Red Thread Sisters (9781101591857) Read Online Free PDF Page A

kitchen.
    â€œ
Ni zao
, Wen,” said her mother. “Good morning.”
    Emily chattered in jumbled English that Wen did not understand. At the stove, her father was frying some brown strips.
    â€œ
Ni zao
,” he called over the sizzling of the griddle.
    Once Wen sat down, her mother set in front of her a plate heaped with something puffy and yellow, topped with her father’s crispy brown strips, still hot.
    â€œHey, Wen:
bay-con
.”
    Wen eyed the crinkled strips, like ribbon, piled on the mountain of yellow fluff. She picked up a slab, took a tiny bite, and then devoured the whole thing.
    â€œBaaaaay-con,” Wen repeated. She ate all the yellow fluff and two servings of the crispy bacon, washed down with several glasses of cold milk, so much creamier than the orphanage milk. Then she had two bowls of oatmeal.
    â€œ
Ni ha shi e le.
You were hungry.” As he read from the card ring, her father patted his rounded belly and smiled at her.
    E.
Just a tiny word.
Hungry.
    â€œE?”
Shu Ling would ask, once she and Wen left the babies and lined up with the other kids down the long hall to the kitchen. Wen nodded, so hungry her stomach rumbled. Usually Cook served the children bowls of dry cornmeal, which they moistened with water from the sink faucet. Sometimes Wen got a hard-boiled egg with some pickled cabbage or a steamed bun. On summer mornings, when there was more food, Wen and the others had noodles or little cat-ear dumplings splashed with vinegar.
    Wen and Shu Ling would sit on the cement floor of the common room to eat. Beside them, some of the kids watched American cartoons or Disney movies on the old black-and-white TV that flashed on and off unless you shook it.
    Shu Ling always tried to shovel some of her noodles onto Wen’s plate because Wen was so tiny, but Wen wanted to give her noodles to Shu Ling, who needed extra strength for walking. They both knew it would be the last food until supper.
    Now Wen’s mother stood over Wen and showed her a pan of more yellow fluff. With a spoon, she pretended to fill Wen’s plate again. Wen shook her head no, but when she thought nobody was looking, she took a banana and a muffin to hide under her shirt, in case she got hungry again.
    â€œOooooooh!” Emily spotted Wen and aimed her finger at Wen’s shirt. Then, in an accusatory tone, she asked her father a question.
    Her cheeks burning, Wen tried to bunch her shirt even better over the banana and muffin.
    Would they think she was stealing?
    Her father glanced at her lumpy shirt, then flipped through some cards on his ring. In faltering Chinese, he read,
“Wo men you hen duo fan.
We have much to eat.” Then he pretended to nibble on a muffin. “
Hao ba
, OK, Wen!”
    Her hands shaking, Wen put the banana and muffin back.
    Of course they thought she was stealing
.
    After breakfast, Wen went into the bathroom and found a brush, pail, and bleach under the sink. She filled a bucket with water and added bleach and, on her hands and knees, began to scrub the tiles.
    â€œWen!” said her mother when she saw Wen crouched on the floor. She pulled Wen to her feet. From her bathrobe pocket, her mother fumbled for her card ring. “
Bu biyao.
Not necessary.”
    She flipped to another card. “
Dao jia le.
Home now.”
    But this was what Auntie Lan Lan had told her to do.
Remember all the chores. You are a lucky girl. Help them greatly. Otherwise they might send you back.
    Wen’s mother led her to her room and opened three bureau drawers, all filled with clothes. From the top drawer, she took out a peach-colored T-shirt and held it against Wen.
    For her? Just for her? Wen had never owned a set of clothes.
    At the orphanage, Wen had lined up with the other older children to get her clothes on the first day of every week, which they named Day of the Clean Clothes. Auntie Mu Hong, the strictest auntie, decided who got which clothes. As she rummaged