Grace spotted the flutter of a white handkerchief from the back seat—Madame Chiang was waving at them, but she didn’t get out of the car. Everyone was saying that she must be too exhausted; and besides, she was about to go visit the leaders of Chinatown at the Six Companies headquarters. There was no time to linger here, greeting the ordinary Chinese of America. They should cheer louder, so she would know that the American Chinese supported her. Grace reminded herself, not for the first time, that Madame Chiang was practically half American, having been educated in the United States. She clung to this idea as the motorcade disappeared and was followed by the St. Mary’s drum corps, beating a merry rhythm just as if it were Chinese New Year.
“Mama, I thought the parade was this afternoon,” Lily said.
“There is another one this afternoon. This one is to welcome Madame Chiang to Chinatown.”
“Two parades! In one day?”
“Yes, two parades.”
“This madame must be very important.”
Grace smiled at her daughter. “Yes. She is a very important Chinese woman, indeed.”
* * *
—
The disadvantage of being part of a parade, Grace realized, was that one didn’t get to see the rest of it. But the historic moment must be appreciated, she told herself, as she marched back and forth to keep an eye on the twenty restless children she had been charged with supervising. Her group was but one of dozens, adding up to what she had heard was thousands of children. They were all dressed in traditional Chinese clothes, ranging from colorful caps tasseled in gold to white silk pajamas embroidered with pink flowers. Lily and her friend Shirley wore matching sky-blue silk trousers and mandarin-collared jackets with yellow frog buttons. They were as enraptured with their costumes as they were with the importance of their endeavor: representing the young Chinese in America. The responsibility, imparted to them by Grace and the other mothers, seemed to rest lightly on their slim shoulders. They were simply thrilled to be gathered together with their friends beneath a clear afternoon sky on what should have been a school day.
When it was finally their time to join the parade, Grace lined up her charges and led them toward Civic Center. The crowds that lined Polk Street were thirty, forty people deep; Grace couldn’t see where they ended. As they neared City Hall, the cheering became thunderous, and she could feel the excitement rattling her bones, as if an earthquake were shaking the confetti-covered streets.
They said that Madame Chiang was watching the parade from the balcony above the entrance to City Hall. Grace gazed up between the columns and saw tiny people there, but she couldn’t recognize anyone. She didn’t even see the white flash of Madame Chiang’s handkerchief, which she must surely be waving at the masses gathered below her.
Grace noticed a plane flying overhead, the groan of its engine swallowed by the cheering crowd. It pulled a wide white banner painted with a dark circle. The sight of it caused a sudden drop in her mood. It was a warplane towing a target sleeve out to the ocean, where it would be used for machine gun practice by navy pilots rehearsing their attacks against the Japanese. She wondered if Madame Chiang saw it, too.
* * *
—
When the Lums invited the Hus to join them for dinner at their home after the parade, Grace was grateful to accept. The day had been exhilarating but exhausting, and she didn’t want it to end by taking the children home to their small, dark apartment.
Grace had often secretly envied the Lums. There was something very appealing to her about their large, boisterous family, with many generations and cousins all living together above their restaurant. And she admired the ease with which Ruby Lum, Shirley’s mother, managed the entire household. There was a time, before Lily was born, when Grace had thought she would move to China with Joseph and be part of his family, as was proper for a Chinese wife, but the Japanese invasion of Shanghai had scuttled those plans. Sometimes she was still resentful about it. Instead of taking her rightful position in Joseph’s family as the wife of the eldest son, she had been relegated to this faraway city alone. She knew she should be grateful to her mother for moving in with her to help with the children while Joseph was in the army, but she struggled to find her gratitude. She felt as if she had somehow moved home again, like a penniless widowed daughter, even though the situation was the opposite.
She could never let Joseph know she felt this way. To think that she would envy the wife of a restaurant owner—even a successful one!—over her own position as the wife of a Stanford-educated doctor. In China, Joseph’s family would outrank the Lums, but here in America, Grace wasn’t sure the same social stratification applied. People treated Joseph with respect to his face, but Grace knew that to many of Chinatown’s residents—all those old bachelors crowded six to a room—Dr. Joseph Hu was an uppity Shanghainese who didn’t speak their language.