which was considerable for a Chinese man, and stood, steely and unperturbed, just as the Reverend would in a moment like this one. Also like the Reverend, Ahcho had no use for the old superstitions. Thoughts about Spirits were no longer permissible.
He preferred the new ways. Improvements were coming all the time. Although Fenchow-fu was only a small city, it boasted a new road and a hospital that the Reverend had built. Chinese children attended the Christian school with a roof over their heads. The Reverend had even recently proposed that a library be erected, although the province of Shansi possessed only one book, an encyclopedia that the town elders forbade anyone to open in order to preserve it. Ahcho was a chief propagandist of this new wave of progress and prosperity. And although he knew pride was a sin, he hoped it was all right that he was proud to be his master's number-one boy.
He glanced down at Mai Lin, seated on her haunches, her many skirts, ropes, cloth belts, and pouches spread out around her. No one could dispute that she knew everything about birthing and the care of babies. She could also help a patient recover from croup or a sour stomach, and sometimes even more serious illnesses. But as the future took hold, Mai Lin was in danger of becoming a sorry throwback to another time. She was the one who had less and less business being here.
"Enough about that," Ahcho said, his full voice returning with confidence. "Tomorrow morning, we will take the Reverend and Mistress Grace back to Fenchow-fu. I will prepare the wagon so they can lie down on straw in the back. The poor Master, every bump in the road will be agony with his broken rib."
"I will give him something for it."
"He will not take it."
"If he hurts enough, he will," she said, her laugh moist and abundant. Everything about her was that way, and for a brief moment, Ahcho did not let it bother him. He was in charge again and knew what needed to be done.
Then they both looked out at the night. The restless grasses hovered nearby, and the mountains rose, a shadow of a shadow in the distance. To find the boy, they would have to cross over them and then traverse much more.
"Little Wesley boy is out there," Ahcho said. "We must form a search party from the mission and return to the countryside as quickly as we can. The Reverend will not be able to lead it until his rib heals, but Reverend Charles Martin can rally the other ministers. I will help gather our own people. We must send messengers to every warlord in the neighboring provinces. We will try everything, and we will find him." Ahcho spoke with more assurance than he felt, but that was as one must when putting one's faith in the Lord. He had learned this from the Reverend.
Mai Lin let out a long hissing sound.
"What?" he asked, although he did not want to hear it.
"You know better," she said in a singsong voice that teased him. "The Fates have their ways."
Ahcho tapped his pipe on the railing to empty it. Now it was his turn to let out a disgusted sound. "Well, you know nothing," he said with finality. "The Lord Jesus is on our side, and miracles do happen. Just look at the Reverend tonight. Not one but two bullets, and he survived. It is remarkable, and so will be our rescue of the child."
Ahcho was pleased to end the conversation on that clarifying and uplifting note. But as he stepped back into the cottage, he could not help hearing Mai Lin's cackle echoing in the night.
Five
T he candle flickered as the Reverend turned in his bed and let out a soft moan. Ahcho was at his side a moment later and adjusted the pillow so it cupped his head properly in the manner that Americans preferred.
The Reverend's eyelids fluttered several times and then opened. A grimace of pain crossed his face. Ahcho held up a newly opened bottle of brandy, its amber liquid glowing. The Revered nodded once, and Ahcho poured a small amount into a glass. He raised it to his master's dry lips, and the Reverend drank. Then the Reverend lifted a finger toward the bottle again. Ahcho was surprised but held it steady as the Reverend took several more long pulls.
His pain must have been considerable, Ahcho thought, to tempt the man so. Not that Ahcho blamed him, but he knew he wouldn't mention this to anyone. Nor would he mention the events of the evening and the sinful setting into which the Reverend had stumbled. He cursed himself already for having told Mai Lin where he had found him. But Ahcho had been in such a panic when he had returned to the cottage with the bleeding man that the tale had flown out of him like a bird flushed from the bushes by a cat.
The Reverend's eyes closed again. Ahcho pushed the cork into the bottle of liquor and placed it upon the shelf with the other supplies. They would need more cotton strips to create a proper sling. And more bandages to keep the wound clean. Perhaps he would purchase another bottle of strong spirits to help with the pain, should it continue. On his way back to the Reverend's bedside, Ahcho paused before his own satchel that he had hung on a hook by the door. With a heavy heart, he reached into the bag and pulled out something wrapped in a cloth. He carried it back to the Reverend.
"Sir?" he whispered.
The Reverend's eye twitched, and his lips pursed ever so slightly.
"The robbers seem to have tossed something onto the ground before leaving," Ahcho said.
The Reverend opened one eye. "Spectacles, please."
Ahcho set down the item, found the glasses, placed them on the Reverend's nose, and carefully bent the soft metal wires around his ears. He dreaded the moment the object came into focus.
"What is it?" the Reverend asked.
Ahcho peeled back the corners of the cloth. "A human skull, sir. It appears to be that of a child."
The Reverend flinched at the word but then asked, "You say you found it on the ground?"
"At the base of the cottage steps where the boy— God protect him— was taken."
The Reverend took the small round thing into his hands and held it up before his eyes, where it glistened in the lamplight. Ahcho could not help but notice that it appeared delicate and refined, like a porcelain vase, although also quietly menacing, like a snake curled upon a sun-drenched rock.
The Reverend's face darkened, and his features shifted. They became tight and firm, all softness draining away. His eyes betrayed little, but Ahcho could sense a realization coming over him like a fog rolling over a mountainside in the morning. It was the same realization that Ahcho had arrived at some hours earlier.
"Dear God," the Reverend said. Then he looked into Ahcho's face and asked in a halting voice, "What have I done?"
Ahcho started to reach for his master's arm to comfort him but stopped with his hand in midair. He swallowed and waited for words to come forth, but none did. The two men looked at one another and understood something of which they could not speak.
Ahcho wondered if he should have simply tossed the skull into the desert grasses and not shown it to the Reverend. But with some consternation, he realized that he still had enough of the old superstitions in him to believe that ignoring it could bring the Fates down upon them all. Ahcho feared he was a weak man and an imperfect Christian, and this was the best he could do.
And yet he also reminded himself about the many Sunday mornings when the Reverend had spoken of Jesus's honesty and forthrightness. In order to obey the Reverend's entreaties to be like the Lord, Ahcho had had no choice but to show his master the skull. He could not hide so important a clue. For while the sight of it might ruin the Reverend,
