Pearl Buck - Peony

The house of Ezra was therefore the one happy place of her childhood, and she could not but be glad that it was God’s will, and her father’s, that now she return to it. But I shall come home often, she thought, and I shall make everything here much better than it has ever been. And if I really do marry David—

Here her thoughts grew shy and humble. If she did, if such heaven were granted to her, she would thank God all her life and be so good that He would never regret it. She would move David’s heart to rebuild the synagogue and to fulfill all her father’s dreams. The remnant of their people, who were so scattered, would be brought together again in the new synagogue, and David would be the leader of them, and Aaron would be looked after and helped, and perhaps he would grow better than she feared, and all would be well — with everybody, she thought fervently.

Somewhere on the edge of her dreams there stood the shadow of a young Chinese girl, the little girl who had played near David, a pretty child with big almond-shaped eyes and a small red mouth. This child gradually became a slender young girl, still more pretty, who served David and her with tea and plied them with cakes, and was always near. Peony — Peony! But Peony, Leah reminded herself, was only a bondmaid.

And so near dawn Leah fell asleep, her cheek on her folded hands, and Rachel, stealing in, had not the heart to wake her. The good woman went into the kitchen and started the fire in the charcoal stove and heated water and set rice to boil for breakfast, and cracked three eggs into a bowl.

She did not waken Leah, indeed, until she heard the clatter of someone at the gate, and when she opened it there stood Wang Ma, and behind her chair bearers carried an empty sedan.

“Come in, Elder Sister,” Rachel said. “No one is awake yet here.”

Wang Ma came in, looking almost like the mistress of a house herself. She wore a dark blue coat and trousers of homespun silk, and there were gold earrings in her ears and gold rings on her middle fingers. Her oiled black hair was brushed into a round knot on her neck and held by a fine black silk net, and she had plucked and darkened her eyebrows, and rubbed her cheeks so clean that they were still very red.

“Not awake!” she echoed. She knew Rachel and they were good friends in the solid fashion of women who are respected in whatever households they serve. Both of them obeyed Madame Ezra above all others, Rachel because Madame Ezra had given her money at times when her husband was ill or idle, and Wang Ma because she knew that Madame Ezra ruled the House of Ezra.

“The Rabbi is old,” Rachel said, “and the young man did not come in until after midnight, and Leah, doubtless, the poor young thing—”

Wang Ma’s black eyebrows went up. “Why poor young thing?” she demanded. “She is lucky to come into our house.”

“Of course — of course,” Rachel said peaceably. “Come in and drink some tea, Elder Sister. I will wake her.”

“I will wake her,” Wang Ma said firmly. “Do you attend to the two men. We had better make haste, lest today the caravan comes. The gateman told me when I passed that a runner reached our house the second hour after midnight, to say the caravan had reached the Village of Three Bells. But say nothing to the young lady. Our mistress does not wish her distracted.”

“Has the caravan come indeed?” Rachel exclaimed. “How lucky are you, Elder Sister, to be in that household!”

“So I am, in some ways,” Wang Ma replied. “In other ways — well, let us do our duty!” She shrugged her shoulders. Rachel nodded and led her to Leah’s room.

So it happened that when Leah opened her eyes, they fell first upon Wang Ma’s handsome rosy face. She was half bemused with her dreams, and she faltered.

“Why — why, but I am still at home—”

“Up with you, Young Lady,” Wang Ma said briskly. “I am sent to fetch you.”

Leah sat up and brushed back her long hair. “Oh — oh,” she whispered in distress. “Today of all days to oversleep!”

“Never mind,” Wang Ma said. “Put something on and come along. Our mistress has new garments ready for you. You need bring nothing.”

“Ah, but my box is packed — I am ready!” Leah exclaimed.

So saying, she got quickly out of bed. Then she looked shyly at Wang Ma. Never in her life had she taken off her clothes before anyone, and she could not now. But Wang Ma would have no shyness.

“Come, come,” she said, “no silliness, Young Lady! If you are to stay in our house, I shall have the washing and tending of you, at least until our Peony learns, and you have nothing that old women like me cannot see.”

So with her back turned to Wang Ma, Leah undressed and washed herself at a basin and ewer, Wang Ma all the time telling her to make haste.

“You need not be too careful,” Wang Ma urged her. “I shall wash you again and perfume you before we put you into new garments.”

Then Rachel brought a bowl of hot rice soup, and so between them Leah was ready. But there were the farewells to be said. No one could help her with those. She went tiptoe into Aaron’s room, and he lay still asleep. She stood looking down at him, the tears gathering under her eyelids. Her brother lay before her in his weakness and in his too slender youth, and his pale ugly face touched her heart. Who would love this brother of hers? There was nothing in him to love. Her own rich love, always ready to well up at the sight of someone needy and weak, came up now, and she bent and kissed his cheek. His breath was foul and his hair smelled unwashed.

“Oh, Aaron,” she murmured, “what shall I do for you?”

He opened his small dark eyes, recognized her, and pouted at her. “Don’t wake me,” he muttered.

“But I am going away, dear,” she said.

He lay, half uncomprehending, staring at her.

“Take care of Father, Aaron,” she begged him. “Be good, won’t you, dear Aaron?”

“You’ll be back,” he said thickly.

“Every few days, if I am allowed,” she promised. “And Rachel is here.”

“Well, then,” he retorted, and turned and burrowed into his bed again.

So Leah left him, closing the door softly, and then she went into her father’s room. The Rabbi had got up and dressed himself, and was at his prayers.

“Father,” she said, and he turned. “They have come for me, Father.”

“So early?” he answered. “But let it be so, child. Are you ready?”

She had come near him and he touched her, head, face, shoulders, her hair and dress, his delicate fingers telling him how she was. “Yes, you are ready. And have you eaten?”

“Yes, Father, and Rachel is ready for you to come and eat.”

She wavered and then laid her head against his bosom. “Oh, Father!” she whispered.

He smoothed her hair. “But you will not be far away, child — you will be back every day or so, and think how much better everything will be for us all.”

So he comforted her, and she lifted her head and shook the tears out of her eyes and smiled at him.

“Don’t come to the gate with me, Father. Let me leave you here, and Rachel will come and fetch you.”

So she left him. She did not look back, and with a last word to Rachel she went out of the gate. Yet when the curtains of the sedan were closed about her, she felt that she was going on a far journey, from which there might be no return.

At the house of Ezra Peony waited in the outer court. So Madame Ezra had commanded her through Wang Ma.

“Am I to be a lady’s maid to this foreigner?” Peony had asked when the command came that early morning. She widened her eyes at Wang Ma.

Wang Ma had come near enough to flick Peony’s cheek with her thumb and forefinger. Her sharp nails left a tiny spot.