feet dragged across the tile floor. She couldn’t face a missionary. Not now. But the music—and Lillian’s expectations—pulled her forward. Elizabeth smoothed a hand across her skirt, trying to ignore the perspiration dampening her palms. No one knows.
Few openings remained in the packed room. Lillian guided her down the side aisle to a couple of empty spots near the front.
Three Chinese girls stood on the platform, their smooth hair shining under the electric lights. Their gentle voices rose and fell to the tune of “Safe in the Arms of Jesus.” Elizabeth couldn’t resist smiling at the sight of the smallest girl—perhaps only six or seven—her embroidered red tunic making her resemble a bright peony.
Elizabeth sidled past knees and feet, taking care not to tromp on anyone’s toes, and tucked into her seat with a sigh. A woman’s massive Gibson Girl hairstyle blocked most of Elizabeth’s view. Ridiculous. If she tips her head, she’ll fall over. Her sister Ruby often styled her red curls in such magnificent updos, but Elizabeth preferred to maintain a sleek knot at the back of her head. It seemed silly to spend hours on one’s hair when there were so many other things to do.
The girls sang two more hymns, their voices as pure as garden wind chimes. The littlest one stepped forward, a wide smile brightening her round face. After a nod from the woman at the back of the platform, the child folded her hands and began to sing. Elizabeth leaned forward, her fingers twitching as she contemplated an arrangement on the piano.
I’m but a stranger here, Heaven is my home;
Earth is a desert drear, Heaven is my home;
Danger and sorrow stand, round me on every hand;
Heaven is my fatherland, Heaven is my home.
Elizabeth and Lillian joined in the applause as the girls returned to their seats. Elizabeth edged a few inches to the side to get a better view of the tall, thin woman taking the podium, her hair glinting like Mother’s best silver.
“No truer words have been sung.” A hint of a Scottish brogue colored the woman’s words. “Yoke Soo and her twin sister came to our shores at the tender age of four, but within hours the children were on the auction block. Yoke Soo began her life in America as a Mui Tsai—servant child.”
The poor little dear. Elizabeth studied the people in front of her. Two seats down, she couldn’t help but admire a muscular set of shoulders, clad in an elegant suit. The man’s light brown hair seemed familiar. When he turned to speak to the woman on his left, Elizabeth’s breath caught in her chest. Charles McKinley? She’d assumed the young attorney would be visiting with another client, not attending a public meeting. Would she never be free of the man? Elizabeth shrank down in her seat, no longer caring whether she could see the platform.
The woman at the podium expounded on the girl’s heartbreaking story, but the words failed to penetrate Elizabeth’s dour mood. The lady ahead of her leaned past her neighbor to whisper to Mr. McKinley. His head turned, the profile unmistakable.
Elizabeth pressed a handkerchief to her eyes. With any luck, she wouldn’t be recognized.
Lillian patted her sleeve. “I knew you’d be moved.”
Elizabeth ducked as the attorney glanced back. Perhaps I should leave. She peered down the long row, but a gauntlet of legs and feet prepared to make trouble for anyone who passed. Elizabeth leaned back against the chair. Trapped.
After a few minutes, she relaxed, turning her focus to the missionary’s stories. The images of beatings, neglect, and hard work pressed on Elizabeth’s lungs. Was she truly speaking of the little child who’d just sung like an angel?
Miss Cameron leaned forward, her eyes scanning the audience. “As tragic as this sounds, Yoke Soo had a more daunting problem ahead. After years of servitude, her master would likely sell her again—this time to a house of ill-repute.”
The woman with the enormous hair rose, dabbing her cheeks with a silk handkerchief. Excusing herself, she made her way down the long row of seats and slipped out to the back of the room.
Elizabeth straightened. At last, she could see the stage. She willed Mr. McKinley to remain facing forward.
“A kindly neighbor intervened, rescuing the child and delivering her to the Mission.” Miss Cameron’s gaze lowered, her voice growing husky. “Her sister was not as fortunate.”
Elizabeth swallowed. These girls had suffered more than she, and yet they were innocent of their pain. Could she claim the same for herself? Unlikely.
The missionary’s voice rose, echoing through the packed room. “This is why I plead with you, good people of Sacramento, to support the Mission’s efforts to remove these girls from the clutches of man’s carnal desires. With your help, we can bring these children out of darkness and into the light of Christ’s love.”
Elizabeth pressed her hands into her lap, squeezing herself into as narrow a space as possible. Man’s carnal desires. The words clutched at her throat like so many tangled threads.
A woman near the front stood. “The little ones, of course. But what of the older girls? Do you bring the prostitutes in with the young children?”
The crowd murmured, all eyes returning to the podium.
Miss Cameron nodded. “We are all God’s children. None have fallen so far as to be unredeemable by His love and sacrifice on the cross.”
“What do you do with them once they’ve been rescued?” The woman persisted in her questions.
“We see to our daughters’ needs—spiritual, physical, emotional, and intellectual. Right now one of our biggest needs is for teachers at our school. We want good women such as yourselves to come and work with our girls. Teach them English, sewing, cooking, reading, writing, and music.”
“Music? What good is music?”
Miss Cameron lifted a hand and gestured to the girls sitting in the front row. “You heard the children sing. Chains bind the body, but music sets the heart free.”
As Miss Cameron continued her speech, tears stung at Elizabeth’s eyes. She stared down at her smooth, even nails, remembering the feel of the ivory beneath her fingertips. She’d hardly played in weeks. Not since she’d cast Tobias out of her life. He’d taken her heart. Her music. Would it ever return?
She lifted her head and studied the elegant woman at the lectern. Miss Cameron leaned forward, the energy of her plea flooding through the crowd. Her stories continued, telling the tales of one girl after another.
Elizabeth’s chest burned, like she’d swallowed an ember from the stove and it scorched its way through her. Could this make up for what she’d done?
The speaker lifted her hands, gesturing to the audience. “What will you do to help our girls? Will you shake your heads and go back to your comfortable homes? Or will you commit yourself to the Lord’s work? He’s calling you. How will you answer?”
A ripple coursed through Elizabeth’s body as she met the missionary’s gaze. If I do this, God, will You forgive me?
***
Charles stretched his back after an hour of sitting on the wooden chair. The crowd filtered out of the room,
