White Jade Tiger Read online

  And saloons! Every third building seemed to be a saloon. As Keung and Jasmine stood gaping, a couple of men were hurled out of the Gem Saloon and continued their fight on the street. And all the while a wizened old fellow in front of the Cascade House played his concertina.

  The noise was deafening. Barks, shouts, cries and yells competed with the crumps of blasting powder, the rasping of saws and the hammering of drills and mallets. The screeching of the steamboat whistle added to the din. And the smell! The town reeked of salmon, sawdust, manure, black powder and tobacco smoke.

  Two skippers paused in the dusty street to light their pipes. “Nothin’ can get through Hell’s Gate,” Jasmine overheard one saying. Her ears pricked up. “That man’s a darned fool, make no mistake.”

  “You gotta give him credit for tryin’, and if it works he’ll save a bundle. Freight rates on the Cariboo are costin’ him plenty.”

  The other fellow shook his head. “Might as well jump into Hell’s Gate yourself and expect to talk about it.”

  “So you won’t be headin’ up there?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. In fact I’ll lay a little wager. 100 to one she don’t make it.”

  “Who’s gonna bet in favour of the boat?”

  “Oh, there’s plenty of fools around, make no mistake.”

  Laughing, the men crossed the road and headed into the Miner’s Saloon, leaving Jasmine to wonder what they were talking about.

  In such a bustling town, two more coolies were scarcely noticed. “We might as well be invisible,” Jasmine said. Eyes flicked in her direction from time to time, but dismissed her without a second glance.

  “Come on,” Keung said. “We’ll go to Chinatown and ask about my father.”

  As they set off, Jasmine had the uneasy feeling that someone had noticed them after all. She turned quickly, just in time to see a man dart behind an ox cart. Just in time to see the puckering of a scar on his cheek.

  Chapter 13

  “Do you see him? Right there, behind the ox cart.”

  Keung looked over his shoulder. There was indeed a scar-faced man, but it wasn’t Blue-Scar Wong. “You must be mistaken,” he said. “I’m sure he wasn’t on the boat. And there’s no other way he could have got here so quickly.”

  “I guess you’re right,” she said. But the feeling of uneasiness stayed with her, creeping along her veins like the feet of a lizard. Determined to shake it off, she followed Keung into Chinatown.

  It was on the eastern side of town. Vertical signs with Chinese characters indicated grocers, laundries, a shoemaker, general stores and numerous lodging houses. Tantalizing smells of garlic, oyster sauce and stir-fried chicken spilled from a crowded restaurant on the corner. They entered eagerly and ordered a bowl of noodles topped with slivers of pork, bean sprouts and crisp celery. Jasmine ate with relish, her earlier fears forgotten.

  While they were eating, Keung asked the waiter and other customers about his father. No, they didn’t know him. No, they hadn’t heard of him. “Many died of scurvy,” one man said. “Try Big Mouth Kelly, the man who buries dead Chinese.”

  “Try Tunnel City,” another suggested. “It’s where they’ve been drilling the big tunnel, about twenty miles upriver from Yale. Many camps around there.”

  “Follow the Wagon Road. But watch out for freight wagons and mule teams. They have to carry everything up the road. Rice for the coolies, even sawmills for construction camps.”

  “And look out for stage coaches. They move fast along that road.”

  After buying some fresh vegetables, they set off along the Cariboo Wagon Road. “This was built in 1862, twenty years ago,” said Jasmine. “We learned it in school.”

  Keung scoffed. “Twenty years? In China our roads are hundreds and hundreds of years old. The Great Wall is over 2000 years old.”

  “We learned about the Great Wall, too.”

  Keung’s eyes brightened with interest. “You learned about China?”

  “Yes, and we went on a field trip to Chinatown and had Chinese food in a Chinese restaurant. People do that all the time.”

  “White people, in Chinatown?” He shook his head in disbelief.

  The road was jammed with traffic. Double freight wagons drawn by horses rattled over the corduroy road, followed by two ox teams of seven yokes each. Six-mule teams plodded by, pulling covered wagons loaded with supplies. Stage coaches barrelled through, managing to avoid piles of debris and loose rock.

  Like the track bed, the Cariboo Road followed the river. And like the track bed, it was cut into the cliffs, often perilously close to the riverbank. At noon, Jasmine and Keung reached a spot where the road wound around a precipice on trestle-work. They crossed over cautiously, trying not to look down at the raging river some 200 feet below.

  Railroad crews were everywhere: tunnelling, grading and blasting, working above the road, beneath the road and right alongside it. Another explosion rocked the canyon. “I hope we don’t get hit,” Jasmine said. She covered her ears and glanced around nervously. Steep crags above, roaring river below—not much of a choice if you had to run for it.

  Sometimes the road passed so close to the tunnels they could see sparks inside, as steam drills pierced through the flinty rock. At one point, one whole chunk of the road had slid into the Fraser because of the blasting, and crews were hard at work building a new section.

  Jasmine shifted her pole to a more comfortable position and strode alongside Keung, easily matching his pace. “What will you do when you find your father?” she asked.

  “If we have enough money, return to China.”

  “That’s where my father is right now. Teaching in China.”

  “These are strange times,” he said. “No one’s where he’s supposed to be.”

  Jasmine laughed. “Wait’ll I tell you how he got to China.”

  “No!” he exclaimed, after listening to her story. “It can’t be true!” He could not imagine a silver tube filled with people flying to the other side of the world. But then, if this person beside him could step through a doorway and journey back in time...and if the spirit of Bright Jade could appear in dreams over a span of 2000 years.... It was too confusing.

  Around the next bend they came upon the remains of a tent camp, where a stooped Chinese scrabbled through the debris looking for food. “Would you like some rice?” Keung asked. “We’re about to cook some.”

  The man accepted gratefully and scurried off to a nearby stream for water. Keung gathered twigs to start a fire, and in a short time the rice was simmering.

  “Fresh vegetables!” The man grinned as Jasmine chopped up some Chinese cabbage. “A change from Siwash chicken.”

  “Siwash chicken?”

  “Dried salmon,” he said, grimacing. “Day after day, nothing but Siwash chicken.” He tucked into the steaming rice and vegetables, his chopsticks clicking furiously.

  “I worked for Lee Chuck Company,” he said between mouthfuls, “but no more. Too hard. Now I go back to Saltwater City, maybe get work in a laundry. I’ve been here since the Year of the Dragon. I was paid eighty cents a day and got my own food. Some made a dollar a day, but had to buy food from Company stores at high, high prices.” He lowered his voice and glanced around furtively. “You must be careful along these tracks, especially in the tunnels. The ghosts are restless.” He shuddered. “My friends were killed in a tunnel up ahead. Smothered to death when the tunnel caved in. No tiger to protect them.”

  “What do you mean, no tiger?” Keung was instantly alert.

  “One of the coolies spoke of a jade amulet with magic powers. But no magic is strong enough here. Not against these mountains.”

  “This coolie—do you know his name? Or where he is now?”

  A glazed look came into the man’s eyes. “I don’t remember. I don’t want to remember.”

  Keung and Jasmine looked at each other. It must be his father. They were on the right track.

  They hiked through the afternoon, spu
rred on by the feeling that Keung’s father was close. As the shadows lengthened and the sun dipped behind the mountains, Keung said, “Let’s light a fire and camp here for the night. There’s a stream nearby.”

  Jasmine was only too eager. She was hungry, the bag was heavy, her legs were tired. What’s more, the cotton shoes were useless on the rough road. “We’ll have to get boots somewhere,” she said.

  “Tomorrow,” Keung agreed as he started a fire.

  She chopped bok choy to mix with the rice while Keung sliced thin slivers of gingerroot. Water bubbled in the kettle for their tea. Slowly, the moon rose over the canyon.

  “Do you see the man in the moon?” Jasmine asked.

  “Do you see the hare?”

  They looked at each other and laughed. “The Moon Lady lives there too,” Keung said. “Once she lived on the earth, but then she drank the elixir of life and floated to the moon. Now she lives there forever.”

  “That’s what Bright Jade wanted,” Jasmine said, remembering her dream. “Would you like to live forever?”

  “Maybe,” he replied. “If forever could be like now.”

  Jasmine smiled. A deliciously warm feeling stirred her. What was it—the moon, the stillness of the canyon, the way Keung’s face shone in the firelight? Or was it the exhilarating feeling of being, in a sense, free?She didn’t know how the magic worked, or how long it would last. But she had consciously, on her own, gone back to the never-ending store to set it in motion. Maybe that was it, the feeling of having some control over her life, at least for this moment.

  She placed her chopsticks in the bowl, breathed deeply, and began the tai chi. The patterns came back easily, one flowing into another, one with earth, sky, river and stars. With each rounded movement of her hands and body she felt the yin and yang, the opposing but harmonious forces in nature. Balance, rhythm, freedom.

  In the firelight she could see what appeared to be her shadow, matching every move she made. Then she realized it was Keung. Light and dark, yin and yang. Perfect harmony. Something awoke inside her and sang for joy. And for a second of time it seemed as though the river stopped its rushing, just to listen.

  Chapter 14

  At first Jasmine thought she was home, in her own bed. But wait. This nightgown wasn’t hers. And how did her hair get unbraided? Why was her left knee wrapped in a bandage? She touched it gingerly. Ouch! She sat up with a start.

  She was in a bedroom all right, but not her own. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through lace curtains, casting shadows on the pink-flowered wallpaper. An oil lamp with a fluted glass chimney stood on the bedside table. In the corner was a wooden washstand with a jug and thick china basin, painted with red peonies. A matching chamber-pot stood underneath. Where was she? And how did she get here?

  Footsteps pattered outside the room, then stopped. A woman popped in, with fluttery hands, a beak of a nose, and beady eyes. “Good gracious girl, you startled me!” she exclaimed, flitting over to draw back the curtains. “Didn’t expect to find you awake, but how nice, how nice!” She turned to Jasmine with a broad grin. “We discovered you ain’t a boy.”

  How exactly did you discover that? Jasmine wondered. And who’s we?

  “I’m Nell Jenkins, and you’re in my house in Yale. My husband Harvey found you, knocked unconscious. Felt your pulse, so he knew you was alive. By the time he brought you in, you was conscious, but in bad shape. Harvey says, Nell, put this girl to bed while I fetch the doctor. So I did, and the doctor came and said there was nothin’ he could do except bandage up that gash on your knee. So you been here since yesterday, driftin’ in and out of sleep, and sayin’ some crazy things.” She clucked her tongue. “Trains an’ tigers, jade this, jade that. Though it ain’t none of my business.”

  “Where’s Keung?” Jasmine asked. “What happened?”

  Mrs. Jenkins didn’t seem to hear. “Last night you was there by the fireplace, tryin’ to braid your hair and talkin’ to someone you thought was in the room. I led you back to bed and in a minute you was sound asleep again. But here I am rattlin’ on and you still in a daze. I’ll leave you for a bit, get you somethin’ to eat. Then we’ll see what’s to be done.” She patted Jasmine on the shoulder. “It’s a fine sight to see you awake.” With a swish of her long black skirt, she left the room.

  Jasmine stepped out of bed, surprised at how wobbly she felt. Her knee ached and her head throbbed. She felt a bump on her temple and winced at the touch. A whole day and night she’d been here? Impossible. But what to do? Find her clothes and get out. That was the first thing. Then find Keung.

  She looked at the foot of the bed, under the bed, on the chair and in the wardrobe. No sign of her clothes anywhere.

  Just then Mrs. Jenkins reappeared, carrying a tray. “Here’s a bite for you,” she chirped. “Hop back into bed now, there’s a girl. Unless you’re wantin’ to use that?” she asked, pointing to the chamber-pot.

  Jasmine shook her head and dutifully got back into bed. She’d find out about her clothes soon enough. Meanwhile, she was hungry.

  “Lord, you gave us quite a scare.” Mrs. Jenkins handed Jasmine a cup of tea, then offered her a slice of freshly-baked bread dripping with butter and blueberry preserves. “Take your time,” she said. “There’s plenty more. Don’t suppose you Celestials are used to this kind of food—but then you’re not a Celestial, are you?”

  Jasmine glanced up quickly.

  “I’ve had a good close look at you, my dear.” Her hands, never still, flicked through her hair, picked imaginary lint off her sleeves. “You’re as white as I am, though your eyes are awful dark. Wouldn’t have guessed it at first, what with them clothes you was wearin’. Though why you was hikin’ along the road dressed like a coolie ain’t none of my business. You runnin’ away from somethin’, maybe? You’re lucky you ain’t been hurt by worse than flyin’ rock This ain’t no place for a young girl to be roamin’ around. What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Jasmine.”

  “Pretty name, that. Like the flower. Where you from?”

  “Victoria.” Close enough to the truth.

  “Your folks in Victoria?”

  “I’m staying with my aunt. My mother’s dead and my father’s in China.”

  Mrs. Jenkins slapped her knee. “Well, if that don’t beat all. Some kind of mission worker, is he?”

  Jasmine ignored the question. “How did I get here, Mrs. Jenkins? What happened?”

  “Harvey found you. Came round the bend on the Cariboo Road right after the explosion. He drives the stage coach, you see. Lord, if he’d been any faster he’d have been caught, same as you.”

  “Explosion?” The word brought back a sudden flash— a blast that shook the ground, smoke—then another blast, rocks hurtling down the mountainside, screams....

  Mrs. Jenkins nodded. “They’re blastin’ north of Spuzzum. Lord, they’re always blastin’ somewheres. In Yale here, we had to put up with that shakin’ for months. Twenty-four hours a day, rock blown to bits, but not a single piece of track laid. Drillin’ the tunnels first, you see.

  “Well, just before Harvey comes along, they’re blastin’ this half-finished tunnel. Too much powder I guess, though there’s always somethin’ goin’ wrong. Anyways, there’s a blast and the coolies start headin’ back in. Then there’s a second blast. They’re blown to pieces. Rocks fallin’ all over the road.”

  She clucked her tongue, gave a quick shake of her head. “Rock slides happenin’ all the time. And rocks shootin’ outa the tunnels. One landed in the river, sank a boat. Another one knocked down a bridge. You sure was lucky. Lord, there’s been so many accidents. Awhile back a coolie lost his....”

  Jasmine twisted a strand of hair tightly around her finger. Bit by bit, it was coming back: hiking along the Cariboo Road, camping by the stream, setting off the next morning. And Keung’s voice. “There’s another explosion. Hear it?”

  Nervously, Jasmine listened to the crump of explosives. “Is it safe to be on the ro
ad?” she asked.

  “Safe as anywhere else,” he replied.

  Up ahead they could hear the steam drills as another gang prepared to blast through the granite. Then it came— a burst of fire and smoke, the boom of the explosion rolling along the narrow gorge. Jasmine trembled as the ground shook beneath her feet. “I hope that’s the end of it for awhile,” she said.

  When they reached the half-finished tunnel, men were already back inside. “That must be the worst—”

  “Get down!” Keung’s scream was sudden and unexpected. With one swift motion he knocked her down and threw himself across her body.

  She hit the ground hard, face pressed into the dirt. Felt something sharp dig into her knee. Breathed dust, smoke, the acrid smell of powder. Heard screams, a rumble of boulders. Felt a blow on the head, shards of stabbing pain. Then silence.

  “Keung?” She could no longer feel his body. From a great distance she heard, Jasmine, run! She struggled to get up. But darkness pressed down, the earth opened up and swallowed her in.

  Mrs. Jenkins rattled on. “Thought he was perfectly safe, hidin’ behind a tree. Long ways from the tunnel, too, or so he thought. Poor fella lost his nose. Sliced right off by a—”

  “What happened to Keung?” Jasmine burst out frantically. “The Chinese boy who was with me, he saved my life! Your husband must have seen him, he was —”

  “There, there,” said Mrs. Jenkins, patting her on the head. “ You was lucky you made it alive.”

  “But he has to be alright. Someone must have seen him, maybe he—”

  “Dear girl, you was the only one found alive. Could be that boy got buried.”

  “No!” She fought the tightening in her chest, telling herself: Don’t panic, she doesn’t know for sure.

  Mrs. Jenkins brushed a few stray crumbs from her blouse. “Good gracious, why such a fuss about a coolie? Another one’ll come to take his place. He was just another...”