Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mei Lin paced the length of the cabin. Ten steps to the window. Ten to the door. The boards creaked under her, but she had nothing else to do, and sitting still only made the worry crowd in.
She’d turned off the overhead bulb, using only the lantern for dim light, just in case someone came who wasn’t her husband. She’d watched the last of the gold drain out of the sky. The glass held only her reflection now—pale, drawn, her mother’s mouth turned down at the corners.
He’d be back. Of course he would.
Mama used to tell her not to worry. Why grieve for a storm before the clouds gather?
Had Mama ever been abandoned? Perhaps she would worry too.
Mei Lin crossed to the window again.
Six years she had waited, and no one had located her. She’d decided that her grandmother had been right about her—more trouble than she was worth.
She had taught herself, over the years, to stop watching the door.
Then Ethan had come. And now he was somewhere down a dark mountain in a country that was hunting him. If he didn’t return, it would mean something had happened to him—deported or worse, jailed—and she would be alone in a hut in the woods with a pouch of evidence and no idea what to do next.
Father, please.
She pressed her forehead against the cold glass. Her breath fogged a circle on it, then shrank, then bloomed again.
Something moved at the edge of the clearing.
The pines along the trail bent under a breeze, throwing soft shadows across the open ground. That was all it was. Wind. She’d been staring into the dark for so long that she was inventing things.
Then a shape materialized, a man tucked among the trees. He turned his head one way, then the other, taking in the cabin.
The moon found his face.
Her breath caught. She grabbed the latch, pulled the door open, and ran.
She crossed the open ground and launched herself into his arms, her face pressed into the rough weave of his coat. He smelled like pine sap and dirt.
He laughed, a soft chuckle against the top of her head. “Happy to see you, too.”
She didn’t trust her voice yet, so she only held on.
He angled to see her face. “Are you all right? Any excitement while I was gone?”
“It’s been very quiet. And you? Did you get through? Were you seen?”
“No problems at all. I talked to Michael and Gavin.”
“And?”
“All is well. Let’s get out of this cold.” He wrapped an arm around her back and turned her toward the cabin. Her legs were wobbly after her dash across the clearing, though she was strong enough to carry herself. Even so, she leaned into him.
Inside, he closed and locked the door, then crossed to the table and swung a small backpack off his shoulders. It was new, a tag hanging from a strap. He set it between them.
“You went shopping?”
“There wasn’t much.”
She unzipped the pack and pulled out the contents one at a time: two flashlights, a bag of dried noodles, a package of crackers, a small bag of dried fruit, and more protein bars. Beneath those were two cans.
“You hauled these up the mountain?”
He lifted one shoulder. “It’s not a gourmet meal, but the picture looked like it had to be better than whatever that was we ate last night.”
She’d eaten this before, and it would be much better than canned fish.
Ethan’s eyes were twinkling. “There might be something else in there.”
She reached in and pulled out a fistful of candy, the wrappers a little crushed but the twist-ends still neat.
Her throat closed.
She hadn’t eaten one of these since…before. She tore the paper off one and, closing her eyes, bit through the rice paper into the chalky, milky chew. For a second, she was eight years old, perched in front of Bàba on his bicycle, the world passing in a blur of green.
“You’re supposed to eat dinner first.” A smile colored her husband’s voice.
She broke a second candy in half and held a piece out to him. “In another life, there was a saying… Life’s uncertain. Eat dessert first.”
“Wise words, my wife.” He took the candy and popped it into his mouth.
My wife.
Warmth filling her cheeks, she turned before he could see how his offhand remark affected her.
The cabin had a small two-burner propane stove. She added water from the barrel Ethan had filled that morning to a pot, then lit the burner beneath it.
Beside her, Ethan opened the cans.
“Thank you. Now, sit.”
“I can help.”
She caught his wrist and turned him toward the table. “You walked all day. You carried our dinner up a mountain.”
“I can—”
“Rest, my husband. Let me.”
“I’ll let you win.” He hung his jacket on a hook and plopped into a chair.
“Let me? You overestimate your power over me.” Bold words, considering she’d do just about anything he asked of her.
She busied herself at the stove, thankful to have something to do besides fret.
Twenty minutes later, she dished noodles and thick stew into bowls and carried them to the table.
Ethan had been watching her from his chair. Somewhere in the last twenty minutes his shoulders had slumped and his expression had softened. He looked drowsy and pleased. He sat up as she set the bowls between them. “Smells pretty good.”
“Mm. We’ll see.”
She sat across from him and bowed her head to offer a silent blessing, but Ethan took her hand and spoke.
“Thank You for protecting us. Guide us safely home. And bless this meal my wife labored over.”
“Labored?” She chuckled. “You should not make fun with God.”
“He thinks I’m hilarious.”
Grinning, she lifted her chopsticks. She’d forgotten the pleasure of sitting with someone she loved to share a meal.
The first bite had her eyes drifting shut. The broth was hot and salty, savory and delicious. Six years of tasteless food had dulled her taste buds. Her tongue almost didn’t know what to do with this. Pork fat, soy, and seasonings she’d forgotten existed.
It wasn’t her first meal since her release, but it felt like the first one she truly tasted, the best meal she could remember in a long time.
Ethan was already on his second bite. “For canned stew, this is pretty good.”
“As usual, you’re very hungry.”
“You’re not wrong.”
She ate slowly, not wanting to overdo and make herself ill. Mama used to say grief and hunger were cousins. Both wanted to be taken in small bites.
Mei Lin was thinking of Mama again, and her silly expressions. That one had never made sense to her.
She reached for her water. “What did Michael say?”
Ethan finished the bite he was on. His skill with the chopsticks had improved. Perhaps it helped to have no other option. “We’re going to have to hike out.” His gaze went past her to the map on the wall. “Not through the village I went to today, though, in case I was seen.”
“Were you?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t chased or anything, but there were cameras.”
She looked at the map, too, but didn’t see another village within walking distance. Of course, maybe that depended on how far a person was willing to walk. “Which one?”
Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the food. “We’ll head north.”
“And then what? This is a big country.”
“When we get somewhere with cell service, I’ll call Michael. He’ll have instructions by then. He and Gavin are working on it.” He returned to the meal, trying to look casual and unconcerned. And failing.
Michael’s instructions had been precise when they’d gone to Fuyin. He’d had addresses, names, times. He’d had a plan which they’d only had to follow.
This time, there was no plan.
“They are working on it?”
“Uh-huh.”
Was her husband not meeting her eyes on purpose?
“We will just…walk north?”
Ethan smiled at her, but this wasn’t a real smile. This smile said please believe me because I don’t want to tell you what’s really going on.
“Ethan—”
“Mei Lin.” He reached across the table, palm up. “One step at a time. Okay?”
She put her hand in his. “But we do not know the steps.”
“We’re going to have to trust God to lead us.”
She pulled her hand back and took another bite, but her stomach was too full, or perhaps too worried to accept more food.
When they finished the meal, Mei Lin cleaned the dishes as well as she could without running water while Ethan stoked the coal stove.
When everything was clean, he pulled the blanket onto the floor in front of the stove. “Keep me warm?”
She settled in beside him, and he pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She hadn’t kept the fire going that day and it had grown cold. She cuddled against his side.
“Thank you for dinner.”
“You hauled it from the village. I only heated it.”
“It was perfectly warmed, though.” They watched the coal glow. “You’re a pro.”
“Silly man.” If she squinted, she could imagine that it was a wood fire in a fireplace, but the stench couldn’t be ignored any more than the worry humming inside her. “Why will Gavin make the plan? Shouldn’t Michael, who is the professional?”
“Gavin is too.”
“Your father?” She angled to see Ethan’s face. “I am confused about your father. You told me he wasn’t in your life, and now he is? What happened?”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “My father…” He took a breath. “My parents weren’t married when I was born.”
She’d known this, or guessed it, anyway. “In the West, this is not such a big thing, though, for them to be together but not married.”
“It is kind of a big thing that he was married to another woman.”
“Oh.” She faced the stove again. “Your mother told you this?”
“She always said they weren’t right for each other and that we didn’t need him.”
“Did you need him, though?” She couldn’t imagine having grown up without her father.
Ethan shrugged. “He sent her money. He came to see me every year on my birthday. He always sent gifts for Christmas. He called sometimes to check on me. My mother let him know what was going on in my life, so he was…aware, anyway.”
She processed that. “But you didn’t know about his wife?”
“Not when I was young, but… It was my ninth birthday.” Ethan’s words came slowly. “He showed up for breakfast. He and my mother were civil to each other, but not friendly.”
Mei Lin twisted to see Ethan. “Of course. She must have been very angry when she found out he was married.”