Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [71]
“The boy is an orphan,” Francie explained. “Lai Tsin found him wandering in the street and now we are looking after him.”
“And what’s his name?” Annie gave his queue a friendly tug and he glanced shyly up at her and giggled.
Francie looked surprised, she had never thought about his name before. “Lai Tsin just calls him ‘Little Son.’”
“Everybody is entitled to a name,” Annie exclaimed indignantly. “What about Philip? That’s a good Christian name for a little heathen like this one. And who is Lai Tsin anyway?”
“Lai Tsin is my Chinese friend,” Francie said proudly, “and they are not heathens, Miss Aysgarth. Besides, Lai Tsin is a gentleman. He helped me after the earthquake.”
Annie nodded. “Well, now I’m here to help—you were Josh’s girl and he would have expected it.” She sniffed back the threatening tears as she thought of her brother. “I’d best save my crying for my pillow,” she added bravely. “And now at least I can write to our dad and tell him Josh was buried along with a hundred other San Franciscans. After all, it won’t exactly be a lie, will it? I know it’s not consecrated ground, but at least it saved our honor.” Then she added quickly, “Josh did tell you, didn’t he, lass? Why he ran away? Of course, it wasn’t true and if it weren’t for Sammy Morris he would have been home where he belonged and I know his name would have been cleared.”
Francie had not thought of Sammy once since Josh had died; he had just gone from her head like he never existed. Now she said his name with a shiver of fear.
“Aye. Sammy Morris,” Annie repeated bitterly. “Josh’s friend, if you can call someone like that a friend.” She shifted the child’s weight from one hip to the other. “I’ll check the ‘missing’ lists again tomorrow,” she said, adding, “No doubt he’ll turn up—just like a bad penny.”
She straightened her russet-plumed hat, taking in Francie’s shabbiness, her worn skirt and old gray shawl and her clumsy old boots, and she said briskly, “We can’t have you walking around looking like this. You’ll want some new clothes. But first we’ll take young Philip back to your Chinaman.” She threw her arm affectionately around her shoulders as they walked slowly down the street. “They say God allus sends something to compensate you in your sorrow,” she said feelingly, “and now he has sent me you. Josh’s chosen lass.”
Lai Tsin was bent over the little charcoal stove, cooking vegetables in a round tin wok. He bowed respectfully to the small, pretty-faced woman with Francie and she called, approvingly, “Good morning, Mr. Lai Tsin. Francie told me how you helped her. She said you were a gentleman and I can see she was right.” She sat on the orange crate, catching her breath, and said, “We’ve given the little orphan a good English name, Philip, though I expect his last name will have to be Chinese?”
Lai Tsin stared at her as she slipped off her jacket and rolled up the sleeves of her white cotton blouse and said, “My, it’s a bit hot for top-grade eight-ounce Yorkshire woolens. What’s that you’re cooking, Mr. Lai Tsin? It smells good, though it’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled before.”
He was still thinking about the boy’s name and remembering his little brother and he said, “Chen.”
“Chen?”
“Little Son’s other name is now Chen. It was my brother’s name.”
“Oh I see. Philip Chen. Mmm, yes, that’s a good solid name, I like that. It’s a very good choice, Mr. Lai Tsin. Now. Francie tells me you helped her, and I’m very grateful to you for that. She was my brother Josh’s fiancée, you see. We just met each other by chance in the street where”—she bit her lip and then went on quickly—“at the Barbary Saloon. Francie told me she didn’t intend to go there today but somehow she found herself there. I reckon it was fate, don’t you? And since Francie would have been my brother’s wife, now I will help her.” Opening her purse she took out a sheaf of bills and said, “I expect you lost everything, too, Mr. Lai Tsin, and I daresay a bit of extra cash wouldn’t go amiss.”
Lai Tsin stared expressionlessly at the money. Francie recognized that blank-faced