And lightness has a call that’s hard to hear. -Indigo Girls-
Chapter 30
William’s heartbeat thundered out of his chest and up to his head. As he reached down to help Buffy up, his hand shook uncontrollably. His fear felt like a living thing, spreading its roots and tendrils through his mind. Anger may have been a bloom, but fear was the plant from which it sprang.
“Buffy, talk to me,” he demanded. “Why did you leap from the train?’
His wife’s expression betrayed panic and something akin to guilt. Her eyes locked on the chaos behind his shoulder, not on his face.
“I told you … it’s hard to explain.”
“I’ve got time.”
“I don’t,” she said, looking past him to the smoke-filled town.
From the edge of his vision, he could see several people headed toward them, including the station master.
“Buffy? Please. How could you simply … leave me in that manner?”
“I would have caught up with you in Ogden,” she said, and still she didn’t meet his eye.
He placed his trembling fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head so that she looked at him. “Darling, please. A person just doesn’t leap off a moving train. It’s simply not …” sane, he thought, as his rage withered into panic.
The station master had reached them. “Are you all right?” He was an older man and had the look of a retired cowhand, faded by the weather and too many miles in a saddle. The few other gawkers that they’d attracted hung back at a respectful distance.
“Yes, we’re fine,” William responded.
“Looked to me like you fell or … were you thrown from the train?” the station master asked skeptically.
“No! Not at all,” William began without knowing how to finish. Since Buffy was collecting herself, as it turned out, he didn’t need to.
“What’s happening?” Buffy asked the older man.
The station master gave Buffy a puzzled glance.
“In town.” She spoke slowly, as if speaking to a child. “The smoke, the screaming. What’s going on?”
“A riot. The kind that would make a regular mob seem like a prayer meetin’. Been goin’ on for nearly half the day and shows no sign on slowin’ any time soon.” The old man cast a glance to William, clearly uncomfortable that the little lady was doing all of the talking.
“Why?” Buffy shook her head. “Why would anybody riot?”
“There was some trouble in the number six pit this morning, and a couple of celestials got themselves kilt.”
Buffy gave William an exasperated look. “And I thought Englishmen ruined English.” Turning back to the station master, she asked “Number six pit?”
“The number six coal pit,” he bit out, glaring at her as if she was being purposefully obtuse. “There was some trouble with the miners, and they kilt some of the celestials …”
“Chinamen,” William clarified. “It’s a term for … people from China.”
The old man narrowed his eyes at the pair of them and his face took on a wary expression, as though he was dealing with a couple that was profoundly unbalanced. William was chilled to admit that the old man might be half right.
“And that somehow turned into a riot?” Buffy asked.
“Well, yes. Some of the boys from the Knights of Labor got a bit liquored up and reckoned that a few dead celestials was only a good start. They’re lighting up Chinatown and burnin’ them out.”
“And the rest of town is just what? Fine with that?”
“It’s a mob, ma’am. A drunk mob. Did you ever try to reason with a mob?”
“What about the cops?” Buffy was met with a puzzled look. “The police. Oh, good god. What’s your word for it? The sheriff? Where’s he?”
“Doin’ his best to make sure the rest of the town don’t burn to ash.”
A particularly ugly scream tore through the air, and the station master jumped. “Come on into the depot. It’s as safe as anywhere else in Rock Springs today. Word’s gone out on earlier trains, and we should be getting some help before nightfall – from Cheyenne or Evanston.”
They followed the man into the depot; it was a plain wooden rectangle with a few benches lining the walls. A dozen people had sought safety inside, and Buffy wove her way through them with a brisk purposefulness. Since she’d gained her memories back there was such a difference to her that he often had to look twice to confirm that it was really her. She parted the small gathering as if she were a soldier, no, a commander, and they acquiesced without question.
She stopped before the front window and he moved to her side, looking out at the wide, abandoned streets of Rock Springs. It was a lonely town, the buildings as desert-brown as the dirt streets. Though the businesses were closed for the day, a few men had gathered in front of some of the establishments, rifles slung casually over a shoulder or placed within easy reach.
The smoke and sounds wafted up from the flats that rose just around the bend of Main Street. From the train it had seemed as though the fire had come from a large, central conflagration. Now that they were closer, he could tell that it was really dozens of fires, all coming from the same neighborhood.
“They killed one right in front of our house. He was tryin’ to get away, but they drug him back into Chinatown and tossed him inna burnin’ house. It’s why ma brought us here.” A girl who couldn’t have been older than eleven had joined them at the window. She had two long brown braids and a dirt-streaked dress.
Buffy turned to face her. “I’m sorry. That must have been awful.”
The girl didn’t sound traumatized, however. Instead she seemed … curious, almost excited. “None of the celestials speak proper English, but that fellow kept screaming about ‘white demons.’ What do you reckon that’s about?”
“I … I don’t know,” Buffy said. “You didn’t see anything like that, did you?”
“Like what?”
“Something that looked like a demon. Someone that didn’t seem human?”
“Not unless you mean the Chinamen,” she shrugged. “They ain’t regular humans.”
Buffy turned back toward William, and he instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him, not entirely certain that she wouldn’t resist. She did not and surprised him by leaning her head against his chest, tucked beneath his chin.
“This whole thing is just so bizarre. Why do they hate Chinese people so much, William? For that matter, why the hell are there a bunch of Chinese in Wyoming?”
“Immigrants from China built the railroad.”
“I remember that much. I guess I just didn’t pay too much attention to what happened after. I slacked off in history, but I’m pretty sure I would have remembered something like this.”
“Now that the railroad is complete, there is nothing for the Chinese to do, so mining companies that need cheap labor hire them. Since the celestials are desperate enough to work for a pittance, it sets white workers against them and is a situation ripe for exploitation.”
“And explosion,” Buffy said, looking out the window at the rising smoke.
They could see a young white couple just coming around the bend in Main Street, headed toward the train station. Buffy was silent for a moment, contemplative. After her previous levels of ferocious energy, it took him back. Keeping up with her was exhausting.
“It wouldn’t take much,” she said.
“I’m sorry?”
“To stop it. It wouldn’t take much. Someone just needs to stand up to the chuckleheads and say ‘Knock this off. You’re better than this.’ If people would just say something, do something, instead of hiding in a train station - that might be enough to make the difference. To stop the crazies.”
“Buffy,” William urged. He touched her shoulder, and she turned to face him. Looking at her, this stranger he’d married, he felt a cacophony of memories. She’d been so many different women since they’d met. Bessie the maid, Elizabeth the bride, Buffy the reluctant time traveler. And now this woman who, once she’d gotten her memories back, had turned into yet another incarnation – one who kept him at a distance.
“Darling, please.” His concern for her mental state blossomed brightly in his mind. “I’d like to know why you jumped from the train.” When she didn’t respond immediately, he pressed on. Perhaps this newest version of his wife needed a stronger hand. “This trouble in town, the riot, seemed to provoke your actions. Is that why you jumped?”
“It was.” She nodded, eying him as if she was deciding something before continuing. “It was a feeling. A very strong feeling. What’s the non-stupid word for it? A compulsion. Almost as if I didn’t have a choice. I felt something very, very wrong was going on, and I had to do something about it. I’ve only ever felt anything like this once before, back when I met the First Evil and …”
Just then, the people who had been rushing to the station burst through the door, and conversation was lost to the new arrivals – a young couple that looked to be just out of their teens.
“You two all right, Frank?” The station master hustled over to the door to greet the new arrivals.
Frank nodded, catching his breath while the woman sat down on a bench behind him.
“Anybody hurt that you could see?”
“No. I mean, there are dead celestials, but our folks are fine. The Johnnys don’t seem to be fighting back.” Frank coughed and ran a sooty hand over his face. “The smart ones are running. Skinning out for Bitter Creek.”
“Your place didn’t get lit up, did it?”
“No,” the young man wheezed. “Just a lot of smoke from Chinatown. It’s nearly leveled. Them that couldn’t make it to the creek are holed up at the end of town in the Joss House – blamed stupid place for ‘em to head.”
“Why?” William asked. He felt all the eyes in the room turn to him, the stranger in their midst.
“’Cause it’s a shrine house,” said a female voice from behind them. “The place where they burn them joss sticks and pray to their false god. Let’s see how much help their god will be to ‘em now. They shoulda took their chances with the creek.” The crowd chuckled at this.
William felt a mix of shame and disgust and turned away from them, towards Buffy only to find …
She wasn’t there.
He stepped to the back of the depot, to see if she’d slipped to the edge of the room, but the room was a small rectangle, with no places to hide.
Turning to a thin, worn woman seated near the back of the room, he asked, “Excuse me, ma’am, have you seen my wife?”
The woman shook her head, dismissing him.
He was very close to the track side exit and stepped out onto the platform, scanning both directions for any sign of her. There was nothing but tracks, however, and he fought his rising dread.
William hurried back into the station, his eyes sweeping the room. He hoped there was a side room he’d missed before, the station master’s office perhaps. As he made his way through the throng towards the older man, he felt a steady and insistent tugging on his suit coat. He turned to look and saw the young girl who had spoken to Buffy earlier.
“Over here, mister,” the girl said, motioning for him to follow her.
“Beg pardon?”
“This way.” Without further explanation, the girl spun around quickly, her brown braids thwacking his arm. She led him toward the windows that looked out onto the town and, pointing a grubby finger at the glass, said simply, “Your missus.”
At first William could see nothing but the dirty, smoking town – but then, in the general direction of the girl’s pointing finger, he saw her. Buffy. Her back was to them, and she was running around the bend in Main Street at an inhuman speed, but there was no mistaking her.
His legs felt weak, and he leaned against the wall. Something sharp and bitter coiled about his chest, and he found it difficult to breathe.
His beloved Buffy … Elizabeth had clearly been driven mad from all the pressure of memories, lost and regained again. The constant shifting of time and reality had been too much, and her mind hadn’t been able to bear it. He was a bloody fool for not seeing it sooner, for not guarding against it and protecting her.
Now wasn’t the time for recriminations and blame, however. His wife had gone mad and was headed into a deadly situation. He knew that the only thing that stood the gap between her and a hate-filled mob was him.
The station had gone eerily silent in the few moments it had taken him to collect himself, and he turned to face the crowd. The girl with the braids had clearly filled the others in on the whereabouts of William’s wife, and they blinked at him – interested but emotionless, the way a person might view an advertisement for a side show attraction.
“My wife. My Elizabeth has …” He trailed off. His damned voice was trembling, and he fought to find a better hold on his emotions. He took a steadying breath, working to push his chest from the branches of fear that gripped him, and tried again. “My wife is in trouble, and I need to go to her. To Chinatown. Would any of you assist me?”
But he knew their response before he asked the question, before they met it with their silent stares. He was an outsider to them, a pilgrim. They owed him no debt, certainly not one that might obligate them paying with their lives.
So he turned, lifted the latch of the door and stepped out into the dusty street. His feet seemed to run of their own volition, before he made the decision to go.
As he ran up Main Street, he could feel their gazes upon him - the men standing vigil by their stores and saloons. Their curious, assessing glances were another product of the fear that was consuming the town. When faced with this raw side of human nature, people tended to protect what was theirs and let others fend for themselves. The stranger, the foreigner, would be the first sacrifice made in a real life or death situation. In that sense, William, Buffy and the Chinamen were held in the same esteem in these people’s eyes. And Buffy was blind to that, he knew.
As he pushed his legs around the corner of Main, panting with exertion, he was finally able to get his first view of Chinatown. The horror of it nearly rooted him right in the street.
Two small, bloody bundles lay in the road just ahead of him. It took only a heartbeat for William to realize that they were human. One was curled on his side in the fetal position, his body pointed away from William. The other was facing him – his face so bloodied and swollen it was difficult to recognize as human. It struck William how small they seemed, how childlike, how utterly unthreatening.
He forced his gaze away and looked toward the smoldering husk of Chinatown. The buildings here were nearly leveled though he could see, through the smoke, the bright orange glow of flames at the western end of town.
Once he’d come around the bend in the road the voices of the rioters were much clearer. It was plain to tell that they were moving toward the end of the village, having burned up everything closer to town. Now that William was closer to them, he was chilled to find that their voices sounded almost celebratory. It spurred him on through the smoldering rubble.
The maze of streets would have been confusing on a good day; in the midst of charred ruination and the thick smoke, it was nearly impossible. William kept his raging panic at bay and concentrated remaining on a due west course, toward the brightest part of the sky, where the sun was setting.
He heard a high coughing sound coming from just behind a pile of blackened timbers. His first foolish thought was that it must be Buffy; the relief that poured through him nearly choked him. But when he moved around the pile, he saw two bloodied Chinamen huddled together. The closest man looked up at William, his face contorting into a mask of primal fear.
William turned and ran a few steps up the street before his better nature stopped him. He pivoted back to the frightened men. “Bitter Creek,” William said. “It’s the safest choice you have.”
The huddled man just watched William, his eyes wide in terror.
“Go to Bitter Creek. Do you understand me? Bitter Creek!”
At that the Chinese man nodded. Still eying William with fear, the man struggled to his feet, supporting his wounded friend as he stood.
With no choice but to leave them behind, William pressed toward where the dying sun burned through the blackened sky and the crowd’s boisterous sounds filled the air. Toward the only place he could guess she might be heading: the Joss House.
After a few more turns, the look of the disaster began to change. The homes at the western edge were not the charred piles of burnt timbers he’d passed earlier. Though most of the houses were still burning, several dwellings were still intact. It shouldn’t have been a big enough thing to give him hope, but he held onto the slim thread all the same.
He saw it the moment he rounded the end of the block. The Joss House. Tucked against the edge of a bluff the house of worship was twice the size of the tiny houses around it.
The size of the thing wasn’t what drew his attention, however; it was the crowd gathered around the place. It was the first time he’d seen white people since entering Chinatown, and there were more than two dozen of them here – all gathered around the perimeter of the building. Though their voices sounded as if it were a festive occasion, the predatory gleam in their eyes, even from this distance, made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
And that wasn’t even the most unusual thing in this strangest of strange days. That wasn’t the sight that rooted him in his tracks. There on the porch of the Joss House, arms crossed over her chest and glaring at the surrounding crowd defiantly stood his wife, Buffy.
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Three things:
The Rock Springs Massacre was a real event, however I did have to change the year (see Dora’s Corollary mentioned in an earlier chapter). At least twenty-eight people (all Chinese) died and Chinatown burned down. No one was ever punished. There is a brief but thorough wiki article on it if you want to know more.
Hatred toward the Chinese was so great that in 1882 the U.S. passed the Chinese Exclusion Act. It’s the only time in the nation’s history that immigration was forbidden based upon ethnicity. It wasn’t repealed until 1943.
A Joss House is also real! (And I behaved like a complete fandork when I found that out!) They called them Joss Houses because a common term for incense at the time was “joss sticks.” Though there are no photos of the Joss House in Rock Springs, this is the one the survivors built after escaping along Bitter Creek and ending up in Evanston after the riot.
Maxine Hong Kingston wrote “China Men,” which was the most inspiring thing I read last year. She doesn’t touch on the Rock Springs Riot, but fully covers a lot of other atrocities and riots and is such a gorgeous writer. If you’re interested in the Chinese-American experience, I can’t recommend it enough.
