Chapter 1

Gypsy Woman

Mei-en clung desperately to her stepfather’s back as he clambered over the rocky path leading to the next town. If she let go, she might tumble down the mountainside and land on the jagged rocks far below.

But that worry was like a tiny millet seed compared to the big lump of fear growing inside the six-year-old’s stomach. Where was her stepfather taking her? Why was he so angry?

Mei-en held on tightly and squeezed her eyes shut so she didn’t have to look at the steep mountainside falling away below them. But when she closed her eyes, her mind saw the earth being shoveled on top of the crude wooden coffin that held the body of her mother. Hot tears filled her eyes as she remembered trying to wake up her mother just that morning. . . .

"Mama! Mama-san!" she had cried, shaking the still form of her mother, who was lying on the flat, brick stove where the little family slept each night to keep warm. For two weeks, her mother had been coughing and feverish, barely able to cook the millet mush and thin, watery soup they ate each day. But that morning her mother didn’t wake up.

Her stepfather was angry. Without saying anything to Mei-en, he built the coffin, dug the hole in a field outside their mountain village, and sent for the Buddhist priest. As soon as the incense had been burned and the burial rites performed, he had grabbed six-year-old Mei-en and started up the mountain.

"Get down . . . get down!" she heard her stepfather say, shaking her loose. Mei-en opened her eyes, slid off his back, and crumpled gratefully to the ground beside the path. A rest at last. The little girl was very thirsty, but so far they had not passed any creeks flowing down the mountainside.

"No, no! Get up!" scolded her stepfather. "You are too heavy . . . walk! Walk!" And he set off again along the rocky path.

Mei-en scrambled to her feet, which were bound tightly in long strips of cloths, trying to ignore the sharp pain that shot up both legs as she stumbled along the path. Her feet always hurt, but she did not dare say anything about it. That was the unspoken rule. Chinese girls who wished to have beautiful, tiny feet when they grew up must not complain about having their feet bound.

But the pain made it impossible to keep up with her stepfather, who was hiking up the trail at a swift pace. Mei-en hobbled along on her tiny feet, falling frequently, until once, when she looked up, she could no longer see her stepfather.

"Papa!" she called out, feeling the fear in her stomach twist and knot. "Papa-san! Come back!"

For a moment all she heard was the sound of her own voice bouncing back from the mountainside. Then her stepfather reappeared, a frown clouding his thin face.

"Worthless girl!" he muttered, picking her up and slinging her on his back once more.

G G G G

The man with the girl on his back, their dark blue trousers and dark blue shirts dusty from the long walk, plodded into town as the afternoon sun was sliding down behind the mountains. Mei-en peeked over her stepfather’s shoulder. The houses along the street looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t remember why.

Her stepfather turned into a courtyard in front of a large, wooden-beamed house with a curved, red-tiled roof and decorated paper windows that slid open and shut. As he rang the bell inside the courtyard, the sound jangled in Mei-en’s memory. . . .

Now she remembered! This was her grand-mother’s house—her real father’s mother.

Before she had a chance to wonder why they were there, the door of the house swung open and a middle-aged woman with a round, wrinkled face appeared, her black hair streaked with gray and pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck.

The woman’s eyes darted from the man to the little girl swaying with weariness beside him, then back to the man.

"What are you doing here?" the woman spat out angrily. "I paid you money. You promised I would not see you again!"

The man’s lip curled. "It was a bad bargain, Mrs. Chou. When your son died, I agreed to marry your daughter-in-law and take her worthless girl child off your hands because you promised the woman would give me sons." He laughed hollowly. "She has given me nothing but two dead babies."

"What hap—?"

"Dead," said Mei-en’s stepfather angrily. "Pneumonia. I buried her this morning. Now I have brought her child back to you."

The woman’s jaw clenched. "But we agreed!"

"The agreement is off!" shouted the man. "This is your son’s child! Can I help it if he was so foolish as to fall down the mountain and get killed? Now her mother is dead also. You are her blood relative—not me."

The lump in Mei-en’s stomach tightened and her heart pounded. She only vaguely remembered her real father, but many times she had dreamed about him. In her dreams he was a handsome Chinese man, with golden tan skin and jet black hair, laughing almond-shaped eyes, white teeth, and strong shoulders. She dreamed that he held her in his arms . . . that he talked to her and laughed. . . .

"Come back here!" yelled her grandmother’s shrill voice.

Mei-en jerked her head around and saw the back of her stepfather disappearing through the courtyard gate. Slowly she turned back and looked up into her grandmother’s face.

Mrs. Chou, fists planted on her hips, looked down at the little girl. "By the gods, I am not going to be stuck with a worthless girl child," she muttered angrily. With that, the woman went back inside and slammed the heavy wooden door.

Instinctively, Mei-en ran on her bound feet to the gate and looked up and down the street. Farmers were coming in from their fields on the moun-tainsides . . . women were balancing straw baskets on poles across their shoulders . . . a stray dog stood in the middle of the road and barked at no one in particular. But there was no sign of her stepfather.

Mei-en just stood in the gate, shivering as the shadows lengthened and the brief warmth of the mountain spring faded with the light. What was she going to do? Her mother was dead . . . her stepfather didn’t want her . . . her honorable grandmother didn’t want her, either.

Sinking to the ground, Mei-en could no longer hold back the tears. Sobs shook her little body as she wrapped her thin arms around her legs, put her head down on her knees, and cried.

Mei-en had been crying for a long time when she sensed someone standing nearby. Startled, she looked up. A strange woman was standing a few feet away, staring at her. The daylight was almost gone, but Mei-en could see that the woman’s clothes were not the plain, blue shirt and trousers worn by most of the men and women in the mountain villages of Shansi Province. Instead, she wore several layers of clothes, topped by a dirty, red and yellow skirt that hung to her ankles. Her hair was covered by a cloth turban, framing a leathery, wrinkled face; silver earrings dangled from her ears, and her bare wrists and ankles were covered by rows of silver bangles.

Mei-en’s mouth dropped open. She had never seen such a strange sight in her whole life.

"Why are you crying, girl?" the woman said, not unpleasantly.

Mei-en hid her face. A young girl was not supposed to talk to strangers.

"What business is it of yours, gypsy?" demanded another voice. Mrs. Chou suddenly appeared in the open gate, hands planted on her hips.

The stranger’s leathery face wrinkled into a smile, revealing blackened, decayed teeth. "I was just wondering who this child belongs to," the gypsy said. "Night is falling . . . she is sitting alone in the gate . . . maybe she is lost . . . ?"

Mei-en wanted her grandmother to say, "She belongs to me! Now go away." But instead she heard her grandmother say slowly, "Why do you want to know?"

The stranger’s voice became syrupy. "Well . . . a young girl might be useful to me . . . but of course, taking care of a child is a lot of bother . . . so I’m not sure it would be worth it, unless . . ."

Mei-en scrambled to her feet and looked pleadingly into her grandmother’s face. She did not want to go with this woman! She would be quiet . . . she would not be any trouble . . . she would learn how to cook and sew and clean for her grandmother. . . .

Her grandmother ignored her. "How much do you want?" she asked bluntly.

"Oh . . . two hundred cash would buy food and lodging for me and the child for several weeks," said the woman, grinning.

"Two hundred cash! A whole dollar?" screamed the grandmother. "That’s robbery! I won’t do it! This child has already cost me good money, and I’m not about to pay again."

The gypsy woman shrugged and picked up a big bundle sitting by her feet. "Oh, well. I just thought I’d ask." And the woman turned to go.

"Wait!" said Mrs. Chou. "I will give you one hundred cash—half a dollar—to take the girl. It is a bargain . . . I know you will sell her to the Mandarin in some town, or to a poor family looking for a bride for their son. Either way, you will make money off this deal. Take it or leave it."

The woman brightened. "I will take it. Come, come," she said, holding out a clawlike hand, "let’s be done with it."

Trembling, Mei-en watched as her grandmother fished under her cloth jacket and pulled several coins from a hidden pocket.

"Here," she said, placing them in the gypsy’s outstretched hand. "But if I ever see you or the girl again, I will call the police and have you arrested for child-stealing!"

The stranger grinned again, revealing her rotten teeth. "Do not worry, Honorable Grandmother," she said in her slippery voice. "We shall be gone from this place. Come, girl."

With that, Mei-en felt the clawlike hand grab the scruff of her blue jacket, nearly jerking her off her feet, and pull her out into the darkening street.