Beetles creaked in the underbrush and mosquitoes buzzed beyond the circling smoke of smoldering goldenrod. At her writing desk Mother displayed a letter from Imo.
I sat nearby, my back erect, my braid hanging straight and almost touching the floor. "How is she? How is the new house and her family?" After the royal family had been taken to Tokyo, Imo had purchased a traditional house of wood and mortar far from the palace, in the well-to-do Bukchon neighborhood, and had invited a struggling cousin's family from her husband's side to live with her.
"Things seem to be working out well. She's quite fond of her young nephew, and his parents are very helpful around the house. She asks if her favorite niece will register at Ewha this fall."
I smiled at this serendipitous opening. "Umma-nim, I've saved enough money. Director Gordon says I'll have a job teaching at the school when I've graduated. And when I'm in Seoul I think I can get tutoring jobs to help pay Dongsaeng's high school expenses. Miss Gordon says she'll give me the names of missionaries she knows there."
Mother clasped her knees. "If your room and board is too expensive, maybe you can live with Imo."
"Her new house is quite far from Ewha, Umma-nim. I'm told that dormitory housing or even a room in the school valley is quite cheap. Plus, if I'm nearby, I can more easily watch over Dongsaeng while he's at boarding school. He's still such a baby."
"I'll wait to finish my letter to Imo." I knew by the pleased smile delivered with this phrase that she would speak to Father, and that the consideration of Dongsaeng's well-being added a positive angle to the plan.
The summer drew to a close. I was diligently working and full of anticipation as plans for Ewha solidified, although Father had not yet approved. Each day, after I tended the garden and then practiced an hour on the organ, I crossed the churchyard and entered the back gate to the director's house. Both children had mirror-blue eyes and pudgy faces edged in white-blond curls. It was impossible not to think of them as the boiled potatoes they frequently ate. Harlan Jr., a slender and quiet twelve-year-old drawn to books, was a cooperative if sullen student. He disliked being cooped up for the two hours of tutoring, and I let him ride his bicycle prior to their lessons "to get the wiggles out," as they'd say in English. Christine said repeatedly that I was the prettiest Oriental girl she'd ever met. Since she was only seven years old, the inappropriate compliment was considered charming. She invited me to practice English with them. They were bright and gangly, these foreign jewels, and as the months progressed and their conversational Japanese improved, the Gordons kept me on less as a tutor than a companion.
During our lessons, the children corrected my pronunciation of memorized sentences from the Chinese-English phrasebook. I learned how to drop the last syllable from English words that ended on hard consonants: book book instead of instead of book-uh. book-uh. Our sessions were merry, and I was proud of my conversational English. They laughed at my never-ending confusion with Our sessions were merry, and I was proud of my conversational English. They laughed at my never-ending confusion with R Rs and L Ls in frock frock, flock flock, and the subtlety of B Bs and P Ps in crab, clap, bright, plight crab, clap, bright, plight.
At last their lessons came to an end. I'd been accepted at Ewha, although Father refused to consider it. Harlan Jr. would soon leave Korea for a boarding school in upstate New York, already on the path to become a Far East missionary. After a hundred thank-yous and sad goodbyes, the Gordons gave me Harlan's bicycle, which they thought might be useful in Seoul. The children had taught me how to ride in the school lot, and though I'd seen no other woman on such an ignoble contraption, I delighted in its trundling speed. As I walked the bicycle home, the temptation to ride it overcame my concern about the propriety of cycling. Sure enough, catcalls and jeers followed me as I pedaled through the market, but the breeze blew coolly down my neck and I pedaled on, reveling in downhill coasts, dignity restored when I pushed the heavy machine uphill.
Word soon reached Father that I'd been seen riding the bicycle. His displeasure was distinct. From across the courtyard I heard him yell, "Will she never cease to shame us? Going around like a man in a skirt!" My mother responded with something I couldn't hear. "Good for nothing but shaming the family name," I heard him say. Mother again, then, "Send her to Ewha then. Better to have her out of this house!" This permission born out of anger wasn't ideal, but it would do.
The bicycle became Dongsaeng's, to be sent ahead to Seoul for his use during school. I rode it one last time around the yard while Mother laughed at the sight of my skirts and braid flying as freely as the ancient spirits that roamed our ancestral compound.
Nuna Means "Elder Sister" Means "Elder Sister"
AUTUMN 1928.
I OBSESSED OVER SMALL THINGS-STROKES OF LETTERFORMS, CREASES in the sleeves of dark school dresses, the compact arrangement of my few possessions in my locker-my concern with minutiae analogous to my focus on learning. I shared a high-ceilinged room with twenty other girls in the Truth wing of the dormitory, which I thought was more ironically appropriate for me than the other two wings: Beauty and Goodness. I was glad to have had experience living away from home. In the beginning months, much sniffling was heard after lights out, and some simply couldn't adjust to living among the many different classes and personalities of students and teachers, and went home. Academically I did well at Ewha. I majored in early childhood education, minored in nursing and received special permission to take courses in English literature as a way to improve my language skills. Drawn to anatomy, I studied bones, muscles and organs as if by memorizing their function and interdependence, I would gain clarity to new feelings of ambiguity, along with an increasing sense of dissociation that filled the hours I wasn't studying.
The stately Ewha campus had spacious lawns, a soaring church and impressive Western-style granite buildings bordered by trees and shrubs. Paulownia, magnolia, dogwood and cherry blossom trees filled the air with flowers and scent in the spring, maples and beeches brought color in autumn, and dozens of varieties of pines and junipers kept winters green. Inside the buildings were many stairs and large classrooms with hard wooden seats. I walked the grounds and knew it was wonderful, that I should be ecstatic-here I was, fulfilling a dream! It's true that we all felt privileged, because we were Korean, and women, and thoroughly modern. Our skirts went up an inch a year, we wore baggy trousers cinched at the ankle, and many girls bobbed their hair. So much was exciting and new, like hot showers, and yet, though I tried to hide it even from myself, something was wrong with me and I couldn't say what.
I searched the Bible, looking for the calm it gave my mother. I rediscovered the inspiring beauty of the Psalms, found fascinating stories and marvelous history in the Old Testament, and lessons about the liberation of faith in the New Testament. But, much as my father might have, I saw the Book as a chronicle of a foreign people's faith and history rather than a map that would lead me to salvation. For a moment I considered that my growing alienation from the Bible meant I was becoming a political isolationist and conservative traditionalist, very much like my father. Then I attributed the religious estrangement to homesickness and academic overstimulation. But I loved learning and losing myself in studying, and while I naturally missed my family and the familiar spaces of home, I was proud and pleased to be an Ewha student. I embraced the lessons exemplified by my mother's Christian living, and then put the Bible aside when it became clear that I lacked spiritual passion that could sustain belief once I closed its pages. Keeping these agnostic sentiments hidden, I further discounted my worth when it grew obvious that I possessed not a single spark of the religious fervor exhibited by my classmates at daily chapel. I often found myself wishing I were in the library instead. Obligation mustered me to Sunday worship, and I was conscious of envying the few Buddhist and atheist girls' freedom from church attendance, though those girls were shunned. I did love listening to the renowned Ewha choir. The women's seamless harmony often brought me to tears, which I attributed to the fierce beauty of the swelling music. But over the months, then years, I doubted that beauty could feel so full of pain and inexplicable longing.
I avoided joining friendship circles, averse to the meanness of gossip, but found diversion with a few friends. My classmates welcomed me when I accompanied them for an afternoon of hiking or swimming in the summer and ice skating or snowball fights in the winter. I declined most sightseeing excursions-too sad to be reminded of places I'd been with Imo, and people like the princess, her strong maid and even that Japanese guard, whose lives were far more restricted and controlled than mine would ever be, and whom I would never see again. It didn't matter. My reticence about those years and the refinement of my manners were mistaken for aloofness, and such invitations dwindled over time.
Happily, a renewed friendship with Jaeyun, who would soon graduate, offered occasional companionship at a restaurant or a walk in a park. It was Jaeyun who told me the story about Dean Shinohara. For hoarding an illegal personal library of Korean poetry and Chinese classics, he'd been relocated from Ewha to a rural boys' school. He wasn't fired, though, until his week's "vacation" in the country had come to a close and he was packing to return to Seoul. I deduced that when I'd met the Shinoharas on the train, they were unknowingly on their way to exile. Although he was a Japanese supremacist, the girls at Ewha considered him a quasi hero because it was his love of the classics and Korean poetry that had led to losing his plum job.
I visited my beloved aunt once a month and during school breaks. A gasoline train that ran between Ewha and downtown, where I would pick up Ilsun, shortened the long walk from one side of the city to the other. My dongsaeng grew so rapidly that every season I sacrificed precious study hours to make him a new school uniform. One icy winter day I waited thirty minutes outside of his dormitory before he finally rushed through the vestibule. Shaking with cold, I said, "We'll have to hurry now. Imo-nim is waiting."
"Give me my money." His voiced scratched with teenage change, and he made to grab my string purse.
"What are you doing?" I pushed him away.
"I need my allowance now!"
I retrieved a handful of won-savings from tutoring jobs that I portioned to Dongsaeng monthly. "Why? It's supposed to last you all month."
"Nuna, you said we had to hurry!" He snatched the cash and ran off.
Wrapping my coat tightly, I followed him to the doorway and leaned in. "That's only half," said a boy's deep voice. "You better get the rest by tomorrow." A door slammed. I stepped outside and headed toward Imo's without looking back. Dongsaeng joined me and soon caught his breath. I could sense his agitation beside me, but I refused to break the silence. Our shoes crunched on frosty dirt pathways.
"Cold," Dongsaeng said, his shoulders hunched, his hands buried in armpits.
"Where's your coat?"
"Don't know."
"What do you mean?"
"Lost it."
I clutched my collar around my neck, glad that I was too angry to give him my coat, something I would have typically done.
We walked half an hour more, Dongsaeng blowing on his fingers occasionally. "Hey, Nuna, I got first place in my history examination last week."
"Good."
The sun set in a gentle fade of brilliance. I'd read somewhere that fishermen predicted weather by the color of the evening skies, and wondered what they'd say about the dark high clouds glowing with silvery trim, the far sky deepening blue, the treetops frosted with ice. Perhaps snow. I remembered at home how I'd rouse Dongsaeng to wide-eyed wakefulness on mornings when the yard was transformed by magical new snowfall. I breathed the blue-cold smell of winter and sighed.
Dongsaeng looked at me hopefully. "I wonder what Imo-nim will have for dinner."
"Just be happy with whatever she serves and refuse seconds. Do you hear?" He shrugged. "Times are hard, Dongsaeng! I think she goes without in order to feed us."
"But I'm famished!"
"Why do you owe that boy money?"
"None of your business."
"Your business is my concern." Except for the sharpness of my tone, I realized I sounded like Mother. "Especially when it comes to money, especially when it's my my money. You're lucky to have even a few jeon. If Father knew what I gave you, don't you think he'd want to know what you do with it?" money. You're lucky to have even a few jeon. If Father knew what I gave you, don't you think he'd want to know what you do with it?"
"Give me next month's, won't you?-or I'll get in trouble."
"Why do you owe that boy?"
"We had a bet, and I lost."
"You've been gambling, haven't you? Dice!"
"It's just games. Who cares? He cheats, and besides, that's not what it's for."
"Oh, Dongsaeng!" Frustrated and angry, I walked fast. He burst forward to keep up. "What will happen if you don't pay?"
"His gang will beat me up." He sounded too smug and my anger swelled.
"Why must you gamble? Why can't you just study hard?"
"Like you? Boring old you? At least I'm having fun!"
"Where did you learn to talk like that? Think about what your parents sacrificed so you could come to this school. Think of how hard Mother worked! And what would Father say?"
"Well he's not here, so I don't care. But you're so stingy it's as if he were right here! I thought you were supposed to help me."
I counted twenty terse crunching steps before speaking. I no longer felt the cold. Imo's house was not far ahead. "I'll help you, but you must tell me honestly why you need the money. There shouldn't be secrets between us. It's just the two of us here, and I'm your nuna."
"If I tell you, will you give it to me?"
"How much?"
"Ten won."
"That's as much as two weeks' pay! What have you done?"
"I didn't do anything! I just went along when they-"
How distasteful his whining sounded. What had happened to my sweet baby brother? I thought back and wondered if he'd always been this self-centered and inconsiderate. He typically talked back, but I had likened that to my own streak of childhood stubborn independence and thought he'd grow out of it as I had. With Imo's gate in sight, I stopped to look fully at my brother. He stared at his feet and kicked icy mud clods. I saw with surprise that he was now slightly taller than me. Under his cap his shorn head made his face seem rounder and whiter than usual. Pink dots of cold, or agitation, colored the flat of his cheeks. "Look at me," I said. I recognized in him the familiar fullness of my mother's lips, his chin dimpled with pouting. "Where did you go?"
The pout flattened to a smirk. "They took me to a teahouse."
"You're just a boy! How could they do such a mean thing?"
"It wasn't mean at all. I liked it! People were really nice to me. That's why-I borrowed from- She wanted me to buy- I went back- I mean, that's why I need the money."
Scarlet spread down my neck. I pulled him into an enclave beside a lone oak tree out of sight of Imo's gate. "You borrowed money to visit teahouse girls? And you sold your coat, didn't you?"
"Don't tell, okay?"
"At least you know it's wrong!"
"It's not wrong. It's fun! There's nothing else to do, and they're nice to me!"
"For money! They're only nice to you because they want your money. How can you be so stupid!"
"I'm not stupid!" His eyes met mine. In the graying evening, I could only see their blackness. "I'm lonely and bored."
Remorse overcame me as quickly as the anger had risen, and I took his hand. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I should be a better nuna to you. I get caught up with studying and forget about friends and having fun. We could do things together on Sundays. When it's warmer we can tour the old temples."
"Can you give me the ten?"
"We'll see. Next Sunday let's go to the big Methodist church around the corner from you. You must promise me you won't go to those places again. Think of how angry Father would be if he knew."
"There's plenty of church at school already." He gave me a boyish smile. "Let's do something fun instead. There's a cinema. Have you seen any films?"
"After church, we can do something. Not too expensive, though. Agreed?"
He nodded.
"No more teahouses?"
He turned toward Imo's and mumbled something. A breeze rattled the dead leaves clinging to the oak, and he said, "I promise. Thanks, Nuna." Or at least that's what I thought he said.
A Good Christian with Modern Thinking
WINTER 1930 WINTER 1934
Sunday, December 28, 1930Daughter,When I think of how hard you have worked to achieve your dream, how diligently you pursued your education, my eyes overflow with joy, my heart cries with pride. To think that my only daughter has a degree in childhood education and nursing from the first women's college in Korea! You are among the pioneers for women in this new age, blessed with opportunities you have managed to take advantage of, even when faced with many obstacles. To also learn that you were among the top ten in your class has given me new reason to say that my cup runneth over. I am proud of you beyond measure.As for the coming year, I think it is fine for you to stay in Seoul. Be grateful that your patrons are happy as long as you are teaching in a Christian school, even if, as you say, it is just first grade. Praise God there are schools at all! Miss Gordon says the Hoston School is well established and uses modern methods. Think of how many girls' minds you will influence! Do not take this work lightly. These days, it is a wonder that you can earn money at all. Remember the old proverb "A women's lack of talent is in itself a virtue." Can you imagine that your own mother once followed this kind of thinking?It is good that you stay in touch with the Gordons. The little yellow-haired daughter asks me about you every Sunday. "Is Sunsaeng-nim coming home soon?" She speaks very prettily, and Director Gordon worries she will lose her English. He says he is losing his English as fast as his hair, but I think he is joking. I cannot tell with them.Naturally, we will miss you on Sol-lal, but do not fret. With your degree, you have done more to honor your parents than you could by coming to pay respects. Besides, poor Imo should have somebody bowing to her on New Year's, and who better than you, her favorite? Just be sure to return the money she gives you without her knowing. Put it where she will find it later. I know you will think of this, but I worry.The squawroot powder you sent is well received. I have had it as tea the past few weeks, and it helps relieve the troublesome women's fevers. How blessed I am to have such a knowledgeable daughter. The money and herbs for Kira and Joong were put to good use. Although only prayer can help ease her grief over the baby she lost, the medicine can heal her body. I have told her of your prayers, and she cried. She says thank you and that she wishes you had met her daughter. There is little else to be done except to leave the healing of her spirit to God's grace and mercy. They have said nothing, but I suspect the day will come when Joong will take his wife north to his family, and I fear that moment. What will Father do without him? Byungjo could never fill that position. I see that I am anticipating worries when there are plenty in the present to keep me occupied.Congratulations on graduating with honors. I am so proud.MotherSunday, March 11, 1931Daughter,I received the money fine. Rather than getting medicine for myself (it is warmer and I am better), I will save it for your dongsaeng who will need school money. I did trade two of your nicer hanbok for mulberry plants. You are good to sacrifice them toward my project. I have only been able to pay for the start-up supplies, but our first harvest later this spring should bring relief to our pockets. Your father still does not know that the sheds by our side of the house are devoted to silkworms. He will discover it eventually, but by then there may be enough of an income to ease any upset. He complains little, but I can see that he suffers from dyspepsia and is losing weight. Of course we will be grateful if you can learn about any other traditional medicines. He refuses to visit the acupuncturist after learning that this particular doctor does not exclusively treat our people.Be sure to let us know when to meet Dongsaeng at the train station. No, you are not to blame for his falling marks last term. The absence of his letters led your father to suspect something. He has always been willful, even more than you in your youth! Time spent at home should help to even out his bumpy character. There are other worries about Dongsaeng's future and other reasons we needed him home. You understand this.Do not impose yourself too much on Miss Gordon. She tells me how she looks for graduate schools for you in America. She whispers this to me after church, and I am embarrassed that people will think we have secrets. You should be thinking about how to repay her kindness rather than what more she could do for you. I know you do that, but think and pray on this more, for your mother's sake. If it were based on your merits alone, I know it would be inevitable, but she tells me there are new quotas limiting Orientals in America and sponsorship is more difficult than ever. And I have only heard of one woman being sponsored by the missionaries, and that was a long time ago. This is not to diminish hope, but so you may consider how likely or unlikely this possibility is. It frightens me to think that an ocean may one day separate you from your family, but as you can see, I am anticipating worries I have yet to have. How can I live, torn between pride and worry if you go to America?I meant to tell you they are quite strict about not allowing white clothes, which is one reason why your colorful hanbok fetched good prices. Is it the same there? Poor Cook came home from market the other day angry as a caged fox, her skirt splashed with blue paint. They said if she wore white again they would paint her skirt again. Father says it is meant to equalize the classes, but in reality it is more about how a bully sits on a beaten man just to show who is on top. We dyed our skirts with safflower and knotweed.The silkworms are calling me, as is Father. He sends greetings and blessings. Work hard and think of others first.MotherSunday, October 25, 1931Daughter,Your contribution to Dongsaeng's tuition arrived fine. Together with the earnings from the cocoons, it adds up to half a year's fees. He is doing well, making good marks and studying at night, much to Father's satisfaction. I do not want to overly worry you, but the forestland where your father's uncle lives has gone the way of the farm. We do not know what became of Uncle. Your father suffers, unable to eat or sleep because of it. He needs your faraway prayers to soothe his angry heart. I also pray daily for your father's dongsaeng, as we cannot know where he is or if his wife's family's similar concerns have also ended. We pray that God's mercy has spared him, and that one day he will come back to his home here, and then you would be able to know him. I remember his character as being opposite from your father's: as spirited as your father is solemn, as carefree as your father is devoted to duty. It was almost as if you could see his smile from the back.I worry that the midwifery apprenticeship might interfere with your teaching. Lack of sleep can lead to mistakes, so be careful. We made the parsnip leaf into tea for your father, and he did have trouble reading the day after as you warned us. He claimed the sun was too bright. He has not shown any pain for several days. I am writing down how often we use it.Your father is doing a little carpentry-the most beautiful pieces! It started when a leg on my study table broke and he decided to fix it rather than burn the old thing. How easily he whittled the curve of the leg to match the others exactly. It gave him enough satisfaction that he carved a decorative panel to replace that missing one in front. I had forgotten there was a hole there until it was filled. It makes me wonder what other broken things I no longer see because time has made them unseeable. The new panel is almost alive, the birds and branches beautifully shaped. The wood seems like clay in his hands. This pursuit occupies many fulfilling hours.I am well if a little tired tonight, perhaps because the moon is obscured and the leaves colored little this season. It seems they went from green to brown in one moment, giving us no chance to notice and enjoy the changing season. Perhaps a harsh winter is ahead. Perhaps it is God's way of showing His sympathy to us. No money came from the forestlands for some time, so we worry only about family, and, of course, your father is concerned about the legacy he leaves for his son. But he gives him generations of yangban ancestry and auspicious grave sites (we had a smaller ceremony this year on the mountain). He has a talented and smart heir, and a clever and intelligent daughter. We are blessed a hundred times. What more is needed?I write mainly to tell you to do well in your job, do not overdo it with your second job, stay warm this winter and worry not for us. God keeps us safe from harm and we have more than enough. Work hard so you can come home soon and find a good husband.Mother Dragon Festival, June 8, 1932 Dragon Festival, June 8, 1932Daughter,I received your letter and the money fine. We are blessed that times are not as hard here as you seem to be experiencing. Do not send any more of your earnings to us. We are fine. If you do not need it for yourself, buy food for your students, or paper and pencils. It is right that you say nothing to the Gordons. They are having as hard a time as anyone. Was this rainy season worse than last year, or is it my imagination? Four houses south of the market collapsed in floods last month. Thank God, no one drowned. I have never seen beggars in Gaeseong in my entire lifetime, and even the Gordons say it is unheard of, that Koreans have too much pride to beg, but there are beggars now. You know what your father says causes this shamefulness ...I saw Jaeyun's mother at the market last week. In one breath, she is pleased that Jaeyun studies at Tokyo University but also worries about the distance, as well as the slim chance her daughter will have a good career as a surgical nurse there, so far from home. Her talk about Jaeyun reminded me of you trying to advance yourself in a world too slow for your ambitions. I can understand her worries. Jaeyun gave up a decent nursing job with her father at the hospital. At least she pays her own fees. A thoughtful daughter, like you. It is good of you to write to her, to keep her home spirit high and true. I am afraid I boasted about you a little to Jaeyun's mother, but what mother would not be proud of her daughter becoming school principal in a year and a half? She did cluck her tongue when I described how far outside of Seoul you will be. And I have to admit that I silently clucked my tongue when I saw the price she paid for a sorry slab of pork. I guess she did not see there was hardly any meat on it. Forgive my pettiness, Lord.It will be much colder in the mountains. Does your room have heat? Do you have enough winter clothes? Do not send us money. Keep it for moving and buying warm quilts.Sadly, Kira remains barren. I wish we had the nourishment she needs to improve her chances, but there is less and less available in the market. She continues to work hard, and once I actually saw Joong carrying her water buckets back from the stream for her. He turned pepper red when he saw me, and Kira covered her head with embarrassment. What could I do but smile? Nowadays, she usually draws water from the new pumps they installed down the street. The water is not pure, and the missionaries say we must boil it for drinking or cooking. Despite hard times or maybe because of them, Joong has pledged to remain with your father. An occasional bit of news from the family in Nah-jin keeps us assured that all is as well as can be. We fear they suffered winter harshly and can only trust God to feed and protect them. Cook is well, if a little more bent in her back from age. Write soon with your Yoju address, and be a strong leader, and kind.MotherSunday, August 20, 1932Daughter,You were right to say that the mail is less reliable from your new post. I received your letter six weeks after you wrote it. At this rate, it will be autumn in the mountains when you receive this. In that case, think of the star maples in the backyard as you read this letter, their colorful brilliance and the cool shade they offer on the last few hot days.Dongsaeng says thank you for the money. I was not aware you were sending to him. You are a good nuna. He has a hole in his pocket as big as his appetite. The lack of variety and lesser number of side dishes hit your brother the hardest. At least he is not so fat! That is a joke, like the missionaries do. Did he complain this much about food in Seoul?It is good that you enjoy the mountain beauty and your new job. Never mind about how time-consuming it turned out to be. Hard work will keep you warm when the winter comes. You are clever to take the older girls on walks to show them edible plants. A wonderful practical knowledge that will come in handy if times get any worse, and many say they will worsen before they improve. I laughed when I read your description about nailing the broken window shutters. Now all the girls have learned that a principal's job is to fix everything! It reminded me of seeing you riding that bicycle. Dongsaeng takes good care of it still, pedaling to and from school, and sometimes running errands for Father.Your father is fine, perhaps quieter than usual. He has put aside his brushes and paints. He says there is no one now who can correctly understand his work. He does not seem upset, but I notice that he is reading late into the night, or at least the light in his study burns long, and yet he rises as early as before. His appetite seems smaller also.The neighbors' son, Hansu, is home from Pyeongyang and will be married next month. He says they will move to Gangdong, a small village in the northwest mountains, as the missionaries found him a teaching position there. My, how his future wife patiently waited for him! I cannot even remember how many years it was since his betrothal. Do not worry about a wedding present. I will have something by then. Speaking of which, I know you will close your ears and grimace, but you are twenty-two now. What do you think? As promised, you will meet the prospect Father might find for you before anyone agrees to anything, so do not worry about that part. There is someone at church who is eligible, and Hansu mentioned someone. You now have no excuses except, of course, your job. Let me know your thoughts on this. You are nearly an old maid, so think on it, will you? Do not worry, we will find a good Christian with modern thinking.We are all well. Pray every day for better times and for your father's good health.MotherSunday, July 16, 1933Daughter,That was too generous a gift for Dongsaeng's graduation. You spoil him! You must not have eaten all month in order to send him that much. Your father has yet to decide what to do about his upper school. My guess is he will remain here where we can keep an eye on him. Expenses and fees notwithstanding, he is coming of age, which brings a host of other concerns, and provincial registration.Along with joy on his graduation, there is great sadness. Kira lost another baby, not even two months into term. We took her to the hospital this time, although she protested because of the cost. I feared she would lose too much blood without hospital care, and she needed rest and time to mourn, which she would not have at home. She would start up the very next day with toting buckets, and I think that might be one reason she has this trouble. There is sadness in the house, and we pray day and night for her renewed strength.What you say about prayer worries me. Are you reading the Bible between church days? How can prayer not help the hardships of your poor little school? Prayer won't feed hungry children, I know, but it will fill their spirit with richness. Perhaps you do not pray with a pure heart and honest feeling. God knows if you try to take the easy road. Clear your mind and approach prayer with openness, willingness, faith and trust. Opening your heart will open your mind to unforeseen possibilities, the richness of faith.You probably have not heard that Jaeyun is back in Seoul as a surgical nurse. Most of the hospital is Japanese, but she was able to find a position because of her Tokyo education. Her mother reports she makes good money, especially considering the Depression. Jaeyun's mother implied this was one of the benefits of studying in Japan, but who can say such a thing as fact? Forgive me, Lord, but her chitchat is annoying.I heard from Imo, who is considering adopting one of her cousin's sons. She needs to keep the family line going, and I encouraged her. Write to her if you have time. She is better off than most. We have much to be grateful for with Imo.Cook and Kira, before she took ill, have both been helping with the silkworms. Also on Wednesdays, Cook takes half our garden crops to sell at the market. Can you believe it? You should see her fuss with the display and bargain with customers. She is the toughest saleslady in the market, and I am thankful she is on my side! Who knew about this hidden talent? Conditions here are as you thought. No rice. They blame two seasons of drought, but one can guess otherwise.Your father is proud of Dongsaeng's good grades, and I of your consideration of him. I worry about your Christian spirit and think maybe you need a husband and children in your life. Do not be like those modern girls who refuse to marry.MotherSunday, February 25, 1934Daughter,I fear this letter may not reach you before you depart Yoju, so I will write briefly. Once we learned your post had ended, coincidentally, we heard about a certain bachelor from Pyeongyang. Chang Hansu has returned to Gaeseong under what I can guess is the same situation as yours, since he is looking for work. You will catch up on all that when you come home. More important, he brings news of a good prospect. The gentleman is the second son of a famous minister, someone Hansu met years ago in Seoul-of course you remember that time when he went to the capital. At first, Father was none too keen on this gentleman since his family is common. However, he is the grandson of a district governor, and his father, the first Christian in his province, is the first Presbyterian Korean minister in Pyeongyang. I believe his moral worth can counterbalance his lack of class distinction. I will try to learn more by the time you arrive.Do not be alarmed to find your father greatly reduced in health and in his attention to these matters. His main concern is rightly toward Dongsaeng's education and training, and he has little patience for much else. This can be advantageous to you, since he will not be as concerned about the quality of your husband's name as he might have been ten years ago. You say you refuse to marry, but that is nonsense. You are already old now! Besides, your father's health would greatly improve were his daughter's welfare settled once and for all. Think about that and travel quickly to us. I pray for an uneventful and safe journey home.Mother
A Measure of Faith
SPRING 1934.
I CAME HOME FROM THE TRAIN STATION SO LATE IN THE EVENING THAT I could barely see the outlines of our gate. Tired from traveling, I quickly unpacked, breathing in the welcoming scents of home: the dusty wood in my room and Mother's sweetness on my cheek after an uncharacteristic hug. She had waited to have supper with me and was in the kitchen getting it ready. I went down the dim corridor on the women's side of the house, the smells of garlic, hot pepper and cooking oil growing stronger with each step. Dongsaeng's rooms were dark-he was away at boarding school across the valley-but a glow in Father's studio showed him still awake. A half moon cleared the trees and spread thin light in the yard. I stepped onto the veranda and smiled to see the gentle hollows worn into the courtyard slate where I had often swept and played. Father's silhouette behind his screen door shifted in the lamplight, and I heard him call for Joong, who would ready his bedding. I would attend to Father in the morning when Chang Hansu came to visit. I considered this impending visit with unease, suspecting Father's willingness to have me home would culminate in my being married off as soon as possible. The pleasurable comfort of being home was mixed with childish feelings of caution and rebellion, and I was surprised and disturbed by this reversion.
In the kitchen, Cook stirred a boiling pot with long chopsticks at the stove, her back now slightly hunched at the shoulders. "I told Mother not to disturb you," I said, clasping Cook's hands, warm with steam. Although her eyes were as fiery as always, she looked tiny, her wrinkles deeper.
"What could I do?" said Mother, slicing gimchi at the table. "As soon as she heard you had crossed the threshold, she was stoking the fire."
"Aigu! How did you grow so tall? And didn't anyone feed you?" Cook fished buckwheat noodles from the pot into a bamboo strainer. "Sadly, here we have only poor man's food."
"What you're cooking smells wonderful. Even the finest city restaurants with the best ingredients can't match your skill."
Cook's lips spread wide, showing a new gold tooth at the edge of her smile. It made me notice that her neck was bare of the fine hair chain she had always worn, from which had hung a gold cross. When I was little, Cook had often told me the story of the little cross, her eyes sparkling.
From a poor peasant family, at the age of nine she had joined my maternal grandmother's household in Nah-jin, originally taken in as a nanny for my mother, who had just been born. It was soon apparent that her skills were more suited to the kitchen than to child care, which required a patient, persistent personality, and one not so prone to outspokenness. She was trained in diet and food preparation to become a competent cook in Mother's future household. "You should see your grandfather's house," Cook used to say. "Sixty-six rooms and land the size of a village. Four kitchens and every winter a straw pantry twice bigger than this kitchen! Your grandmother treated me and all her servants with kindness and generosity, and I wondered how I came to be part of such goodness." Cook would finger the cross and wipe it with her apron. "Your grandmother taught me about God and Jesus, and then I understood where her goodness came from. She allowed me to be baptized when I was fifteen and gave me this cross, the first gift I ever received." She would show me tiny indentations on both sides. "See that? I couldn't believe it was real gold, so I bit it! Oh, she was generous! And your mother is exactly the same as her mother, so you are a doubly blessed child."