Outrun the Moon(65)

I tell Ah-Suk, “She says yes.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, and I realize I gave him Headmistress Crouch’s response before she replied. But then he nods. “I will fetch them. Bring my suitcase.”

Creakily, the man gets to his feet and moves off toward the lake.

“I need to get some things for Dr. Gunn,” I tell them. Catching Francesca’s eye, I hitch my head for her to follow me. Harry and Katie come, too.

Once we are out of earshot, Francesca asks, “What’s going on?”

“Dr. Gunn is going to give her sleeping tea. And then he wants to leech her.”

Harry covers her ears, like I said a dirty word.

“It’s her best chance of avoiding a heart attack.”

“My gran said they used to leech people when she was a girl. Said it was good for releasing their bad humors. And that grouch certainly has a lot of bad humor to release.”

“Not that kind of humor,” Francesca says with a smile. “I’m sorry she said such awful things to you, Mercy. None of us feel that way.” Harry and Katie nod. “But do you really think you should leech her without her permission?”

“It’s not ideal. But Dr. Gunn is the most respected doctor in Chinatown and one of our sharpest minds. Elodie’s mother even came to him seeking his medicines.” I don’t elaborate. “He has cured thousands with his own hands, including my brother, who developed weak lungs from the bubonic plague vaccination. Jack would’ve died without him. And Headmistress Crouch is in serious condition.”

Francesca stops walking and regards me seriously from under her lashes. “If you think she might die, we will help however we can.”

“Thank you.” I march grimly, and the others match their paces to mine.

We arrive at Ah-Suk’s camp, where Mr. and Mrs. Pang are cooking another fish in their pan. “Good morning, Auntie and Uncle.” I introduce the girls, and the Pangs greet them with a bow, which the girls awkwardly return.

“Dr. Gunn has asked me to fetch his suitcase for him,” I explain.

I duck into the tent and collect the case. When I emerge, Mr. Pang is showing the girls his fish, gesturing that they should try some.

“We have already eaten, Uncle,” I tell him. With a sad expression, he puts his pan down, and I quickly add, “But we would be honored if you would join us tonight for dinner. We will be making a feast for forty-four people. Please tell your friends.”

Mr. Pang frowns, and belatedly I realize I should not have mentioned that unlucky count. He gives me a tight smile and nods. It would be impolite for him to refuse my invitation in front of the others, but he and his family may simply decide not to show up.



Ah-Suk’s tea set is more modern than Mr. Waterstone’s set from China, with a higher gloss and tiny flowers painted along the side. But like Mr. Waterstone’s, it comes with the same wooden tools: brush, scoop, and wand. Ah-Suk ladles water into the pot, which he stuffed with herbs from his suitcase.

Headmistress Crouch is propped against a crate, with the pillow cushioning her back. She is breathing easier again.

Minnie Mae holds up the little brush. “Can I do the sweeping of the spirits?”

Ah-Suk frowns at the girl dabbing at the air.

“Er, the earthquake is making us all a little daft,” I say to him with an embarrassed laugh.

Ah-Suk grunts. After the herbs are steeped, he pours a dollop into one of the cups, sets down the pot, then pours the liquid back and forth from the first cup to a second cup. The girls, who are polishing off their rice porridge, watch him with round eyes. It does make for a nice show, and I wish I had thought of it for my own tea ceremony. Finally, he kneels and presents it to Headmistress Crouch. Her hands tremble, so he helps lift the delicate cup to her mouth.

A flock of geese lands in a flurry of wings, then waddles by, honking. Their long black necks look like ladies’ gloves elegantly waving as they float by. Just before they take to the sky moments later, I’m struck by the strange beauty of the moment: Our own flock of girls, faces lit by morning light, watching Ah-Suk perform a ceremony that embodies refinement and culture; the sky, which still wears mourning gray; the sirens and the trumpets, punctuating the silence.

I may have no notion of what’s in the beans for me now, with everything upside down and sideways. But one thing I know is that I belong in this moment.

Headmistress Crouch frowns when she tastes the brew, which is no doubt different than the Ceylon she is expecting. I can smell the dandelion Ah-Suk put in, mixed with something I’ve not smelled before, like toasted mushrooms. But then the headmistress’s face relaxes, and she accepts another cup, and then a third.

“That was unusual tea,” she murmurs, closing her eyes. Soon, she is breathing deeply.

A Boston angles for a look into the teapot. “Oh please, may we have some tea, too? We could have a tea party!”

Ah-Suk barks in Cantonese, “Let us help this woman into her tent.”

Headmistress Crouch is lighter than I expect. Katie, Francesca, and I do the honors. Once she is inside, Ah-Suk squats in the doorway. The girls cluster behind him, bobbing this way and that for a closer look at Katie and Francesca arranging her into a comfortable position.

“It’s not proper for me to be in this tent with a sleeping lady. You must do it.” He passes me one of the small cloth bags used to hold his herbs.