River of Dust A Novel

Twenty-six

L ater that same night, Mai Lin helped her mistress back into bed on the second floor of the Watson house in the mission compound. The fever was upon her again, and Mai Lin wished she had been firmer and not allowed the young woman to go out on the foolish expedition to find her husband. Ahcho had explained that they had actually seen and spoken to the Reverend, but he'd chosen not to return with them. The willful girl had risked her life for naught.

When morning came, and the other families of the compound met in the courtyard below to bid farewell to their servants, Mistress Grace remained delirious and unable to rise from her bed. Mai Lin kept cool cloths on her forehead and spooned water over her parched and dusty lips. As the donkey carts finally started to lumber away under the weight of the Americans' many possessions, Mai Lin leaned out the bedroom window for one last glimpse of Rose Baby.

Mildred Martin sat beside her husband upon their buckboard, a bundle held lovingly to her chest. As the American caravan pulled out of the mission gates, Mai Lin allowed herself to wonder if the wicked Mrs. Martin was not quite so evil after all.

Mistress Grace continued to sleep fitfully all that afternoon, calling out often for her baby girl. Mai Lin had to admit that she might improve more quickly with her husband at her side. When Ahcho announced he intended to try again to retrieve the Reverend that very day, Mai Lin entreated him to do so posthaste. The parents would find solace together at this difficult time with their daughter now gone from their lives. Ahcho set out before midday, and the afternoon passed slowly in the desolate compound. Mai Lin liked the quiet and even managed to nap some, but mostly, she attended to her mistress, who appeared to be feeling better as night fell again. The moon came up, and still Ahcho had not come home. For a brief while, Mistress Grace sat against her pillows and sipped broth. She asked for Rose Baby once again, but when Mai Lin started to answer, the grieving mother interrupted.

"I remember now," she said. "I can feel it in my heart that she's gone. My whole body knows she's no longer at my side."

Then, finally and for the first time all day, Mistress Grace slept soundly, and Mai Lin did so, too.

Later, much later, deep in the dark hours, Mai Lin awoke in her cot to hear camel bells approaching. She went to the window and opened the shutters and saw only darkness, but still she kept watch. The mistress must have sensed her vigilance because she shifted in the bed and let out a soft, indistinguishable sound— a question that hung on the quiet air. Mai Lin went to her and placed a wrist on her forehead. The fever had broken, but the young woman still breathed restlessly, her chest heaving as the fluid thickened. Mai Lin returned to the window and was about to close the shutters against the chill when she heard it again. This time the bells sounded quite nearby, followed by a soft thud on the ground directly below the window.

Mai Lin leaned out and saw the shape of a tall figure whom she hoped was the Reverend. The man stood, and the long queue down his back glistened in the moonlight. There on the ground at Ahcho's feet was a bag of sand, or maybe, if they were lucky, a bag of rice. Mai Lin could already imagine the taste of it.

But she sensed that her old eyes were deceiving her as they often did, and so she squinted harder. Something wasn't right. A few paces from the porch steps, Ahcho fell to his knees. Mai Lin then made out the shape of what lay on the ground. She quickly closed the shutters with a clatter, and the mistress awoke.

"Is something out there?" her mistress asked.

"You sleep," Mai Lin said. "The fever is finally better, but you still need rest."

"They have returned. I know it. Ahcho has brought my husband back to me."

Mistress Grace pushed herself higher in the bed, pulled off the covers, and reached for her robe. Mai Lin wanted to yank the covers over her legs again, but her mistress was already putting on her slippers and sliding down from the bed. Such a foolish girl to imagine she was well. But sometimes, Mai Lin thought, you had to let the river run its course.

"Help me, Mai Lin. I must see my husband right away."

Mistress Grace's voice fluttered forth both feeble and determined. For once, Mai Lin did not argue or explain. She lit a lamp and carried it in one hand as with the other she held her mistress's arm. In this way, the frail young woman made her way into the hall, down the steps, and across the front entrance.

Mai Lin held open the screen door, and Mistress Grace flew past and down the porch steps. The cool night air struck Mai Lin as most dangerous. It would reach down into her mistress's lungs with wet fingers and cause the cough to return. Mai Lin knew the damage it could do. Not to mention how her husband's death would affect her patient. She had taken care of her mistress after childbirth and after the loss of her unborn children, but this final blow she felt she could do very little to counteract.

Mai Lin hobbled to the edge of the porch and looked to the ground where her mistress had thrown herself over the Reverend's prostrate body. Ahcho knelt beside the sobbing woman and patted her back ineffectually. He looked up at Mai Lin and snapped his fingers, and she knew that he was right.

She belonged there beside her mistress. She was needed to wrap an arm around her, to steady her shaking shoulders and silence her cries. Mai Lin let out a hard grunt, but she couldn't seem to make herself take another step. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and let out sounds of the variety that she knew Ahcho hated.

The Reverend was dead. What was the news in that? she wondered. He had been dead to the household for months.

Ahcho snapped his fingers again, and this time Mai Lin expelled an exasperated sigh and moved forward. She spat a satisfying wad of betel quid over the side of the porch and began her slow descent to join them.

"Quick, Mai Lin, bring the lamp," Grace cried. "I must see my beloved."

Mai Lin held the lamp over the Reverend's bloodied and dust-covered body. With her other arm, she held the shivering woman.

The lamplight showed the Reverend's face in a most unfortunate expression. His eyes were open and wild. The Spirits had no doubt entered him already. They had flown in and by now fully inhabited him. Mai Lin reached quickly to correct the situation and tsked at Ahcho for having overlooked such an important task. He was no good at anything if he couldn't be trusted to remember this simplest of precautions. Such an old fool, Ahcho, to believe the Jesus business and forget all else.

Mistress Grace ran her hands over the Reverend's chest, where blood was dried and matted. Her fingers swept over his head and untied the string around his neck that held in place the foul nomad's hat. Mai Lin's mistress pressed her palms against the Reverend's skull as if she hoped to squeeze the life back into him. Even in the low lamplight, Mai Lin could see the vermin on his scalp. She tugged on her mistress's nightgown sleeve, but it was too late. The critters were quick, and Mai Lin knew she would have her work cut out for her tomorrow.

She shook her head, and the mistress must have noticed and misunderstood, for she gripped Mai Lin's hand and said, "Don't despair, Mai Lin. He has gone to where he is needed most."

Mai Lin patted her mistress's hand, for it was she who needed comforting. But then Grace pulled away and asked Ahcho, "How did it happen?"

"An idiot with a pistol wanted to see if the Ghost Man could survive another bullet."

"Ah," the mistress said. "They believed in him until the end."

Mai Lin wondered how her mistress could twist the circumstances around so. As far as she could tell, no one believed in the Reverend any longer except for the two who grieved over him now.

Ahcho sat hunched, his head bowed. His cheeks looked more sallow than ever, and his chest had become concave, as if the life had been pulled from him this night as well. Mai Lin wondered if she would have another patient to care for the following day. His heart, she worried, his good and weakened heart.

"But where are my husband's glasses?" the mistress asked.

Ahcho answered softly, "They must have fallen off."

Grace reached over and patted his wrist and said most reassuringly, "Don't worry, he'll see just fine without them where he's going."

"In heaven," Ahcho said.

The two devoted ones nodded in unison.

Mistress Grace then busied herself by investigating the Reverend's jacket pockets, and Mai Lin fretted about whatever other pests she might encounter. Her mistress's hand paused over the red cloth that lay across the Reverend's bloody chest. Her fingers reached for the pouch that lay on the dusty ground beside him. The twin embroidered yellow dragons were filthy now and had lost their sheen. This was the pouch that the Reverend had worn at his hip since their boy's departure. He had kept a hand upon it much of the time, as if it were his own personal rosary.

Ahcho's head snapped upward as he watched her untie the small sack. He looked too beleaguered to object, but then he managed to say, "No, Grace, leave it alone."

Mai Lin wanted to chuckle because she had never heard the proper number-one boy of the finest house in the compound call his mistress by her first name. Ahcho might very well be a changed man tonight, too, she thought. Perhaps he would be less strict and not so much of a scold. For her sake, she hoped so.

Grace opened the pouch all the way and lifted out something round and white. It sat on her palm in the lamplight. The globe glowed as if it emanated a soft, low flicker. Mai Lin leaned toward it to get a better look.

"Hmph!" she said, for she recognized what it was right away.

Grace looked at her, waiting for an explanation, but the answer was so obvious that Mai Lin didn't want to be bothered.

"It's quite lightweight," Grace said.

"Of course," Mai Lin scoffed. "It belonged to a child."

Grace recoiled at the word and dropped the thing onto the dusty ground. "This is a child's skull?" she asked. "Ahcho, explain this object to me."

Ahcho bowed his head and repeated the obvious. "Yes, it belonged to a child."

Mistress Grace began to cough, and Mai Lin knew the night air was the culprit. "No more talking," she barked. "Mistress needs to be in bed. I must take you there now."

Grace continued to hack, the sound rising from deep inside her, but as Mai Lin began to lift her up by the arms, she pawed at her husband and wouldn't let go of his lifeless body. Finally, Grace's fingers reached into his breast pocket and pulled out one of his handkerchiefs. She waved it in the air, and Mai Lin noticed that some of the Reverend's blood from the bullet wound had stained the filthy fabric.

Grace did not seem to notice. She let Mai Lin lift her to standing, calmed by holding the little stained square of linen close to her lips.

Ahcho remained hunched over the Reverend. Mai Lin did not need his help. She could haul her patient back to bed herself. Ahcho was the one with the more difficult task. Tomorrow he would have to dig a hole in soil as hard as stone. Mai Lin laughed to herself and waited for the mistress's cough to subside so they could begin the slow climb up the porch steps.