Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
In the past two weeks, Fiona and Elizabeth had walked up and down Broadway where the elites checked each other out.
She had insisted on taking the orphans to Macy’s to buy them new shoes.
How she yearned to buy her daughter a whole store of frilly lace dresses replacing the unembellished uniform frock Caroline wore.
They followed with homemade ice cream at the orphanage.
Now Elizabeth was off to have tea with Mrs. Merriweather. Since the opera, she had enjoyed the older woman’s delightful company.
She entered the drawing room, resisting the urge to put her palms to her cheeks. Zachary and Chen rose and bowed.
Mrs. Merriweather rushed in. “I’ve invited Mr. Rourke and Mr. Chen to tea today, Elizabeth. I hope you don’t mind. Would you be so kind as to entertain Mr. Rourke while I show Mr. Chen my late husband’s Chinese room? He was so fascinated with the Orient.”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth said, momentarily forgetting all else.
Why had Mrs. Merriweather invited Chen? Then she remembered the tales Zachary had shared at the opera about the Chinaman, intriguing the older woman.
Elizabeth’s throat thickened. Was that her mimicking the bigotry of her parents?
How they voiced their disgust for the lesser Irish immigrant masses and expressed more contempt for the Chinese.
Elizabeth didn’t understand her society and their ridicule of other people different from themselves. Mother Superior voiced that God made all men equal and to appreciate everyone’s talents.
She fidgeted with her reticule and then walked to the window where an elaborate arrangement of chrysanthemums bloomed on the sill. Had Mrs. Merriweather taken up the role of matchmaker? How cunning she was.
Before the tea arrived, Elizabeth considered the situation of meeting with Mr. Rourke alone, the wagging tongues that would yearn to share her scandalous behavior with her parents. Mrs. Merriweather had left the doors open to quell any burgeoning impropriety that might be bandied about by servants.
Elizabeth’s skin tingled. In a whisper of movement, Zachary moved close behind her. She inhaled, warm spice and male heat.
“If I may be forward, may I ask why a woman as beautiful as you has never married?” asked Zachary.
“That is certainly a forward question.” She sought the elaborate architecture across the street.
“We know each other enough where we can be friends and skip formalities.”
“It’s not for lack of suitors. Generally, I find most men boring. They have nothing to say and half of them seem like complete idiots. And don’t tell me they improve with age. I won’t fall into that illusion.”
“Financial?”
In the sunlight, she glanced at him over her shoulder, her voice holding an unusual edge. “Of course not. My suitors lack depth. They have been weaned on trust funds. Shallow. Self-indulging. Selfish. And stupid.”
“I see.”
The topic was too personal to continue. “You mentioned Chen has trained you in Chinese disciplines. Can you elaborate?”
“He has trained me in ‘Qi’, an inner life force that animates living beings.”
She picked a chrysanthemum and sniffed its delicate scent. “What is ‘Qi?’”
“Qi is complicated and difficult to grasp through the senses. Qi comes by thought or intuition.”
She huffed. “Enlighten me.”
“I can discharge power exclusively channeling my life force, discharging it at close range in an explosive and powerful blow.”
“Sounds brutal.”
“Important when I need to defend myself.”
“I don’t—”
“Shh.” He wrapped his arms about her, his hands brushing hers where she held the flower. “Like a chrysanthemum petal bent by the dew—the petal does not shake off the drop, and yet the instant arises when the dew falls and the petal rebounds, releasing strength.”
His finger touched the chrysanthemum she held. His heartbeat was steady, his chest warm on her back.
“Focus on the flower,” he ordered.
She did not think of the flower in a conscious manner, but without boundaries between herself and the flower and the dewdrop.
Something shifted at the edge of her sight.
The drop fell. In tandem, Zachary’s strong body from behind drifted her away, and then toward it, like a gentle whoosh of the sea on the shore.
From that moment, her senses reeled as if Zachary had pulled her into a strange universe.
She could stand on a street and sense it, as she could sense the spicy, suffocating odor of teeming tenements, so full of people that the throngs going and coming spread off the sidewalk to the middle of the street.
Horse droppings, the clack of carriage wheels, the hawking of newsboys, bootblacks, butchers, and fish mongers.
She was there. She was not there. No one touched her except the warmth from Zachary’s body.
What was this mysterious effect he had on her?
This connection? A form of becoming one with the divine ether of the universe—earth, wind, fire, water.
All existing as part energy instead of pure matter, that vitality or quality of light and matter calculable only when the soul vibrations existed as an exact match.
He moved back and she straightened with the shock of reality.
Oh, how she wanted him to tell her it wasn’t a shoddy parlor trick, and how they survived.
She frowned, unable to understand. Like asking a tree how it grows.
They gazed at each other, and in that silent communion, an acceptance evolved of the phenomenon that had profoundly brought them together.
Elizabeth moved around him and gracefully sat on the settee as a servant carried in a tray, setting it down on the table between them. “Tea, Mr. Rourke?”
“Thank you, yes.” She passed his cup over, and when he reached for it, his fingers brushed hers, the sensation like an electrical spark. Heat flooded her face and, fingers shaking, the cup rattled in the saucer. He smiled in a way that said more than words.
“Chen has taught me of peace and violence. That one must discover one’s center within himself and make stillness and serenity of it.”
Elizabeth sipped her tea and chewed thoughtfully on a coconut macaroon. “That is hard to do in a sometimes-violent world.”
His hands rested palms downward on his thighs. “He has taught me strength and power are nothing, only intention.”
“Please explain.”
“He claims we are an illusion within a real world. We give ourselves disguises, as the moth imitates a flower. It does not become the flower. It does not forget that it is a moth. One must be careful of this.”
Elizabeth widened her eyes. Was he telling her he was a threat?
Everything he told her was simple, yet agonizingly complex.
A distinct feeling pervaded her that he did not trust women–and her.
As if he had been hurt or taken advantage of.
At times when she felt close to him those feelings were obliterated by his evasiveness.
He kept his emotions close to his chest. A man choosing to be alone.
“I must say I feel you look for deceit from me. You should know me by now, that I’m honest and forthright. ”
Mrs. Merriweather cleared her throat, heralding their return, rushing into the room like a locomotive and plunking herself down next to Elizabeth.
Chen followed, his footsteps silent on the parquet floor.
She catalogued the little things about the monk.
Despite his stoic nature and impassive exterior, he seemed to be knowledgeable of everything and everyone around him, like an old soul.
He held Zachary’s gaze, slanting his head to the older woman.
Zach edged to the front of his seat. “Mrs. Merriweather, Chen is an expert in Chinese medicine. He has concerns about your health.”
Her jaw dropped in open surprise. “By just looking at me?”
“With your permission, may he examine your forearm? He needs to feel your pulses to make a diagnosis,” said Zachary.
Perplexed, Mrs. Merriweather looked at all of them, and then took off her clinking gold bracelets, extending her forearm. With great care, Chen knelt, smoothed her sleeve back, then lightly pressed his fingertips, lifting and then pressing. After much concentration, he lifted his head.
“What have you determined?” She twisted her clinking bracelets to her wrists.
Chen spoke. “Do you experience fatigue? Insomnia? Problems with digestion?”
“Why, yes, to all three. How did you know?”
“The nature of your energy or Qi is felt through the force of your pulse. Your pulse is thready. You have a blood deficiency.”
“Blood deficiency? What do I do? My doctors have provided all sorts of tonics. Nothing works except the extraordinary bills they send me.”
“I can obtain herbals to repair the problem.”
Gratitude choked her. “For someone who has not gone to medical school, you are a gold mine of erudition. By all means. I’ll pay you anything you ask for if you can cure me.”
Chen shook his head. “You have provided me charity of heart and hospitality.”
Mrs. Merriweather clapped her hands together. “You are extraordinary, Mr. Chen. You are welcome anytime.”