are written are important to learn, same as words that are spoken. You are a wise man, sir...Ted.”
I bowed my head and tried to look wise. “Thank you.”
Peter took my coat and scarf from the hook on the wall and handed them to me. Then he pulled on his own jacket.
“Where are you—we—going?” I asked, startled.
“To ask my father’s permission to stay with you longer so you can teach me.”
“Me teach you?” I hadn’t really thought about who would teach Peter. I had assumed Moses or Pa would be Peter’s instructor. But Moses had closed his shop and left the Cariboo, as he always did when the weather became harsher, going to Victoria where the winter was milder. Pa seemed to be enjoying his holiday and showed no signs of coming back to work anytime soon. There was also no school in the gold fields. So who else could be Peter’s teacher?
My mother had taught me to read. We still had the books she used. I could do it. I would do it.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be your instructor, though I’m not a trained teacher.”
“I am not a trained student,” he replied. “We shall learn new skills together, yes?”
“Yes,” I said. “At any rate, we’ll both try.”
I locked the shop door and put a sign on it that said WE WILL RETURN SOON, then Peter and I headed up the street toward Chinatown.
Before we reached Peter’s father’s store, however, I heard my name called. “Master Ted, please come visit for a moment with me. You, too, Nephew. It has been so long since I have seen either of you.” Sing Kee stood in the doorway to his shop. He bowed. “Come in, come in, please. I shall make you tea.”
I couldn’t help shuddering. “I’ll be glad to visit with you, Sing Kee, but you know I will never again taste Chinese tea.”
“Of course, how could I forget? You had an unfortunate experience with that drink once. But I have hot soup on the stove. That will warm you on this cold day.”
Sing Kee’s shop was dark, the air filled with the smells of herbs, some in open barrels on the floor, some in wooden boxes on the counters, some hanging in bunches from the rafters. He led us past bins packed with shrivelled mushrooms, dried sea horses, and turtle shells of all sizes. There were many other things I couldn’t identify, all of them ingredients for his herbal medicines. Next to a wall of shelves holding glass and pottery jars and bottles, there was a small doorway covered with a curtain. Peter and I had to duck as we were ushered into a room at the back of the store.
Sing Kee laughed. “You have both grown so tall. I remember when you were as young as my nephew, Ted. You were much shorter than he is, I believe.”
“I am very tall for my age, Uncle,” Peter said. “Very strong worker, too.”
“Yes, you are,” I said. “Peter’s been a great help in the shop, Sing Kee. I enjoy his company.”
“That does not surprise me,” the herbalist answered. He ladled fragrant soup into small blue-and-white bowls, giving one to each of us. I held the bowl in my hands, welcoming its warmth.
“Sit,” Sing Kee said, motioning to two low stools beside the stove. “Sit and tell me about your lives. I hear Peter is to begin work with his father. So you and your father will lose your tall, strong helper, Ted.”
“Perhaps not,” I said. “I think Peter should stay with us longer and learn to read. He’ll need to know—”
I didn’t finish the sentence. From behind the curtain came the sound of loud voices speaking Cantonese.
Sing Kee’s face grew serious. “Excuse. I am needed.” He pushed through the curtain, adjusting it behind him so Peter and I couldn’t see into the store.
I heard Sing Kee speaking softly, as if trying to restore calm, but the other voices became louder, the talking faster, and Sing Kee’s voice was lost. “Are those men angry?” I asked Peter. “Should we go and help your uncle?”
Peter had grown very still. He was listening hard. “No,” he whispered. “Stay here. Stay quiet.”
I looked at him, and he shook his head, placing a finger across his lips, hushing me. “Please, sir,” he added.
So I stayed silent and listened as the voices swirled around the shop a few feet from me. I heard Sing Kee speak again. This time his voice, too, was loud. Then there was another burst of noise, followed by Sing Kee’s voice again, even louder. After that there was silence.
Peter had grown pale. His hands were trembling, the soup bowl he was clutching threatening to spill. “Shhh,” he whispered.
Standing, I crossed over to him, took the soup from his hands, and placed it on a small table with my own bowl. Then I stayed beside him, ready to help him or Sing Kee should my assistance be needed.
The quiet lasted for what seemed like a long time. I heard whispering, then footsteps and the sound of the front door opening and closing. Finally Sing Kee pushed aside the curtain and came back into the room. “They have gone. For now.”
“Uncle,” Peter asked, “what will happen?”
“I do not know. But you must leave. Quickly.”
“But we’re going to ask Peter’s father for permission—”
“Today is not a good day for you to ask a favour in Chinatown, Ted,” Sing Kee said.
“Why not?”
“It does not concern you. Please go away. I will speak to Mr. Lee about Peter working longer in your carpentry shop, but not today. Today we have other things on our minds.”
“What things?” I asked.
But Sing Kee wouldn’t tell me, and neither would Peter. At least not at first.
Back at the carpentry shop I asked him again. “What’s the trouble, Peter? What’s happening?”
“It is a Chinese matter, Ted. I must not speak of it.”
“But you know what’s going on, don’t you? You understood what those men in Sing Kee’s store were saying. Tell me. Perhaps I can help.”
“I do not think so. But thank you, sir...Ted.”
“Tell me and let me decide for myself.”
“I do not think my uncle would be pleased if I repeated what was said.”
“Then I won’t mention to Sing Kee that you told me. You look worried, Peter. Sing Kee was worried, too. What’s happening?”
Peter eyed the door, as if making sure it was tightly closed. Carefully he put the broom away, leaning it against the wall where it belonged, then took the few shavings he had swept from the floor over to the stove. Lifting the iron cover, he tossed them in. They crackled and sparked, the fire briefly flaring up and lighting his face. I barely heard his words when he spoke.
“It
