Jane Orcutt: All the Tea in China

He bowed. “I think that is enough for today, Isabella. You look peaked.”

“If I am, it is only because I am anxious to fight you again.” I smiled, assuming an offensive stance.

“That is enough for now,” he said firmly.

“Can we practice with the sword?” I was not ready to finish our lesson.

He shook his head. “Your possession of the sword should be our secret.”

“You do not want your mother to know that I have it, do you?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I do not.”

I bowed, defeated before we had even begun again. “Very well. I will change my clothes.”

He winked at me. “May I go with you?”

“I think not.” I laughed in spite of myself. “I am peaked, after all.” Before he could respond, I left the garden and headed toward our room.

I hummed a cheerful tune, for every day drew us one closer to leaving. Passing Nai Nai’s room, I could not help noticing her open door. She had said little to me of late, perhaps resigned that I was taking her son away from her.

I meant only to glance through the door, as one’s gaze flits involuntarily. But I saw her seated on a willow chair, shoes and stockings off, and it was then that I saw her unbound feet.

I had never seen flesh so hideous. I had imagined binding meant only a restriction of the feet’s growth so that they were somehow only smaller lengths. But the arch of Nai Nai’s feet was high and pronounced, the toes curled sideways under and to the soles like the folds of an ugly fan. She rubbed them carefully, and it was obvious from her unguarded expression that she was in pain though her foot binding had ceased many, many years ago.

Catching my breath, I backed against the wall lest she think I spied on her. Against my will, tears sprang to my eyes as they had when she slapped me. In truth, I felt as though I had been slapped again, but it was surely pain much less severe than what she had endured for many years. I headed blindly for my room, grateful for the steadiness of my own feet.

Fragrance passed me in the hallway, bearing a bowl of steaming water. I stopped short. “Is that for Madame Wong?”

She yawned. “Yes. But first I have to chat with the other servant girl. We have been planning a long talk.”

“The water will likely be cold when you get it to your mistress,” I said, frowning at her lack of concern.

“No matter.” She shrugged. “That old lady isn’t going anywhere. Most likely she’ll smoke some opium. She’ll fall asleep and forget she asked me to bring the water for her feet anyway.”

I felt much as I had when Phineas knocked me to the ground. “She partakes of the drug?”

Fragrance narrowed her eyes. “What do you care? I know you don’t like her. If it keeps her from bothering you, it’s to your advantage, isn’t it?”

Without waiting for an answer, she bustled away with the pan, sloshing water as she went.

Shocked, I took refuge in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed to gather my thoughts. My head and heart could not reconcile all I had seen and heard with what I had hoped for the future. My picture of Nai Nai was rapidly changing, but surely it did not matter. Phineas and I would be leaving soon. Her life would return to the way it was before we arrived. She had survived without us; she would manage again. Little Sister would no doubt be all right, as well. Besides, it was not my concern.

I tried to speak to Phineas about his mother many times. She had apparently kept hidden her opium usage, but perhaps she was even addicted. As for the deformity of her feet-did he know the extent of the damage? He obviously knew the practice to be barbaric or he would not have ordered Little Sister’s feet left unbound. Did he know how his mother still suffered?

He had a right to know about her opium usage, yet I saw the tender way he cared for her. He loved her, and it was obvious she truly loved him. What could he do for her if he did not go to the mountains for the tea? Just as he would resent me for preventing his travel, he would resent her too.

I found it difficult to believe, but my heart had softened toward Nai Nai. I wanted to help her or, barring that, at least understand her.

“Perhaps we should delay our journey,” I said to Phineas one morning as we dressed for the day. I needed more time to think about his family. I needed more time to think about us.

Phineas looked at me curiously. “I thought you were anxious to leave.”

“I am, but…” I could not bring myself to speak the trouble that was in my heart. I am not certain why. Had we not agreed to have no secrets between us?

He frowned. “The leaves are only golden for several weeks. We must gather as much as we can, press them into cakes, and get them aboard a ship to take back to England.” He sat beside me and took my hand. “Why do you no longer wish to go?”

No secrets. We must have nothing between us, no matter what the cost. “Your mother slapped me,” I said, thinking to begin with that.

“What?” He rose. “When? Why?”

“Remember the red mark on my cheek days ago? I did not walk into a doorway, as I said. She slapped me.”

He headed for the door. “I will talk to her. She cannot do this.”

“Wait.” I put a hand on his wrist to stay his departure. I had been prepared to tell him about the opium, but I lost my composure. “Your mother is… she…” I could not help it; I began to cry. These were no false tears, either, designed to persuade a man to do a woman’s bidding. I wept because I suddenly felt exceeding sorrow for that old woman and all she had been through, all she was going through.

Misunderstanding my motives, Phineas took me in his arms. “I am so sorry, Isabella. We will leave here at once. I had no idea she had treated you this way.”

“She does not want us married, but that is not why I weep. I feel sorry for her.”

He pulled away. “Sorrow?”

“Y-yes. She is old and lonely, and you have said that she is not likely to remarry. Little Sister will grow up and move away. Who will care for her then, Phineas? You have plans to find your precious tea leaves and return to England.”

He turned away, running his hands through his hair. “I cannot stay here, Isabella. I cannot be who my mother wants me to be or even who you want me to be.”

“And what is that?” I heard the sharpness in my voice but did nothing to prevent it.

“You want me to abandon my plan to gather the tea and sell it.”

“I find the notion foolish.”

“So you have said.” Did his voice sound as cold as I thought, or did I imagine it?

“Do you deny that once you find the leaves you will return to England?”

He turned toward me. “Not England. America.”

“I do not understand.”

“Isabella.” He sighed and took my hand. “Remember the couple who were to be at the Ransoms’ party where we met?”

“The Tippetts?”

He nodded. “William Tippett looks to start a tea trading company, much like the East India Company, only in America. Tea is quite popular there as well as Britain, and he hopes eventually to put the East India Company out of business. I have convinced him that the golden tea leaves are the best means of doing so. I was originally in London to discuss our business. We came to Oxford to research information about tea, and of course, I wanted to meet your uncle. When we were invited to the party, Mr. Tippett and his wife invented an excuse to decline. They did not want to answer a lot of questions about the nature of two Americans in England.”

“With good reason. We are at war with them, Phineas.”

“Yes.”

I folded my arms. “That does not trouble you?”

“Not particularly, no. My concern is not with whatever silly squabble Britain has with the lost colonies. I am only interested in stopping the opium trade here in China.”