At the end of a few hours, Lian returned to the office with a shoebox full of letters she had written. Miss Mason was typing, her fingers pecking determinedly on the keys. She paused to hand Lian a small box of stamps and a tin can for coins. Lian dropped in the coins she had collected. She had written letters only for those who had money for postage. The Mission simply couldn’t afford to give them stamps as well as stationery.

“Although there are emergency situations where we do,” Miss Mason quickly added when explaining.

Lian began pasting stamps on envelopes, conversations with the people who had dictated their letters coming back to her as she handled each one. The young man now responsible for his sister’s children as well as his own. A haggard face, haunted eyes. A baby under one arm, hungry toddlers beating on his back. We are in Shanghai. Tell our parents Second Sister died. The middle-aged woman, her elderly in-laws seated listlessly on the ground behind her. Her husband too injured to move. A pleading letter to siblings. We are in Shanghai. Send money. The young mother with two children, her face impassive, impossible to read. Forbidding Lian to ask. We are in Shanghai. Is it safe to come home?

“Sometimes I feel as though the world is ending,” Lian said. “How much more tragedy can these people survive?”

“It can be overwhelming.” Miss Mason looked up. “No, it is overwhelming, no denying that. Thank goodness we got through the cholera epidemic.”

“Miss Mason,” Lian said, “does anyone outside China know how bad conditions are?”

“Oh yes, yes,” she replied. “All our churches get regular bulletins. Your mother types up those reports.” She studied Lian for a moment. “But what you want to know is whether other nations will help.”

Lian nodded. “Yes. Or are we on our own?”

“I don’t know, my dear,” Miss Mason said. “I don’t know enough about politics. I can’t even say how much my own church is able to help. I only know that with something as big as this war, the best I can do is make a difference for a few people. Or even just one person, Lian. If each of us could make a difference to just one person.”

“You’ve made a difference to my mother,” she said. “Thank you for taking her in. Giving her work.”

Miss Mason made a dismissive noise, inserted another sheet of paper into the typewriter.

“Miss Mason, there’s something I need to tell you,” Lian said. “My mother and I may need to live here soon. We can both sleep in this office as she used to. If it’s all right with you.”