Hsi-chen made her way slowly across the mission compound from the hospital.
It was dark now, and the last of the evening patients had gone home hours ago. Her father had been called to the village to see to the state of a pregnant woman, while she had remained to put the dispensary in order for the following day.
As she walked, she hoped to see Robbie returning across the bridge. He had gone with a villager to gather more wood for his shingles. He should not have been so long, but he must come soon.
She ran a hand across her perspiring forehead. There was not even a hint of breeze to dull the oppressive heat of the mei-yu season. The plum rain was good for the rice, but insufferable for humans, though somehow they managed to survive the few weeks it lasted. This year, however, Hsi-chen seemed to feel it more than ever before. Her body sagged as if all vitality had been sapped from it by the heat and her plaguing illness.
“Dear Lord,” she silently prayed, “please give me more time. But . . . help me to be strong, and to say not my will but yours be done.”
Her prayer reminded her how unreasonable it was for her to seek Robbie out. She was being unfair to him and causing herself unnecessary pain by thinking there was any possibility of . . .
She did not complete the thought. On this evening she simply wanted to see him, for his own sake. She wanted to look upon those eyes, the color of the sea he loved, sensitive, laughing eyes. She wanted to see his smile, so easy, so unabashed, so filled with the very thing she felt at the moment she lacked—life.
She chided herself for her vain thoughts. She possessed eternal life. And that was enough.
“Oh, Father!” she prayed again, “make it enough!”
But Hsi-chen was young. All the faith in the universe could not keep her from loving life and desiring more of it. Neither could it keep her from sorrow at the prospect of parting from this world, a world which the Spirit of her Lord had given her such an appreciation for. Her heavenly Father would not condemn her for this; He too had suffered great anguish of heart at His parting from the world of men.
Yet she had to admit that it had not been so difficult before Robbie Taggart came along.
Dear Robbie . . . whose vibrant energy she had felt even that first day when he lay unconscious in the hospital.
Oh, what a man of God you will make! she thought with a smile. Why do you struggle so against the life that is pressing toward you?
She knew, however, that the harder fought the battle, the more glorious would be the victory in the end. And Hsi-chen harbored not the slightest doubt that there would be ultimate victory yet in Robbie Taggart’s life.
Hearing a sound behind the chapel building, Hsi-chen paused.
It sounded soft, like the whimpering of an injured animal, or perhaps a small child. The children did sometimes play there. But it was so late! Could one of them have been hurt and somehow got left behind?
The servant spirit of the Chinese maiden prodded her toward the sound, giving no heed to the dangers the night might hold. In her longing after ministration, she had innocently forgotten that the mission was under siege by a notorious band of strangers.
———
Robbie returned to the mission later than he’d expected. The farmer who had helped him with the wood invited him to stay for supper. Robbie consented, accepting the challenge of attempting to put to use some of the Chinese phrases Hsi-chen had been trying to teach him.
The evening had been an enjoyable one. Robbie had been able to lay aside his mental quandaries and enter into the hospitality of the village folk, though he could understand nothing of what was said. He left in a contented mood, glad to have another pocket of local friends to add to the many such encounters he had had all over the world.
When he crossed the bridge it was quite late. Yet he immediately noticed all the lamps in the residence burning brightly. Something must be amiss, he thought, for he had been at the mission long enough to familiarize himself with the habits of the place. There had never before been such activity at this hour, though an individual lamp occasionally burned past midnight in Wallace’s study.
Therefore Robbie turned his steps toward the residence, not wanting to barge in where he was not wanted, but sensing trouble in the wind.
He opened the door and immediately perceived that he had stumbled into the middle of a tense and highly emotional prayer meeting. Coombs, Miss Trumbull, Shan-fei, Yien Nien, and Wallace were all kneeling in a circle, holding hands, with heads bowed. All heads shot up and turned in his direction at the sound of the door creaking open.
“Come in, please, Mr. Taggart,” said Wallace. “Won’t you join us?” Robbie could see from the man’s eyes that evil omens were in the air. His voice was an empty shell, drained of fervor, clinging thinly to the hope that went against the instincts of his flesh.
“Where is Hsi-chen?” asked Robbie anxiously, slowly approaching the circle.
“She has been taken,” replied Wallace.
“Taken!” exclaimed Robbie. “Taken ill? Taken . . . what do you mean?” His words spilled out in a rush of intensity and confusion.
Wallace tried to explain, though every word was a great effort. “Wang has apparently been here,” he said, “and has kidnapped her. We believe it happened an hour or two ago.”
“What! But here where . . . was she alone—did no one see anything?”
“She was alone. I was in the village. The others were here. We heard nothing. One of her sandals was found behind the chapel. There were signs of activity, perhaps a struggle, in the brush bordering the area.”
“But I thought it was Shan-fei—?”
Hsi-chen’s mother shook her head. “It was revenge he wanted more than anything,” she said dismally. “He is an evil man!”
“What are you doing about it?” said Robbie, almost shouting. By now his tone was frantic, his eyes wild with fear. He wanted to scream and run all at once. He could barely control his emotions, much less his tongue. His agitated body cried out for action. “Why are you all sitting here! Why hasn’t someone gone after her?” The accusation in his tone was felt by everyone in the room.
“We are doing the best possible thing we could do, Mr. Taggart,” answered Coombs. “We are surrounding Hsi-chen with prayer. The power of the Lord is greater than an army of ten thousand.”
“Prayer! And nothing else?”
“Wang will not harm her,” said Wallace, holding out a piece of heavy paper. “This was left. It says he has taken her to be his wife.”
“Wife! And you say he will not harm her!” yelled Robbie, his control breaking. “What kind of man are you! You’re going to let this happen without a fight?”
“The fight is not ours, Mr. Taggart. The battle is the Lord’s, and He will deliver her. We are praying for that deliverance. And in the meantime, I have sent one of the village men to Hangchow to notify the British legation—”
“Hangchow!” Robbie threw his hands in the air. “Do you have any idea what a man like Wang could do to her in just one night?” he exclaimed in disbelief. “How can you be so callous!”
“God will protect her, as He did Esther in the court of Ahasuerus.”
“God! I don’t believe what I am hearing! How can you recite fairy tales at a time like this? You can do what you will. I’m going after her!”
“Mr. Taggart!” warned Wallace, resuming some of his old tone. “Do not act foolishly. I know your heart is right. But your actions could do more harm than good.”
“No more harm than sitting idly by and doing nothing!”
“There are other steps I have undertaken besides Hangchow. But we must wait upon the Lord for guidance at every move. Without Him both before us and behind us, we are certain of failure. In trust of Him, there is certain victory.”
“You call this victory! You, with your pious words that prove empty to save your own daughter.”
“Leave it in God’s hands, Mr. Taggart.”
“For a while, I almost thought I could believe in this God of yours,” retorted Robbie. “But not if He requires me to sit still while someone I—”
He stopped short, flustered even in his anxiety at the word which nearly escaped from his lips. “I won’t do it!” he yelled, spinning around and stalking from the room.
He did not even know where to go, but he’d find out. He had no weapon, but he’d get that too. He might find himself facing an army of cutthroats, but he didn’t care. Even if he was slain trying, he had to make the attempt. He had to show them that what they were doing was wrong!
Hsi-chen had taught him the expression, Where is . . . ? He would try that. He could use her name, perhaps Wang’s. He could pantomime bandit. Somehow he would make himself understood!
I must free her, he thought blindly. He shrank even at the thought of Hsi-chen in the presence of such men, much less being forced to—
He shuddered and forced the thought from him.
I’ve got to find her! I can’t be too late! God, help me! he cried, half-aloud, before he even realized what he was saying.
Across the bridge Robbie ran, aimlessly, just to be moving. Suddenly he found himself at the door of the farmer with whom he had spent the evening. He managed to make himself understood, and a few minutes later left the way he had come, jamming the knife he had been given into his belt. Pounding on doors and making frantic signals and crying out in a most unintelligible form of gibberish, he made his way throughout the village, waking half the hardworking men and women of the fields, until at last he found what he suspected to be the information he needed.
Then, lightly touching the hilt of the farmer’s blade for reassurance, he raced into the hills toward an ancient monastery.