“This war has pushed people to the limits of physical and emotional endurance,” a woman said, shaking her head. “Your mother had suffered so much, seen so much suffering. And then she thought she’d lost the one person she loved. If only she had trusted in the Lord.”

“Miss Mason is the one who hired your mother,” another said. “You need to speak with her. She’s busy doing her rounds. Can you wait for about an hour?”

“Of course,” Lian said. “But please, let me do something in the meantime to help.”

They put her to work cleaning the office and small porch outside. A trio of girls who sat huddled on the porch steps edged away as she swept, then drifted back once she’d finished sweeping the steps, moving like flotsam carried by the tide’s ebb and swell. Lian recognized their furtive determination. They were staking out their place.

A plump foreign woman entered as Lian finished wiping down the furniture. She had wisps of gray-blond hair falling out from the roll pinned to the top of her head, a style outmoded for at least twenty years. Her blue eyes crinkled in a smile upon seeing Lian.

“I heard the news,” she said, opening her arms to pull Lian into a talcum-powder-scented embrace. Her Chinese was excellent. “You’re Lian. And your mother is on the mend. We’ve been so worried.”

Lian tried not to look startled. Were all foreigners this effusive?

“Thank you for your concern, Miss Mason,” Lian said. “My mother is hoping to come back to her typing job soon. And I’d like to do something to help also. As a volunteer, of course. I did learn some first aid, simple wound care, bathing invalids.”

“How I’ve missed your mother,” Miss Mason said. “She’s fast and accurate, and she could decipher the worst handwriting. I’d be happy for her to come back anytime, but only if she feels strong enough.”

“She’ll be on crutches for a long while yet,” Lian said, “but she doesn’t need crutches to type. And I can run her errands around the camp if need be.”

“Perfect, perfect,” the foreign woman said, clasping her hands to her heart. “I can’t ask for more. I think we could use you, Lian. As a letter writer. Many of the refugees are illiterate. They need to get in touch with their families.”

“I can start right now, if you like,” Lian said. “Perhaps just for a few hours?” She wanted to make a good impression on this woman.