The Calligrapher's Daughter Part 18

My brother grasped my shoulders. "I'll miss you, Nuna." His tired smile showed love. Then he remembered his family position and his voice grew adult and serious. "Study hard with your husband and see as much as you can of America. Write to us."

Reverend Bennett called from the doorway, and Mother said quietly, "You are always a part of me, my daughter." I squeezed her hand and she slipped her damp handkerchief into mine. Before I could think another thought I was looking between the gaps of many black-suited bodies as Dongsaeng and my mother descended the steps. She appeared so small, her receding back sedately moving farther and farther down the sidewalk, her head held gracefully high, her shoulders a little stooped with sadness, and I wanted to reach through the crowd and clasp her to my breast. Reverend Cho said it was time to go and our group turned in the other direction. The image I held in my heart during the long walk from the church to the hotel was Mother's serene back and the silver shining in her hair, gleaming with sunlight that had broken through the clouds.

IN THE BANQUET room of Hsin-ching's most modern hotel, I sat poised beside my new husband. I clutched my mother's handkerchief in my lap, trying to hold her presence within me and trying not to feel the pain of knowing that half the world and many years would separate us. My sadness, the intensity of the day's events and my anxiety about what would happen next left me dazed. The instructions for my "big day," as the church ladies called it, had ended with the reception. Punch and fancy sandwiches were served and conference speeches made. I couldn't eat and time pa.s.sed in a blur.

Eventually everyone stood and Reverend Cho gave the benediction. As the ministers began to depart, Reverend Bennett made his way through the crowd toward us. "Well, Mr. Cho, Miss Han, er, Mrs. Han-pardon me, Mrs. Cho!" He took my sore hand. "Blessings, my dear! This is where we part. A lovely wedding it was. I'll be sure to tell Edna all about your special day."

I wanted to thank him, but words wouldn't come. Calvin said, "You've been most generous, Reverend sir, and kindly considerate of my fiancee, now my wife-" I breathed easier, glad that my husband spoke for me, as was proper.

"Now, now. My goodness! We're the ones who benefited from your wife's excellent tutelage. She's a fine teacher." He shook Calvin's hand. "A fine teacher and a wonderful friend. We'll miss her! Good luck to both of you on your travels and studies. Keep us apprised of your progress, Mrs. Cho." And with a practiced bow, Reverend Bennett took his leave. I watched his bent shoulders blend into the other black-clad shoulders, sad that my last contact from home was gone.

"Ready?" Calvin smiled nervously.

"Yuhbo," I said, shyly using the term of familiarity between husband and wife. "My bundle-" I worried about my doc.u.ments and money as well as my clothes.

He steered me through a door to the hotel lobby. "Reverend Sherwood's wife and his secretary took care of it after the service. It should be in our room. I'm sorry," he said at my surprised expression. "No one told you? A gift from my father. The hotel gave him a complimentary room as coordinator of the conference, but he's going back to Pyeongyang tonight. I thought we should go with him because I wanted to introduce you to my mother, but he insisted that we meet in Pyeongyang in the morning. Wait here." He pointed to an ottoman. "I'll explain everything after I get the key."

Conspicuous in my wedding dress, I was certain that every one of the few scattered people in the lobby were smirking at the thought of my wedding night. My stomach churned. I recognized Calvin's shoes approaching and saw a large manila envelope by his knee.

"The photographer's a.s.sistant developed our pictures during the reception as a special favor for the newlyweds." Calvin smiled at that last word. "We can inspect them upstairs." I followed him up a grand curved staircase, then another more modest stairwell, and down a plushly carpeted hallway to a double shutter that opened to a dark wooden door, into which he inserted the key.

"Yuhbo," he said when the key in his shaking fingers refused to unlock the bolt. "It's a beautiful night. Change clothes and let's walk a while."

I nodded and heard relief in his breath. His next attempt with the key opened the door to a plain room with a huge Western bed, an armoire, side table and armchair. My bundle drooped shabbily over a shiny portmanteau that had the gold initials CJC CJC embossed by the latch. He pointed to a half-open door across the hall, and I clutched my clothes and escaped into the gleaming bathroom that had an enormous porcelain tub. I bolted the door, struggled to unclasp the complicated veil, dress and garters, and marveled at the wondrous bathtub. What an incredible waste of water to fill this tub for one person! I carefully folded the gown and donned the navy blue Chinese dress, b.u.t.toning the frog closures high to the neck. embossed by the latch. He pointed to a half-open door across the hall, and I clutched my clothes and escaped into the gleaming bathroom that had an enormous porcelain tub. I bolted the door, struggled to unclasp the complicated veil, dress and garters, and marveled at the wondrous bathtub. What an incredible waste of water to fill this tub for one person! I carefully folded the gown and donned the navy blue Chinese dress, b.u.t.toning the frog closures high to the neck.

When I finally reappeared, it was wonderful to see Calvin sitting in the armchair, looking completely relaxed and strikingly handsome. "Comfortable?" he said. My tongue had apparently died in the suddenly intimate and still room, and I nodded, self-consciously smoothing my hair. "It flatters you," he said of my bob, which made me happy and abashed. "Come and see." He had arranged the photos on the table.

Unable to look at him further, I gladly studied the pictures. I was surprised to see his hand resting on my shoulder in the portrait where I sat and he stood behind me, not remembering his touch then. He looked as appropriately solemn as I, and I loved seeing the sharp clean lines of his face, polished with the glow of the photographer's flash. My solo portrait for the pa.s.sport seemed foreign to me, the dress making me seem more Chinese than Korean. I frowned at an unruly dent in my bob, and at my nose which appeared even larger in the two-dimensional image. Calvin named the half-dozen men and women who had posed with us at the altar, describing their relationship to him or his father. I gazed longingly at the image of Dongsaeng and my mother in this group shot. He divided the pictures and slipped a copy of my pa.s.sport picture in his pocket, a tiny gesture that encouraged a blossoming sense of closeness to him. "I'll give these to my father to show my mother tomorrow. You keep the rest until we can frame them." I thanked my husband, glad to have in my possession the photograph with my mother and Dongsaeng in it, and hoped I'd have a chance the next day to send one of the images home.

To become accustomed to walking in raised heels, I decided to wear the leather shoes handed down from Mrs. Bennett, tying them tightly. We went out. Lit with electric lights, the streets were quiet, a few automobiles and a tram pa.s.sing now and then as we strolled the paved sidewalks. The stars loomed high above the cl.u.s.ter of tall buildings, the night breeze cool and gentle on my arms.

"A full day," Calvin said presently.

"Yes." I thought hard to say something else but was feeling stupidly shy. We pa.s.sed the stone and brick church where I'd been joined to this man. "A big church. Beautiful," I offered.

"I'm very pleased." He touched my bare forearm.

Instinctively I withdrew and crossed my arms, then regretted my reaction. I disengaged my arms and smiled at him. "A good day." His eyes reflected streetlight and calm, and I relaxed. "Thank you," I added. His smile warmed me to my toes, and I wondered if this was what love was.

We approached a large stately building fronted with pilasters, surrounded by tall iron railings and draped with a huge imperial flag. "Perhaps this is the Manchu palace," said Calvin, pausing as if to take in the enormity of change that fact elicited. If it was indeed where the last Chinese emperor resided, we were witnessing the home of the end of the Qing Dynasty, as ign.o.ble an end as our nation had suffered.

We walked on and pa.s.sed other buildings newly built in European styles, their austere profiles brightly lit. I looked to the heavens and noted how few stars were visible from beneath the streetlights, and I thought that maybe the price of progress was too high. "It's as modern here as downtown Seoul."

He smiled. "The government office in Pyeongyang is not as prominent as any of these. Yuhbo, here's the plan. Tomorrow early, we'll take the train and I'll pick up the trunk I stored at the Pyeongyang station. My father will meet us, then he'll take you to the pa.s.sport office while I travel on to Busan. After you get your papers, he'll help retrieve your luggage from the stationmaster and you'll follow me to Busan. I hope you'll have time to visit my mother. I'll give you the cable address of the Presbyterian mission, and you can wire when I should meet your train."

"Thank you for thinking of everything."

"We'll see. I'm afraid it might take more than a day to secure your papers. You'll have to wire in any case. There's a telegraph near the pa.s.sport office; my father will show you."

"Yes, thank you." Our footsteps fell quietly side by side.

"If you're delayed, at least you'll have a few days with my mother. I do want her to meet you."

"It would be an honor to serve your parents."

"I'm afraid the house is small, not at all what you're accustomed to, but it would only be for a short time."

I wondered what happened to the two-story house busy with patriots and serving as a sock factory. "Please don't worry. I already regret that I'm not entering your household properly." We turned a corner where the buildings stood short and squat and the streets narrowed, and instinctively we turned back toward the hotel.

"We should practice English," he said. "Where can I send a cable?" He repeated the phrase in English, as did I, savoring the consonants in my throat. He corrected my p.r.o.nunciation with new phrases pertaining to travel, and I recorded them in my mind in phonetic Korean. By the time we entered the lobby, we were laughing lightly from the lessons, and I didn't flinch at all when he took my elbow to climb the stairs.

He excused himself to the bathroom, and I busily packed the photographs and turned down the bed. He appeared in shirtsleeves, his tie unknotted and draped like a minister's shawl. I lowered my eyes and slipped past him carrying my nightgown. "Dear G.o.d," I said silently disrobing. "Help me to not be afraid." Trying to banish anatomy textbook images of reproductive organs that floated behind my eyes, I tied my nightgown over b.r.e.a.s.t.s swelling helplessly to quickened heartbeats, and scrubbed my feet, face and hands. Noiselessly, I hurried across the empty hallway and was grateful to see the room darkened and him beneath the covers.

The silhouette of blankets lifted to welcome me. I placed my dress over the chair, my fingers shaking, and lay beside him, flat and scared and as far away as possible. Shifting near, he drew a finger from my ear to my chin as my eyes adjusted to the dark. I saw his full lips smiling, his lopsided front teeth, and focused on his night-deepened eyes. His hand traveled to my neck, over the k.n.o.bs of my collarbone, sending coolness through my body. Putting his lips to my ear, he fumbled with the ties of my nightgown and whispered, "My wife." His hands slid to caress me.

Surprised that my body warmed, I wasn't sure if I wanted to push him away or embrace him, but I lay still, conscious of my duty to my new husband. He tugged the gown aside and caressed me, his hands fumbling across my hips. On their own, my legs parted and bent. I gasped when his fingers pressed against me, opening. He lifted the blankets and moved on top, while my unwitting hands gathered him close and my legs received him. I cried out with fullness, then pain that made me grimace. He pushed once, twice, more, and in the confusion of sheets and sensation, I opened my eyes, flushed with unexpected pleasure as he moved.

"Najin," he said. I felt a pulse on my thigh, then wetness. I loosened my body and he breathed against my neck, his lips soft. He turned on his side with a contented sigh that pleased me. He touched my face, then threw his arm across my chest and fell asleep. Worried about the mess below, I gently raised my hips and tucked my nightgown beneath. When he breathed deeply with sleep, I crept out of bed, donned a slip and tiptoed across the hall. I washed the nightgown and myself, then by the pale streetlight filtering through the curtain in our room, spread a hotel towel over the wet bedsheet. Lying wide-awake, I smiled at his throaty snores. My thigh tingled as if remembering him there, and I was grateful he hadn't released himself inside me-pregnancy would be impossible for a college student!-although I wasn't sure if it was intentional or not. The ceiling fixture seemed to form the characters for woman. I closed my eyes to unweave the feelings trapped in my body. A small ache below caused me to clench my pelvic muscles, and the wave of deepness recalled my solitary nights in Changdeok Palace down the hall from the princess. Now a married woman, I gave myself permission to continue until my hips tensed, then lightened, and a small sound sprang from deep in my body. After checking that Calvin's breathing remained unchanged, I lay flat and straight on the too-soft mattress, and slept.

I woke in complete darkness as Calvin pressed against me. His legs guided mine apart and he hovered above. His lips brushed my lips and his rough chin scratched my ear and neck. I hoisted my pelvis to straighten the towel, and he grasped my hips. I willed my body to comply with his and hid involuntary cries in his shoulder. He moved faster, and as I felt his tension mounting, I pushed him out with my legs. He splashed on my belly and I reached down to contain it. My fingers raked across his s.e.x. Frightened by his sharp intake of breath, I said, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you," he murmured and rolled to his side. I lay still, my hand cupped on my sticky belly and waited for him to fall asleep, but he tossed a while, tugging the sheets. Eventually he said sleepily, "And you, Yuhbo. Are you all right?"

Struck by his consideration, I thanked him and said that I was. I felt grateful to him for asking, and so blessed and undeserving all at once that tears filled my eyes. I waited until he slept then sneaked out of bed again, this time wearing his jacket to cross the hall. I put a luxurious two inches of warm water in the bottom of the tub, deathly afraid that the splashing faucet would wake him or another hotel guest. I'd paid scant attention to my womanly nakedness before this night-too unchaste an act-and I studied my body as if seeing it for the first time. The hot water burned between my legs and my body shuddered with the memory of him. So, this is marriage So, this is marriage, I thought. It made me feel full and warm, and I believed this most certainly was love.

Returning to the bed, I slept fitfully, afraid I'd oversleep. When he reached for me once more, I saw the room outlined in dawn and pulled away. "Nearly time to rise. Sleep a little longer, Yuhbo." I washed and dressed in a plain hanbok, glad I'd thought to bring the rags needed for bleeding. I woke him cheerily and he leaned against me, groggy with sleep. We laughed as he crossed the room tripping over his falling pajama trousers. That simple, spontaneous laughter, a mere few seconds, was a moment I would come to cherish.

As I stripped the bed and listened for the toilet flushing and the faucets running, I thought of Kira that day throwing salt on my father's bloodied shirt, and sudden homesickness burned my eyes. Gathering the sheets, I brushed aside my tears and barged into the bathroom. In the tub, Calvin raised his knees in surprise, and before averting my eyes I glimpsed his shoulder's sylvan curves, his smooth wet skin.

He angled his body just so in the tub. "You don't have to do that. They have maids."

"I couldn't! It's too embarra.s.sing-" I quickly ran water on the linens.

He laughed. "More embarra.s.sing than walking in on a man taking a bath?"

"I'm not looking at my husband!" I left the sheets to soak and ran out.

A bit later I thought I heard him rinsing the linens. I hurried across. "Let me do that. That's my work. You shouldn't!" I didn't want him to see my blood.

"If you insist on sharing the bathroom with me, bring my shaving kit from the suitcase."

"Yuhbo," I called after a few minutes. "I can't open it."

Dressed in his trousers and undershirt he brought the wrung linens, which we spread over the end of the bed. We b.u.mped as he leaned to show me how to release the suitcase latch, and he held me then, my head naturally drawn to his shoulder. A sigh pa.s.sed through me as quickly as his touch had awakened the ache from below, but I slapped at his hands and said lightly, "There's time later." Then I reddened thoroughly, for I'd meant to say there wasn't time.

"A lifetime!" Calvin pressed his lips to my palm. He swept up his shaving gear and retired to the bathroom, and I brought my hand to my nose to see if I could smell his touch.

The Linen Closet

SEPTEMBER 1934.

IN THE CROWDED SECOND-CLa.s.s COACH TO PYEONGYANG, CALVIN spoke little and smiled often. We'd eaten the rice b.a.l.l.s from Cook earlier in the privacy of our hotel room, with coffee and iced water he had somehow ordered to be delivered. The train stopped at the border town of Anteong on the Yalu River, and pa.s.sengers quickly filled every available s.p.a.ce. For the remainder of the uneventful trip to the city of my married residency, with food from home in my belly and his companionable jostling against my hip and shoulder, I was content.

Reverend Cho was waiting for us at the depot, and Calvin, before boarding his train, reviewed the plan once again. Conscious that my father-in-law was present, I said goodbye to my husband with a simple bow. I needn't have worried, for Reverend Cho grasped Calvin by the shoulders, pressed lips to his son's forehead and they embraced fully, both their eyes wet. Stunned by the public display, I turned aside. Calvin's train pulled out from the station and I waved once, whereas Reverend Cho held his arm high, waving long after the smoke had cleared. I remembered that on the promontory overlooking the beach Calvin had said, "I am a b.u.mpkin," and also, "Your father told me what a refined upbringing you've had." I felt both shamed and proud and understood I'd have to work on humbleness in my marriage. But it was not an immediate concern; in America I'd be mostly separate from my husband, busy with English language studies and coursework.

The Pyeongyang station, three times the size of Gaeseong's, bustled with vendors, porters, pa.s.sengers and police. Streetfront trams rattled below their electric wires, men with carts jostled by, a few rickshaw drivers boasted speed and beggars cried for alms. I clutched my bundle to my chest and dutifully followed my father-in-law into the city. He stopped at corners to offer me a ready smile and a few words of chitchat.

"Heavy clouds coming. Perhaps just a shower this time. Maybe thunderstorms, eh? We go down this street and turn left. See that high wall? That's the west side of our mission compound." He pointed out a few churches and named landmark buildings, each time waiting for me to respond.

Thus far I'd merely nodded, but his persistent remarks seemed to require something more. "So big!" I tried.

He smiled as if discovering that indeed I could speak. I took note of his large narrow teeth, all the uppers edged in gold. It appeared the Cho line suffered with soft teeth. "The manse is behind the church. See that steeple? This restaurant is patronized by Westerners and that one across the way, j.a.panese." He waited until we pa.s.sed a checkpoint and said, "That's their means of surveillance on the American missionaries. Not terribly enlightened tactics, I must say." I looked around to see if anyone else was listening to his carefree talk.

A plain building of whitewashed mortar housed the government offices. Cultivated rows of marigolds and begonias edged a graveled yard and paved driveways, all surrounded by iron fencing. Showing my papers, Reverend Cho explained our business to the men in the guardhouse. They refused his request to accompany me and gave brisk directions to the proper office. My father-in-law encouraged me on and pointed across the street to a restaurant next door to the telegraph office where he'd wait for me.

I pa.s.sed beneath the imperial flag and through gla.s.s doors. My papers were checked again and my bundle was inspected. The poured stone floor held my echoing footsteps and those of a few others in need of official business. Signs above two entrances to the pa.s.sport office divided nationals and j.a.panese citizens, and from a queue that spilled from the Korean side, young men filled out forms or shifted their feet. The small drab room was quiet except for the occasional whisper of one a.s.sisting another with paperwork, and a murmur coming from a grated window behind which a single official asked questions of the applicant before him.

"Excuse me," I whispered to the young man at the end of the line who wore a student's uniform. "Where is the application?" He sent a request up the line and a form was pa.s.sed back.

"Elder Sister, do you need brush and ink?" He looked from my bobbed hair to my traditional hanbok to Mrs. Bennett's shoes with curiosity. When I nodded, he whispered up the line again and room was made for me at a counter where I could stand and complete the form. I filled it out carefully, firmly writing education education in the reason-for-travel box. Back in line, I drew out my other doc.u.ments: crisp marriage certificate and declaration of Pyeongyang residency, identification, work and tax permit, graduation certificates and transcripts, my photograph in Jaeyun's dress, a letter of support and sponsorship from the Bennetts on official Presbytery stationery, and the embossed letter of acceptance to Goucher College. I waited patiently for more than an hour, refraining from searching each departing applicant's face for disappointment or victory. Their stooped shoulders and bowed heads were obvious enough, but I was convinced they weren't as thoroughly prepared as I was. in the reason-for-travel box. Back in line, I drew out my other doc.u.ments: crisp marriage certificate and declaration of Pyeongyang residency, identification, work and tax permit, graduation certificates and transcripts, my photograph in Jaeyun's dress, a letter of support and sponsorship from the Bennetts on official Presbytery stationery, and the embossed letter of acceptance to Goucher College. I waited patiently for more than an hour, refraining from searching each departing applicant's face for disappointment or victory. Their stooped shoulders and bowed heads were obvious enough, but I was convinced they weren't as thoroughly prepared as I was.

At last the pa.s.sport official nodded for me to approach, his round gla.s.ses reflecting glare from an overhead light. He asked perfunctory questions about my birthplace, education and work. I presented my papers and he raised an eyebrow. "Your j.a.panese is accomplished." I hoped this was a good sign. "Married yesterday, I see."

"Yes sir."

"Did you marry in order to leave the country?"

I hadn't expected this sort of questioning. "No sir. I was betrothed in May." I knew that made no sense and remembered what the Bennetts had coached me to say. "I-I am traveling to further my education in medicine, since the women's professional school in Seoul has limited opportunities in that field."

"Where is your husband?"

"Traveling to Busan at the moment."

"And from there you both plan to travel overseas?"

"Yes sir."

"Same university?"

"No sir. I am enrolled at a women's college in a nearby town." I pointed to the Goucher letter.

He scanned the American letters and their translations, the papers mirrored in his spectacles, little miniature doc.u.ments of hope. He tossed them back under the grate. "Foolish to accept enrollment without official sanction."

A stone fell, hollowing my body. I kept my tone even and my face impa.s.sive. "Forgive me sir. The Presbyterian mission arranged for the college. I was told the matter had been taken care of. These letters show-"

"Denied."

"What? But sir, the letters-"

"The letters are in order. If you want to further your education, a student visa to Tokyo is granted."

The fear that pulled inside drained to cold panic. I shoved a prepared wad of bills under the grille. "Please sir. Here is the fee. Tokyo offers nursing only- I'm not accepted into Tokyo-"

The money disappeared. "Our Korean sisters are welcome in our universities. With your education, fluency and high marks, you'll be admitted with ease."

"Sir, my husband waits-"

His lips thinned. "He can go to Tokyo with you. It is among the finest universities in the world." He frowned when I leaned heavily against the counter. "Madam, it is not a difficult matter to rescind his visa." He wrote something across my application, placed it on a stack beside his elbow, collected my doc.u.ments, stamped my identification-a red seal with a line across it-and slid my papers back to me.

"I beg you, sir!" The whispers from the queue of applicants behind me were meaningless winds pa.s.sing through my body.

"Denied. Do not attempt to reapply unless for a student visa to Tokyo."

"I beg you, sir. I plead for your understanding- My husband-" I grasped the bars and the whispering behind me grew louder.

"Denied! Shall I call the guard?"

I took my doc.u.ments with wooden hands. My eyes were dry, yet I couldn't see my way out of the pa.s.sport office and b.u.mped into someone. I dropped my pouch and left my bundle. "You forgot your things, Elder Sister," said a young man. "Let me walk with you outside." I followed him numbly, the sound of our footsteps vacant and pounding. At the entrance he said, "Here we are. Are you alone? Do you want me to escort you home?" The concern on this stranger's earnest face gave me strength and my manners surfaced.

"No, thank you. My father-in-law waits for me. I'm sorry to have troubled you. You're very kind."

"If you're sure-"

I tried to smile without success. I turned to cross the street and was cursed by a man running with a cart, into which I nearly collided. Reverend Cho must have been watching, for he was beside me in an instant. He thanked the young man, grasped my shoulders and led me to the safety of the telegraph office's sidewalk. He studied my pale expression. "How bad?" he said.

I knew that the word denied denied wouldn't pa.s.s my lips without a flood of vitriol or tears. I unfolded my identification and gave it to him. wouldn't pa.s.s my lips without a flood of vitriol or tears. I unfolded my identification and gave it to him.

He examined the red stamp and uttered a sympathetic "Hmm." He returned my doc.u.ment and steered me inside the cafe. "We'll have something to drink before we send a cable." The proprietress smiled at his rapid return and teased him about having a crush on her. He ordered two roasted barley teas and moved to a back table. I sat stiffly.

He sipped and sat silent across from me for some time. "Please drink something. I don't want you to faint." I complied, forcing the tea past my throat that was tight with disbelief, my stomach leaden with so much lost in an instant. "That's good," he said. I bowed my head to hide my eyes, for at that moment I hated him, his condescension, his patronizing warmth. I hated the clerk behind the grille, the cart man who had cursed at me, the j.a.panese police who were always everywhere. I hated them all. I remembered from my youth the red-eyed palace guard's iron stare, the pockmarked soldier who had exposed himself to Kira and me, and they justified my hatred. And yes, I hated my husband. He had taken my future and dreams in his hands and had instead led me here. I had given my body to him, the ultimate act of trust, and he had brought me to this empty table. It would have been better if I had never hoped for America, than to have hoped and have it denied. And I had wondered if my feelings for him were love! Reverend Cho cleared his throat, and I struggled to keep the tea from coming up as bile. Then I felt shame for my weakness in succ.u.mbing to such emotion, yet what is shame but hatred turned inward? I closed my eyes and told myself to be still, act properly, dutifully, close the door to the storm inside.

Reverend Cho spoke gently and softly in Korean, as if only our native tongue could give solace. "The stamp on your identification restricts you from leaving the imperium. I have the same as a result of March First, as do many other patriots who were arrested that day and the many days since. You should consider yours an equally honorable badge." I said nothing and he continued. "Of course you're greatly disappointed, but you're young. Another chance will come. They are not to be our false masters forever. I know the most difficult part for you at this moment must be the separation from your husband at the dawn of your marriage, and that indeed is a great misfortune. However, G.o.d has his reasons for both the lightness of joy and the burden of disappointment in our lives. Have faith in his wisdom and his greater plan, and trust that all will come to good once more, that all will be shown in time. Let's pray together and perhaps your faith will grow to contain this kind of bad news, and much more besides."

I kept my head bowed, vexed that he'd seen something of my feelings and accurately attributed it to wavering faith. Let him see then! I had nothing left-why hold on to propriety?

He clasped his hands and prayed, "Father in Heaven, my daughter and I come before you in bleakness and anger. She is burdened by the loss of her plan of international travel and American schooling, the separation of her new husband-my second son-married in your house only yesterday ..."

I chafed under his prayer. It took all my training to suppress the urge to kick my chair across the room and run from the table. I thought then of my mother, her tear-soaked handkerchief tucked into my skirtband, and I breathed hard to feel it pressed against my heart. It quelled the wrathful buzz in my ears, enough to sit and hear Reverend Cho's impa.s.sioned prayer, which seemed to go on forever. But it was a kind prayer, and after the amen amen I found myself somewhat chastened by his sensitivity. I glanced at my father-in-law's eyes, which were wet. I lowered mine, dry, and said, "I will pray on this." I found myself somewhat chastened by his sensitivity. I glanced at my father-in-law's eyes, which were wet. I lowered mine, dry, and said, "I will pray on this."

"That's all I ask."