(Author’s note: The restaurant mentioned in this story is real. Sam Wo opened his restaurant in 1906 after the earthquake. Its doors are closing forever today, April 20, 2012. I had a completely different idea for this story until I saw the news yesterday that Sam Wo’s was shutting down.)
March 1907
San Francisco, California
Samuel Lee stepped out of the family’s Waverly Place house and into the sunlight. Hard to believe that nearly a year had passed since the earthquake that devastated the city. With the help of Chinatown’s many Benevolent and Family Societies, many had been able rebuild. Those who had not paid their dues were not always so fortunate. Like the rest of San Francisco, parts of Chinatown were still in a shambles.
Samuel was not thinking about that so much, though. He was in love. He had never seen a girl so handsome, so intelligent … so perfect for him. Except for one problem: she was not Chinese. All right, two problems: she was the girl whom his own sister, Ming, served as amah. Veronique LeMaitre: the girl his sister brought home for their Lunar New Year celebration. Samuel had every reason to believe that she would return his regard; he had seen how she looked at him, after all. And, she had agreed to meet him at Sam Wo’s restaurant for luncheon. Surely that meant something.
The Chinese Exclusion Act would make any courtship problematic … and illegal. It held that no Chinese man could marry a woman who was not likewise Chinese. It was the same act that had prevent his Caucasian father from marrying his mother – although it had not prevented him getting two children on her and causing her some disgrace despite their love for one another. Samuel was determined to be a modern man, but he would also not disgrace a lady of quality in that fashion.
He turned the corner onto Washington Street and checked his reflection in the windows. His Western haircut, that had made his mother so angry, was sharp. His suit, from the Sears, Roebuck catalog, proclaimed him to be a modern man. He took a deep breath as he opened the door to number 813. Perhaps she would not have come.
No, there she was, sitting at a table by herself with a pot of tea. Samuel sat down across from her.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “I hope you had no trouble finding the place.”
“I had Beau-Pere show me where it was on a map; I knew where to go after I got off the omnibus.”
He took in her appearance: elegant day dress, and high-buttoned shoes, and a beautiful hat with a green lining that set off her emerald eyes to perfection. Her black hair was styled in a riot of loops and curls that was the fashion of the day. It was hard to believe that she was not yet sixteen years old. At twenty, Samuel judged that this was an ideal age difference.
“You look beautiful today, Veronique.”
“And you are very handsome, Samuel.” She meant it; she had not quite forgotten her love for Modigliani … but Ming’s brother was one of the most attractive men she had ever met. And, unlike Modigliani, he did not pat her on the head and treat her as though she were a child. She was a grown-up young lady, with her hair up and her skirts long. An adult.
Samuel spoke to the waiter in Mandarin. The waiter looked at Veronique and muttered something to which Samuel took exception; his face and tone became more stern. The waiter bowed a little and walked away.
“Is there something wrong?”
“No.” Samuel would never tell her that the waiter had asked what he thought he was doing with a gwai lo girl. It was an insulting thing to call her: “round eye.” No one would speak like that of the girl he loved.
He reached across the table and offered his open hand to Veronique, who took it with a shy smile.
Victory.