Red Thread Sisters (9781101591857) Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  twenty-six

  twenty-seven

  twenty-eight

  twenty-nine

  Acknowledgments

  If you want to help . . .

  VIKING

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in the United States of America by Viking, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2012

  Copyright © Carol Antoinette Peacock, 2012

  All rights reserved

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Peacock, Carol Antoinette.

  Red thread sisters / by Carol Antoinette Peacock.

  p. cm.

  Summary: After an American family adopts eleven-year-old Wen from a

  Chinese orphanage, she vows to find a family for her best friend, too.

  ISBN 978-1-101-59185-7

  I. Title.

  PZ7.P3117Re 2012 [Fic]—dc23 2012019511

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For children in orphanages all over the world waiting for families of their own

  An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.

  —ANCIENT CHINESE LEGEND

  one

  “Shu Ling, where are you?” Zhang Wen called. Chilled in the early morning air of September, Wen pulled a thin sweater around her shoulders. The orphanage threw a long shadow across the courtyard.

  Where is she? Wen wondered. Today of all days!

  Wen’s new sandals pinched her toes as she picked her way through the bits of glass and metal strewn along the path. Dingy diapers were spread on the bushes to dry. From the open windows of the orphanage, she heard the babies crying.

  “Shu Ling, please! Where are you?”

  Wen knew she couldn’t have gone far, not with her bad leg.

  Wen stepped over some rusted pipes and then, striding through a thick patch of long grasses, she veered left until she reached the hill ahead. There she saw her friend, crouched like a cricket on a stack of tires. Her bony knees pointed upward, her elbows jutted from her sides.

  “Finally!” Wen said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “I’m here,” said Shu Ling. Her voice was low. “Our place.” She swept her arm across the dusty space, surrounded by a gully filled with trash.

  “Of course this is where you’d be.” Wen wrung her skirt as if to squeeze out the sadness rising inside her like a flood.

  “You have new clothes.” Shu Ling appraised her.

  Wen hoisted up the denim skirt that Auntie Lan Lan had laid out for her that morning. “The skirt’s just newer than usual, that’s all. It’s a little big.” She combed her fingers through her short hair, so the black clumps on top would lie flat.

  “You look good.” Shu Ling rose from the tires, teetered, and then rested her arm on Wen.

  Wen felt the familiar weight of Shu Ling’s arm, fitting as perfectly as a puzzle piece in the hollow of her shoulder. Say it, she told herself. Just say it.

  Wen cleared her throat. “Zai jian,” she said. “Good-bye. I have to go now.”

  “Your new family? They’re all here?” Shu Ling swayed. “Just like the photo?”

  Wen nodded. “Like the photo.”

  The snapshot of Wen’s new family had come a month ago, all the way from America. The day the photo arrived, Wen and Shu Ling sat on the cement floor of the common room, the family portrait between them. They admired Wen’s mother, her frizzy hair the color of corn and funny little eyeglasses perched on her nose. Beside the mother stood a stout father with a bald head.

  “Round Man,” Wen had named him, and Shu Ling laughed. On his back, Round Man carried a grinning, pigtailed Chinese girl, who must also have been adopted. Taped to the photo was a note, written in neat Chinese characters:

  Dear Zhang Wen,

  Here is a photo of us, your new family. We live in a town near a city called Boston in the state of Massachusetts. We have been waiting for you for a long time. Your new room is all ready. You will go to school with Emily on the school bus. We can’t wait to meet you and welcome you into our family.

  See you soon,

  Christine McGuire (your mom)

  Richard McGuire (your dad)

  Emily McGuire (your sister, seven years old, favorite color pink)

  After they had read the note, Wen flipped back to the glossy picture, because words made her leaving too real. “Your mom and your dad and your sister named Emily,” Shu Ling said, as if she were chanting. Then her voice wobbled. After that, Wen hid the photograph under her straw mattress so Shu Ling wouldn’t have to see Wen’s family when she didn’t have a family of her own yet.

  Now Wen reached up and brushed a lock of hair from Shu Ling’s eyes. “Remember our deal. Whoever got picked first would get a family for the other. Once I’m in America, I’ll find a family for you! And then we can visit each other, Shu Ling. All the time.”

  “But how can we be sure, Wen?”

  “I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t know you’d be coming too.”

  “Director Feng says I’m unadoptable.” Darkness like the sky before a spring dust storm crossed Shu Ling’s face. “He says I’m getting too old, and besides—”

  Both girls glanced at Shu Ling’s misshapen right leg, shorter than the other, her foot twisted inward.

  “I’ll find you a family,” Wen said
. “Before my twelfth birthday in April. You’ll come right after me! In less than a year, Shu Ling!”

  Shu Ling stared at the cabbage from the previous night’s dinner, now rotting at the bottom of the ditch. She was silent.

  Gently, Wen drew Shu Ling toward her. “In the meantime, while I’m finding you a family over there, be sure to be very good. Otherwise, Director Feng won’t put you on the list for adoption. Remember that, Shu Ling. Don’t lie too long in your cot in the morning, OK? I won’t be here to wake you.”

  “I’ll get up,” Shu Ling said.

  “Be sure to help with all the feedings. And don’t go cuddling your favorite babies extra. Not until you’ve given a bottle to every baby in every crib.”

  “I can do the feedings fine. You know that.”

  “Also,” Wen went on, “do all the chores the aunties tell you. Don’t forget the bleach when you wash the walls. And don’t sneak off to our hill to draw. Your pictures are so good, Shu Ling. But they’ll get you in trouble.”

  “Wen, you worry too much.” Shu Ling took both of Wen’s hands into her own. “I’ll be OK.”

  “I’ll think of you every day,” Wen said.

  “You’ll be so far away.” Bending down, Shu Ling pressed her cheek against Wen’s new sweater and embraced her.

  “Zhang Wen,” a voice called. “Your family is here! Come now!”

  Wen’s heart raced. “That’s Director Feng. I should go. Zai jian, Shu Ling.”

  Wen felt Shu Ling’s grasp tighten. Then she heard Director Feng shout louder. “Zhang Wen, do not keep your new family waiting!”

  “Shu Ling,” Wen said, “I have to go.”

  Shu Ling clung to Wen, glued to Wen’s body.

  Very slowly, Wen took Shu Ling’s hands, knuckles white with gripping. One by one, Wen pried each finger from her shoulder and released herself.

  “Zai jian,” Wen said.

  “Zai jian.” Shu Ling stroked Wen’s cheek. Then she slipped a rolled-up paper in Wen’s skirt pocket. “For later.”

  “Xie xie, thank you.” Wen tucked the piece of paper deeper into her pocket. “Now remember, I’ll get you a family as soon as I can.” She traced Shu Ling’s face with her fingertips. “We’ll see each other again.”

  “You promise?” asked Shu Ling.

  “I promise,” Wen answered.

  Then she turned and ran toward the orphanage to meet her new family.

  two

  “Hurry, they’re here!” Auntie Lan Lan, the auntie in charge of the older kids, stood at the back door, just off the infant room. Behind her, bamboo cribs were crammed so close, their railings touched.

  “Tears on your happiest day, Wen? What will your new family think?” Auntie Lan Lan took a tissue from the pocket of her white auntie’s coat and dabbed Wen’s eyes. “That’s better. Such a big journey ahead for such a small girl! Let’s go!” Auntie Lan Lan grabbed Wen’s hand. “They’re in Director Feng’s office.”

  Wen could hardly believe this was really happening to her. She had always been the one who just observed adoptions, like a bystander at somebody else’s festival. She’d seen baby Ying Ying, padded with layers of quilted jackets, cling to her new mother the minute she held her. She’d watched four-year-old Jun Ren, who’d come to the orphanage with weakened lungs, sprint on skinny legs toward his new parents. Once, when the aunties were very busy, Wen had shampooed Hong’s hair, helped her with her leggings and her ruffled jacket, then placed her on her mother’s lap. “Hello, my new mother,” Hong practically sang. As she saw the other kids get new families, Wen felt a longing even deeper than her hunger at the evening meal, when breakfast had been so long ago.

  Now, at last, it was her turn. She was on her way to meet her new mama and a family of her own. Wen gripped Auntie Lan Lan’s hand as they approached Director Feng’s office.

  “Hurry, we’re late.” Auntie Lan Lan pulled Wen’s arm.

  Dazed, Wen heard Auntie Lan Lan’s voice fade in and out, like the TV with the broken volume button.

  Wen saw Director Feng’s office door ajar. She took a deep breath and felt Auntie Lan Lan’s hands on the small of her back, pushing her forward, into the office.

  “Come in,” said Director Feng tersely. “You have kept—”

  But Wen stopped listening. She had turned to stone. She knew that her new family was right there, but she couldn’t move. Unable to raise her head, she studied the thick black scrapes across the worn tile floor. She wasn’t supposed to be this afraid, not on the happiest day of her life.

  Who were these people? How could they be her family? They were strangers. Except for the worn photo under her mattress, Wen didn’t know them at all.

  Wen felt their eyes fixed on her. What did they see as they gazed at her? Were her clumps of hair lying flat? Did she look like she’d be no trouble? What if they changed their minds and didn’t want her after all?

  Then, through lowered lashes, Wen took her first glimpse of her new family. The mother and father and little sister named Emily were lined up like kids in a row, waiting for the aunties to count them at bedtime.

  Wen took another peek. The mother’s hair was yellower than she’d expected, her skin was paler, and she had more wrinkles around her mouth than in the snapshot. Her eyes were very round and very blue. Wen had never seen such eyes before.

  The father wasn’t all that fat. His bald head was shiny, as if it had been polished. The little Chinese kid, who had to be Emily, had fuller cheeks than any of the little girls in the orphanage, and her hair was glossier.

  All of a sudden, Emily tore across the room and flung her arms around Wen’s waist.

  “Wen-nie!” She spit out a stream of English words that washed over Wen like dishwater poured out after kitchen chores.

  Then Wen smelled the fragrance of lemon. Raising her head, she saw the woman with the sunshine hair, right beside her. Her new mother moved nearer, ready to hug her.

  Wen stiffened. Without warning, she knew she didn’t want this foreign lady to touch her. She made herself sink, momentarily, into her new mother’s embrace, then pulled away.

  When her father came toward her, Wen stepped back. Not another hug, so soon. Her father extended his hand toward her and timidly, she took his fingers. “Ni hao, Wen.” Her new father grinned at her so broadly his eyes twinkled.

  Wen tried to remember one of the English phrases Auntie Lan Lan had taught her especially for this day. But her mind was blank.

  From behind her, Wen heard Auntie Lan Lan whisper, “I-am-so-glad . . .”

  “I-am-so-glad-to-meet-you,” said Wen.

  “Wo de nu er,” said her mother, in poorly pronounced Chinese. “My daughter.”

  Wen shuddered. Hearing her mother speak flattened Chinese made her seem even stranger.

  Then Wen heard her mother talk and Auntie Lan Lan translate her words for Director Feng, who spoke no English. “Mrs. McGuire will leave the blankets and orphanage donation check here. The family will give Wen the small gifts so she can leave them for the other children before she goes. I will take the candies to distribute later. Then the McGuires will wait for Wen by the jeep.”

  Wen’s mother presented Auntie Lan Lan with a box of M&M packets and, smiling, handed Wen a large green plastic bag. Wen peeked again at her mother. Her hair was almost as yellow as the yellow crayon in the small-children’s activity room.

  “Be quick! Do not keep your new family waiting again,” said Director Feng.

  Her feet limber at last, Wen rushed from the room. “Auntie Lan Lan, I want to put the little presents on the beds.” What could she find in that bag that would be special for Shu Ling?

  Nodding, Auntie Lan Lan hefted the box with the candies to her chest. “Ah, M&M’s! The Americans always bring M&M’s. The children will go crazy. Aunties, too!”

&
nbsp; Wen hurried to the bedroom where all the girls slept. The twelve metal cots squeezed together left little space for aisles. Wen dumped out yo-yos, beaded hair clips, and Disney key chains on Shu Ling’s bed. She sorted through the trinkets until she found a set of slender drawing pencils, all the colors of the rainbow, and a small pad of paper. Wen hid the pencils and paper under Shu Ling’s pillow.

  As the tightness in her chest eased a little, Wen sighed. Now Shu Ling would have something to remember her by. She’d make her sketches better than ever. Wen grazed her fingertips across the top of Shu Ling’s bed.

  She’d first met Shu Ling when she was sitting on this same cot, six years ago. The aunties had found Wen at the gate and brought her here, where she huddled, all alone. She couldn’t stop shivering. Suddenly she heard a stomp-drag, stomp-drag and raised her eyes. A tall girl with a long braid down her back appeared at the door and limped toward her, carrying a bowl of steaming soup. Very carefully, the girl put the hot bowl in Wen’s hands. Then she covered her legs with a blanket and patted her arm. “Don’t worry. My name is Shu Ling. I’m your friend,” she’d said. She helped Wen lift the hot soup to her lips. Wen drank. “I’m in the next bed over,” Shu Ling had said. “You’ll sleep right here, by me.” And from that night on, she did.

  Now Wen wove through the rows of cots and went to the small, cracked window, propped open with a stick. Leaning far to the left, she could just see the dusty space. Was Shu Ling still there, waiting on the stack of tires?

  But the tires were just tires and the hill was empty.

  Wen felt an ache come so hard she doubled over, as if she’d been punched in the belly. Not now, she told herself. There was no time to be sad. She had to go.

  She put the paper Shu Ling had given her into her new backpack, along with an Olympics sweatshirt, some smooth pebbles she and Shu Ling had collected, and her family portrait from under her mattress. With one final glance at the bedroom, she flung her backpack over her shoulder and started down the dark hall. Wen looked into the boys’ bedroom, its seven cots jammed tight, a lightbulb dangling from a wire overhead. Next, she passed the infant room, where twenty black-haired babies lay, head to toe, two or three in a crib. Across the way, in the small-children’s activity room, Wen saw the toddlers, slouching in rusty walkers. At last, Wen reached the orphanage foyer.