For Readers
I’m currently working on several fiction manuscripts. Want a peek? This is a historical fiction novel about an American and a Chinese woman whose friendship is tested during the Boxer Revolution in Tientsin, China. I hope you enjoy the brief excerpt.
Generous Orchid
by T. Suzanne Eller
copyright, 2008
Date: May 13, 1900
To: Clara Stiles, Covington, Kentucky
From: Annabelle Rhodes, Tientsin, China
Dearest Mother,
I cannot say whether we will have survived the events surrounding us by the time you get this post. China is under siege. Officials in high office have turned a deaf ear to those impacted, and even murdered, for months. We are currently attempting to escape to the American Legation in Peking. This attack stems from it’s own marrow, a strong group of men called the Society of the Harmonious Fists. They are farmers, but also sons of magistrates. Until recently, I was not so sure that the news of this frightful war had reached across the ocean; nor whether the news was taken seriously abroad .
Representatives in Peking ignored months of warnings before taking action. They only do so now because it is at their doorstep. Those in the Society are called Boxers, and they plunge into war and bloodshed with zeal. We give praise to our God that we have not suffered. Yet fear gnaws at the soul. We have become the “foreign devils”, a term I have come to both hate and epitomize.
We have hoped and we have despaired. We watched as a meager display of troops consisting of sailors, artillery, cavalry comma and infantry arrived, but it is not enough. We are told more are arriving soon. It is this news that has kept the Boxers from storming the walls of the Legations completely, but the troops are weary and the opposition continues to grow.
There are over 20,000 Boxers. Chinese troops have been dispensed to fight their own countrymen, but those efforts are fainthearted at best. The Chinese army fully understands the wishes of the Empress and her counsel. Every day we view fires raging in the distance. Every day we hear more news of those brutally killed. The sights, sounds and stories haunt us. Even as I prepare tonight to flee this place I now call home, I fear greatly. I will leave behind my dear friend, Sunsoo, and her son, Shutien. Living in Tientsin has been both blessed and grievous, and my friendship with Sunsoo has been the consistent light in the dark times. Even when the unexpected hand of death crept into our home seven years ago, Sunsoo loved me as a dear friend. Without my mother or my sisters, I felt abandoned. Yet God truly became our comfort d uring those bleak hours, his presence tangible through the tears and endurance of my Chinese sister.
God is our strength now as well, but I will mourn the loss of Sunsoo. I implore you to pray for her, for Shutien, and for my dear colleagues at the clinic, as well as for the well being of all of the Chinese converts. The list grows long, as I add the missionaries in the far northern territories of China. And last, I beg you to pray for us as we ll, dear mother. In the event of a tragedy, please call to remembrance the fact that I traveled to Tientsin with a willing spirit. The call upon my beloved Joseph’s life became as much my destiny as it was his.
I hear the roar of battle in the distance, or perhaps it is the sounds of my husband packing our lives in the bundles we will wear upon our backs. I haste to write my love for you. That fondness for you and for my sisters is engraved upon my heart. I love you comma my precious and gracious mother. Even as I pen this, I pray that you will never read these words, for it will only reach you if we encounter opposition to great to endure.
Your loving and most grateful daughter,
Annabelle Hannah Rhodes
Chapter One
Wang Sun Soo did not anticipate the sorrow that awaited her on her wedding night. Villagers called out blessings as they pranced beside the canopy. Men in festive red wore yokes over their shoulders. They lugged baskets of vegetables and held squawking ducks and chickens as they celebrated alongside the wedding party. Sandalwood and jasmine incense wafted in the air.
The marriage celebration was in its third day. That night she would be the official wife of Wu Zhen Ming. The decision to wed had been made long ago. The lingering promise became reality when large sums of money, tea, dragon and phoenix bridal cakes, poultry, sweetmeats, wine, and tobacco flooded the Wang household in preparation, and the family feasted on rare delicacies of bird’s nest soup and shark’s fin.
Sunsoo parted the folds of the curtain separating her from the outside world. She attempted to mirror the joy on the faces of her neighbors, but her heart would not allow it. She breathed in the gardenia oil, a scent that was as natural a s her own after smoothing it into her skin for months in preparation for this night.
What would the night hold?
Sunsoo twisted the red silk fabric of her qi pao in her nimble fingers. Her grandmother’s wedding gown was stitched with glorious flowers, each representing good fortune and wealth. A stitch broke loose in an embroidered golden chrysanthemum. Sunsoo gasped and quickly brushed it back in place on the fragile material. “It’s not an omen,” she whispered, glancing around as if gluttonous spirits hid to take away the joy of a young bride. Perhaps the spirits would flee from her, peeking past the feast and the gifts to view the quiet resignation and mourning in her heart.
“Little sister, are you comfortable?”
Careful to hide her features, Sunsoo slid the veil aside and peeked out. She viewed the two men hoisting heavy poles that held her aloft. Others balanced the rear, moving her matrimonial nest in rhythm with their march. The elder man beside the canopy smiled in her direction, the skin around his eyes wrinkling.
She smiled at her neighbor, and he appeared satisfied that she was at ease. Lying is done with words and also with silence. Sunsoo shook her head as the wise saying crept into her thoughts. She resisted the silent tears that threatened to burst from inside, choosing rather to mimic the sounds of joy that swirled around her like pretty bird. Perhaps if she sang along, the sounds coming from her throat would fool the fear nestled in her heart. She crushed the soft cherry blossoms in her palm and the sweet odor tickled her nose. Sunsoo opened her mouth and sang a song taught to her as a child.
“Wang Sun Soo, blessings upon you child. I hear your song, little one. It is much better than the sound of this one.” The neighbor danced beside the cart holding up a squawking chicken in a cage. “You are fortunate indeed to be wed to the son of the Ti-pao,” he said. “Perhaps this will be part of your first meal in your new home. Remember me to your father, the Ti-pao.”
She closed the veil. “He is not my father,” she whispered, quickly wiping the words from her traitorous lips.
As the crowd grew, she sensed the nearness of her new home, and the yawning cavern of space growing between her and the home of her childhood. Her father was a scholar and a man of honor. He was one of a long line of writers whose work was included in the thick volumes treasured in the royal library. The house of Wang produced men who passed their government examinations with skill and rose rapidly in the hierarchy. They were not as prosperous as the Ti-pao and his family, but riches did not come only in coin.
How was it that her kind and loving father could not see the steel beneath the charmed words of the Ti-poa or the way Wu Zhen Ming claimed her with his eyes?
Firecrackers popped in a staccato dance announcing the arrival of the groom. Sunsoo fingered the small mirror attached to her robe for good luck. Breathe.
The cart slowed and hands reached out to part the curtains.
The cheering crowd greeted Sunsoo. She grasped the fingers of those who helped her step down, feeling the soft crush of the mat under her feet. She respectfully bent her shoulders and gazed at the ground. She looked up only to acknowledge the Wu family gazing at her like a prized jewel from the coffers of the Empress. Her husband’s father, the Ti-pao, stood with his arms draped across his generous belly. The official wife, Wu Zhen Ming’s mother, posed regally behind him. She scrutinized Sunsoo as if she were receiving an expensive slave rather than a daughter into the household. Sunsoo stepped carefully over the lit stove so that the flames might cast out any evil influences.
“Be cautious, daughter,” said Mother Wu. Her slender fingers raked Sunsoo’s sleeve as she guided her over the blaze. The light from the mirror flashed in Sunsoo’s eyes, momentarily blinding her. She blinked, and pulled back her shoulders as she entered the gates of her new home. The ornate metal bars closed behind her.
Perhaps this is how the canary felt when the cage closed.
