By now I knew who she was. She was the daughter of Absalom and Carie. Her family servant had called her Pearl. She spoke to the servant in the Chin-kiang dialect. Her mother and father never seemed to need her. She was always by herself and was always reading.

To get rid of her, I ran as fast as I could toward the hills. I passed the wheat and cotton fields. After a couple of miles, I stopped. I looked around and was glad that she was no longer in sight. I took a deep breath and sat down. I was excited about my harvest.

As I began to open the wallet, I heard a noise.

Someone was approaching.

I froze and held my breath.

Slowly, I turned my head.

Behind me, in the bushes, was that pair of blue eyes.

“You stole my father’s wallet!” Pearl yelled.

“No, I didn’t.” I imagined the food the money in the wallet could buy.

“Yes, you did.”

“Prove it!”

“It’s in your pocket.” She put down her book and tried to reach into my pocket.

I knocked her aside with an elbow.

She fell.

I held tight to the wallet.

She rose. Anger made her pink lips quiver.

We stood face-to-face. I could see sweat beaded on her forehead. Her skin was white, as if bleached. Her nose had a pointed tip. Like her father’s fake queue, her black knitted cap hid her blonde curly hair. She wore a Chinese tunic embroidered with indigo flowers.

“Last chance to give the wallet, or you’ll get hurt,” she threatened.

I worked up a mouthful of saliva and spit.

While her hands went up to protect her face, I ran.

She followed me through the fields and up and down a hill. By the time she caught me, I had already hidden the wallet. I raised both of my arms and said, “Come and search me.”