Ting-Yan snatched up baby Macy Koon-Ying and slung the girl on her back. Her mother, Siu-Wai, who had been sitting on the dock cleaning fish, got up and scurried after her. Captain Lee, though reluctant to leave his beloved boat, followed. The bombing of Hong Kong Harbour had been intense for the last several days and he wasn’t a fool. Though Chek Keng Harbour and Mirs Bay were less central and had yet to be touched, if the Japanese were going back over already conquered territory, the chances of something happening on these waters was high. Mirs Bay was a major route to mainland China. They’d be safer in the trees.

They hurried up to the edge of the village and along the outer path that ran parallel to the shoreline for a while before moving up into tree-covered hills. They had already plotted out a spot, a natural dip in the ground below a stony bluff, well away from both the lower and upper paths that led into the village. They all rolled into it now, and pulled over their heads the extra leaves and branches they’d prepared several days earlier. Within minutes they could hear the shrieks and cries of fellow villagers caught unawares. Ting-Yan tried not to envision who was getting raped, shot, or bayonetted. She was related to them all—it would be a beloved auntie, uncle, or cousin. She burrowed deeper into the leaves and twigs and stroked Macy’s soft, downy head. Macy gurgled and sighed as Ting-Yan soothed her.

When Macy began to cry, Ting-Yan offered her breast.

Macy wouldn’t take it. She fussed and muttered.

“Please, little one,” Ting-Yan said. “Come on.” She pressed her nipple toward the baby’s soggy mouth.

Macy refused it. She chittered and drooled.

“You have to relax or you’ll get us killed.”

Macy shrieked.

“You have to relax yourself,” Siu-Wai said. “She picks up on your feelings and feels the same way as you.”

Ting-Yan took a deep breath. “Please, my sweet child, my most beautiful little one.”

Macy coughed and grunted. She growled, then roared. She spat. She shrieked again.

Captain Lee lay on his stomach, looking up at the village path. “You’ve got to find a way to get her quiet,” he hissed anxiously.

Ting-Yan felt his irritation and fear, and couldn’t stop herself from passing it on to the baby, who wailed. Though it was disrespectful, she said, “Be quiet yourself, Ba.”

She stroked the baby’s head and softly hummed a few lines of that infectious tune she’d heard Emily singing on the Oolong, that long ago day of the double wedding. It was the song Emily’s friends Tanaka Shigeru and Izzy Davis Wong had written called “Moon and Stars over Sai Kung.”

High moon

Bright stars

Milky Way’s a river

Flowin’ to the galax-sea

Just for me and my baby

Just for my baby and me