmaker explained, “The United States’ restrictions on Chinese immigration go into place in May. Because he is a merchant, he was able to get a visa for his wife and son at considerable expense. Unfortunately his first wife died while he was journeying here. The name on the visa cannot be changed before the ship sails. For immigration purposes, she must pretend to be Wong Lew She.”

  Mah-ma’s eyes darted between the matchmaker and her older daughter.

  Fuchan asked, “She must give up her name?”

  “Only for the paperwork,” the woman reassured. “It means nothing.”

  “Are you certain the American officials will be fooled?”

  The woman’s eyes flashed. “I assure you I know my job! If you do not trust me, then we are through here.” She started to rise.

  “Please . . . ,” Mah-ma begged. “We are only worried parents. Forgive us.”

  The woman sank back into the chair, satisfaction written all over her face. She knew she’d achieved her purpose. Pain in his eyes, Fuchan slowly transferred eight coins to the table and pushed them to the woman. She nodded slowly.

  “I will share the good news with Chinn Kai Li. He will be satisfied with this match. Flat feet and the ability to read are an asset in a wife in San Francisco. This will be a successful match. I will return in two mornings to accompany her to Guangzhou for the wedding.”

  Two days! The speed was not surprising; it was commonplace for marriages to happen so quickly. But it was hard to accept how soon Mei Ling’s life would permanently change. She looked at her sister. Jah Jeh’s cheeks were flushed red with emotion. California was a nearly mythical place. Mei Ling wasn’t sure she believed any of the stories about it—the far-fetched tales of easy wealth or the dramatic reports of mistreatment. But she knew it was most likely that she would never see her sister again, which made her nauseous.

  The matchmaker finished the last sip of her tea. She set the cup down carefully and rose to leave. Mei Ling crossed to the door to open it for the woman who was both destroying and assuring her sister’s life.

  The woman stopped in the doorway and said, “He is Christian, so the wedding will be in a church. If need be I can explain the protocol as we travel. I will not lie to him about your faith, but you will be wise to keep your beliefs private.”

  After delivering that final blow, she departed from their lives for the time being.

  Jah Jeh rose without speaking. She walked away from the family and disappeared into their sleeping room. Mei Ling bore the silent inaction for only a moment and then rushed to find her sister.

  The lid to the battered wooden trunk was open; its previous contents were on the bed in neatly folded piles. Jah Jeh stared at the pile, though she must have felt Mei Ling’s arrival. She turned to the cabinet and pulled out slippers, her trembling hands and flushed cheeks revealing the intensity of her feelings.

  “Jah Jeh.” Mei Ling’s voice broke immediately.

  Jah Jeh glared Mei Ling into silence. “I accept this is my fate,” she said. “I ask no less of you.”

  Mei Ling nodded and blinked back tears.

  “I will have a very comfortable life as a merchant’s wife,” the elder sister explained, sounding as if she were convincing herself as much as Mei Ling. “I am fortunate. When national tensions decline, I will have the means to return for a visit.”

  Mei Ling cleared her throat, nodded, and pulled her lips into a tight smile. “As always, you are the wise older sister,” she replied.

  A tear escaped from Jah Jeh’s right eye. She ignored it, but Mei Ling crossed over to her and wiped it away with her thumb. Her fingers rested on her sister’s black hair.

  Mei Ling whispered, “I will miss you.”

  Jah Jeh took Mei Ling’s fingers and squeezed. “I will miss you more.” Tears filled the eyes of both sisters. Jah Jeh shook her head, wiped at her face, and said, “You must not reveal the pain in my heart to our parents . . . or grandmother.”

  “Of course not,” Mei Ling assured her sister, annoyed but not surprised by Jah Jeh’s need to tell her something she already knew.

  The sisters worked in silence, carefully fitting Jah Jeh’s life into a small metal-bound container. Clearly she had been planning for this day, because Jah Jeh did what needed to be done with little hesitation, separating what to keep and what to leave behind, until she came to her statue of Quan Yin.

  The statue resting in her two hands—the goddess of compassion and mercy—looked up at Jah Jeh. She squeezed her eyes tight and then placed Quan Yin back on her shelf.

  Mei Ling gasped.

  “I will do what I must to make a harmonious marriage,” Jah Jeh insisted.

  Mei Ling nodded as if she agreed, but she would not have been able to make the same sacrifice. Through the hung
er and the deaths, there were times when she could not express her fear and sorrow even to Jah Jeh, but she always shared her burdens with Quan Yin. If Mei Ling were the one being sent to a foreign land with a stranger, she would have needed Quan Yin’s strength and compassion to survive.

  As most of the family rushed to prepare for this upheaval, Fuchan escaped into his mind by reading one of his few remaining books. Mei Ling stared at him, contempt burning alongside pity in her heart. The defeated expression on Fuchan’s face reminded her of their last days in Guangzhou.

  Nearly one year ago they had moved permanently to the village, but it seemed like another lifetime that they had lived in Guangzhou. Following the fall of the Qing dynasty in 1912, China had been in chaos. Fuchan had placed his faith, and their future, with the wrong man. Sun Yat-sen, the leader of their region, had raised an army to fight for control of a reunified China. As an outspoken supporter of Sun and the Kuomintang, Fuchan believed he would become part of the leadership of a prosperous and modern China. When the Kuomintang forces fell in 1922, Sun abandoned the families that had allied with him and fled to Shanghai.

  Various warlords fought for control over Guangzhou, battling through the city’s districts. Last June, soldiers from one faction had pounded on their door in the middle of the night. The image of the young men holding lit torches high above their heads still haunted Mei Ling. They were fortunate to have been woken up. Some families were not so lucky.

  Mah-ma and Ahma, fearing an attack, had packed their trunks and moved them outside each night for many weeks. It felt foolish each morning when they brought them back in. But when the fateful night came, they were grateful for Mah-ma’s foresight.

  They fled their home in minutes, their tears hidden in the dark night. Mei Ling never learned whether their home had been burned. She preferred to imagine that it still stood and that a small piece of her was in it somewhere: a strand of her hair, a slip of paper with her writing, or a length of bright embroidery floss.

  Fuchan, a respected and prosperous enough teacher in Guangzhou, did not have the skills or temperament for this new life. Education was a luxury not prioritized in a time of war and famine. No one in the village had extra chickens or crops to pay for their children’s educations. Like Mei Ling’s family, they needed every bit of sustenance just to survive.