The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [122]
My mother and Dongsaeng had to catch their train right after the photography session. Too soon, we were saying goodbye in the church lobby. Just outside the doors at the top of steep stone stairs, Calvin and Reverend Cho were surrounded by friends and colleagues who were waiting to walk with us to the hotel banquet. “Before he comes,” began Mother, referring to Reverend Bennett, who would walk them to the train station, but she said nothing more. Instead she fixed her eyes on mine and took my hand. I gave her the flowers and pressed her hand against my tear-stained cheek.
My brother grasped my shoulders. “I’ll miss you, Nuna.” His tired smile showed love. Then he remembered his family position and his voice grew adult and serious. “Study hard with your husband and see as much as you can of America. Write to us.”
Reverend Bennett called from the doorway, and Mother said quietly, “You are always a part of me, my daughter.” I squeezed her hand and she slipped her damp handkerchief into mine. Before I could think another thought I was looking between the gaps of many black-suited bodies as Dongsaeng and my mother descended the steps. She appeared so small, her receding back sedately moving farther and farther down the sidewalk, her head held gracefully high, her shoulders a little stooped with sadness, and I wanted to reach through the crowd and clasp her to my breast. Reverend Cho said it was time to go and our group turned in the other direction. The image I held in my heart during the long walk from the church to the hotel was Mother’s serene back and the silver shining in her hair, gleaming with sunlight that had broken through the clouds.
IN THE BANQUET room of Hsin-ching’s most modern hotel, I sat poised beside my new husband. I clutched my mother’s handkerchief in my lap, trying to hold her presence within me and trying not to feel the pain of knowing that half the world and many years would separate us. My sadness, the intensity of the day’s events and my anxiety about what would happen next left me dazed. The instructions for my “big day,” as the church ladies called it, had ended with the reception. Punch and fancy sandwiches were served and conference speeches made. I couldn’t eat and time passed in a blur.
Eventually everyone stood and Reverend Cho gave the benediction. As the ministers began to depart, Reverend Bennett made his way through the crowd toward us. “Well, Mr. Cho, Miss Han, er, Mrs. Han—pardon me, Mrs. Cho!” He took my sore hand. “Blessings, my dear! This is where we part. A lovely wedding it was. I’ll be sure to tell Edna all about your special day.”
I wanted to thank him, but words wouldn’t come. Calvin said, “You’ve been most generous, Reverend sir, and kindly considerate of my fiancée, now my wife—” I breathed easier, glad that my husband spoke for me, as was proper.
“Now, now. My goodness! We’re the ones who benefited from your wife’s excellent tutelage. She’s a fine teacher.” He shook Calvin’s hand. “A fine teacher and a wonderful friend. We’ll miss her! Good luck to both of you on your travels and studies. Keep us apprised of your progress, Mrs. Cho.” And with a practiced bow, Reverend Bennett took his leave. I watched his bent shoulders blend into the other black-clad shoulders, sad that my last contact from home was gone.
“Ready?” Calvin smiled nervously.
“Yuhbo,” I said, shyly using the term of familiarity between husband and wife. “My bundle—” I worried about my documents and money as well as my clothes.
He steered me through a door to the hotel lobby. “Reverend Sherwood’s wife and his secretary took care of it after the service. It should be in our room. I’m sorry,” he said at my surprised expression. “No one told you? A gift from my father. The hotel gave him a complimentary room as coordinator of the conference, but he’s going back to Pyeongyang tonight. I thought we should go with him because I wanted to introduce you to my mother, but he insisted that we meet in Pyeongyang in the morning.