“I’m honored, Miss Wing,” Joseph said, and extended his hand to Grace in the American way.
“Welcome to San Francisco,” she said, shaking his hand.
“Thank you,” Joseph said. “It’s wonderful to be here at last. I’ve heard so much about your city.”
“Oh, I’m not a San Francisco native,” Grace replied. “I only arrived here myself a few months ago. Mrs. Woo has been here much longer.”
“Almost my whole life,” Mrs. Woo said. “I came here as a girl from Kwangtung. Where are you from?”
“Shanghai.”
Mrs. Woo looked at him more curiously. “Shanghai! Is your family all there?”
“Yes. My father is a friend of one of Reverend Hubbard’s acquaintances.”
Reverend Hubbard smiled. “I’m glad that Paul told you about our church here. We’re happy to have you.”
They traded a few more pleasantries about their church connections while Grace sipped her coffee and tried not to appear as if she were staring. She guessed that he was a few years older than she was. There was something slightly mischievous about the expression on Joseph Hu’s face, as if he were containing himself in response to Reverend Hubbard’s and Mrs. Woo’s commentary on their mutual acquaintances and, then, the differences between San Francisco and Shanghai weather at this time of year. （San Francisco, he allowed, was much more pleasant in late summer.） Grace had nothing to contribute to the conversation, so she stayed quiet. She didn’t know this Paul, and she’d never been to Shanghai, though she knew it was supposed to be glamorous. In fact, just that morning in the Chronicle she had seen a story about two rival Shanghai actresses, said to be so beautiful that they somehow brought about the downfall of Manchuria to Japan. She hadn’t had time to finish reading the article, and she considered mentioning it in case Joseph had seen it, but she couldn’t work out how to insert it into the discussion. Besides, the fellowship hall seemed the wrong place to bring up such a scandalous story.
After a few more minutes of banal conversation, Reverend Hubbard excused himself to continue on his rounds, and Mrs. Woo invited Joseph to join her and Grace. Grace was sure he would politely decline—a man like him surely had more important things to do—but he agreed without hesitation, and soon the three of them were seated together in the corner, sipping their coffees.
“Reverend Hubbard said you are a nursing student?” Joseph said, turning to Grace.
“Yes. Up at Parnassus,” Grace said. They talked about her nursing program for a few minutes while Mrs. Woo watched the two of them cannily.
“Tell me about your family, Mr. Hu,” Mrs. Woo said when they came to a pause. “Your father—he is a . . . ?”
“He is a professor at Nan Yang College in Shanghai.”
Grace imagined a mandarin wearing a round cap and sporting a long white beard, but then she chastised herself; he probably wore modern suits like Joseph.
“And you are the oldest son?” Mrs. Woo asked.
Joseph nodded. “I have two younger brothers and two younger sisters.”
“Are any of them in the United States?”
“No. It’s only me right now. But my younger brother Arthur hopes to come over in the next year or two.”
“To study medicine as well?”
“Perhaps. He is also considering engineering.” Joseph gave Grace a brief glance, and once again she suspected that he was containing himself. She began to think he might enjoy discussing scandalous Shanghai actresses more than his brother’s educational goals.
“Ah. And are you here on a Boxer scholarship?”
Joseph smiled. “No, I’m afraid I am not.”
“Some other scholarship, then?” Mrs. Woo pressed.
Grace shot Joseph a pained smile as Mrs. Woo continued to question him about his financial situation, but Joseph either didn’t mind or he was doing a good job of pretending. It turned out that his travel to the United States was supported by a scholarship from a Presbyterian mission in Shanghai, which explained why he had come to the Chinese Presbyterian Church today. But his tuition was privately funded, which meant Joseph Hu’s family was probably well-off. Grace thought again about glamour, about Anna May Wong in Shanghai Express, her seductive silk gowns and coy dark eyes wreathed in cigarette smoke. She’d liked the film a lot when she saw it a few years ago, though she couldn’t admit that at church. （Her mother refused to see it because their Chinese minister condemned it as immoral.） But Joseph’s family was likely extremely respectable and had nothing to do with the dramatic world of warlords and fallen women depicted onscreen. She felt a slight disappointment at the self-inflicted puncturing of her fantasy.