The Missionaries’ Son: A Jacob Cahill Novel

By John Gess

Who is this Jacob Cahill? Yes, he is the son of American missionaries to China, Paul and Rachel Cahill, but he is so much more. Spirited out of his home village at the age of three by his godmother after the death of his parents, he is entrusted to her son, Wu Chanming, and his fellow Buddhist monks, who care for the boy during tumultuous times as starvation and murder ravage Chinese society. The upheaval of Maos revolution during the 1950s puts a premium on learning survival skills as the monks try to keep their freedom and teach the boy everything they know. But, as the monks learn quickly, its not enough. The boys capacity for learning is beyond what they can imagine, frightening one of the monks and leading to his Judas moment of betrayal. Jacob must run to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524542740

John Gess

John Gess is the author of A Simple Soldier, Deficient, and the Jacob Cahill series. He lives in Woodinville, WA.

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Copyright © 2016 by John Gess.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016915349

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-5245-4276-4

   Softcover   978-1-5245-4275-7

   eBook   978-1-5245-4274-0

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without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Rev. date: 09/20/2016

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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CHAPTER 1

She felt queasy, the churning of her stomach making her nauseous. She wondered what she had eaten for lunch that didn’t agree with her. It wasn’t that unusual in her small village in the Sichuan Province of China for this American missionary to occasionally eat something that upset her stomach. But this was unusually bad. She twisted her body to adjust her sitting position in the chair when, suddenly, her entire upper digestive tract from her stomach up to her mouth lurched upward. She jumped up to run outside, but the milky and lumpy contents of her stomach heaved up into her open mouth too quickly, spilling out over the floor and dripping down her dress. She sat back down in her rocking chair and momentarily stared at the mess in front of her before bursting into tears, realizing that she could no longer deny what was happening to her.

Not thirty seconds later, there was a knock at the door, and she heard someone say, Jia? It was Mu Ju, her landlord. She said nothing as Mu Ju opened the door slightly and peeked in, seeing both her crying tenant and the mess on the floor. Mu Ju entered the house and rushed over to her saying, Oh, Jia, Jia. Please, let me help you! but Rachel Cahill was too overcome with emotion to respond.

Finally, Rachel looked up and tried to smile, but her face failed to hide the fear and sadness that was behind it. Mu Ju saw it immediately.

Jia, Mu Ju said, speaking Chinese and using Rachel’s Chinese name (meaning beautiful), what is it? Your smile radiates only sadness.

Ama, it is always so good to see you. How are you on this beautiful day? The bleakness in the tone of her voice only accentuated the misery she felt.

Ah, Jia, as always, only concerned about others. Sometimes, though, it is necessary to be concerned about yourself. Tell me, please, what is troubling you? said Mu Ju, known to Rachel Cahill as Ama, meaning grandmother, who was not just Rachel’s landlord but a close family friend who had helped raise Rachel’s husband, Paul.

Ama, as always, you are the doting grandmother. But perhaps it is best if you know even though I have not yet told Shilin, Rachel said using Paul’s Chinese name. She paused and took a deep breath before saying, My monthly blood has stopped and, as you can see, the nausea has begun.

I see, said Mu Ju as a look of unease crossed her face.

I don’t know if I can go through this again, Ama. I am so frightened, but I want a child so desperately. Could it be that God would put me through this once more? Would he be so cruel? Tears flowed down Rachel’s face again as she laid her chin against her chest and wept.

Mu Ju sat down next to Rachel and said, No, Jia. You know that he is a good God, and he watches over those who truly believe in him. And you are a good and godly woman, Jia. Do not concern yourself. You must only use your intellect to know what needs to be done. Then you must resolve to do it. Talk to Shilin. Decide what you must do, and do it. I will help you as much as I can.

Mu Ju had been kind to her two Christian missionaries, Rachel and Paul Cahill, over the many years they had lived in what Mu Ju considered her village. Mu Ju was the village matriarch, her son the local magistrate, and she ran the village with what some considered to be an iron hand. She rented out her land to several of the peasants in the village and, due to the rents she earned, had not had to work in the fields herself for many years now.

Mu Ju had befriended Paul’s parents as a young woman, had herself converted to Christianity, and had helped raise Paul. She considered him like a son and was happy when Paul had finally taken a wife ten years earlier. He was almost forty when he married Rachel, a woman who had worked for a doctor in a nearby missionary-supported medical clinic.

Now though, Rachel was thirty-seven and childless. She had already suffered two miscarriages, a stillbirth, and the loss of a two-month-old girl. Each loss was worse than the one before, and she had come to question her God. How could he torture them like this after all they had done for him and his cause? She had sobbed and agonized over each death but none so much as the loss of their daughter, Caroline. Such a sweet baby she was. She had been bright and charming and so unbelievably calm, rarely crying or fussing, at least until influenza hit their remote village and quickly Caroline had a bad fever, then pneumonia, and then she was gone. The pain Rachel suffered over the loss of their baby had only now begun to diminish after three long years. They had thought about returning to the United States after Caroline died, but they couldn’t bring themselves to leave a home they had known for their entire adult lives. Her husband, Paul, had grown up in this village called Ping Mu, himself the son of devout Christian missionaries. He had never even been to the United States until his parents had sent him to California for high school and college. He had returned as soon as he graduated and so, at fifty, had spent most of his life in China. Rachel had come after high school and was seventeen when she arrived, also a member of the same church and missionary organization as Paul. Now she carried on the work of running the small medical clinic in a nearby village since the doctor she had worked for had long since returned to the United States.

She decided to wait to tell Paul. She wanted to be sure. And anyway, he had been under so much stress lately she knew he didn’t need any more worries on his mind. China was in turmoil in this year of 1948 as the long civil war took its toll on the country and its peasants, many of whom simply hoped to survive another winter. For years, Paul had resisted leaving China despite the pressure from the roving bands of Communist and Nationalist army forces and a few people in his own village. His church had also told him that he should pack up and return to the United States, that it was no longer safe in China.

China had changed, and foreigners were no longer welcome. In fact, in much of the country, foreigners were hated and killed in some instances. The Communists, in particular, resented the presence of foreigners and looked to deport any Westerner found in the country. Yet Paul felt strongly that his work was still necessary: helping the local people manage their water irrigation issues as the periodic floods ravaged the fields and reduced the ability of the peasants to feed themselves. His college degree had been in soil and water management, and he had used his knowledge effectively. Most people living in Ping Mu and nearby villages had come to respect and honor his work and his life. And they liked and respected Rachel for her work at the small medical clinic in their village. There was no other medical care of any kind within thirty miles, so Rachel was the main source of care for the sick. She did her best with her limited resources although it had never been enough. But the tides of change were everywhere. The Communists led by Mao Tse-tung appeared to be winning the war over the Nationalists led by Chiang Kai-Shek. Paul and Rachel didn’t know what that would really mean for them, but others had certainly offered their opinions. There were very few Christian missionaries left in China, and the few who had stayed during the Japanese occupation were now leaving as Paul and Rachel anguished over what they should do. Paul desperately wanted to stay in China, a place he considered his home. Rachel felt her place was with her husband regardless of what happened.

And so far, the villagers had permitted them to stay and had, in fact, protected them, especially Mu Ju. Mu Ju had led the way in building a little hideout a mile into the nearby woods that Paul and Rachel used whenever menacing military troops roamed the area. The strong antiforeigner attitude, however, had been absorbed by a few of the local peasants, even some who knew Paul and Rachel well. They protested the missionaries’ continued presence in the village. Mu Ju, however, had continued to fiercely protect Paul and Rachel, and so far, her voice had ruled the day. But even Mu Ju, who was seventy-five years old, was leery about the future and how long she could control events in their little village. Yet she resisted the advice of some in the village to send Paul and Rachel back to the United States for their own safety. Even the thought of it was like a dagger into her heart. Paul was as much a son to her as her own four sons, and she couldn’t bear to send him away. Once upon a time, she had named him Shilin, meaning intellectual in Chinese, because he had been such a smart little boy. And no one could deny the fact that the skills that Paul and Rachel brought to the village were needed and highly valuable, while their Christian teachings were usually limited to Sunday services and a few evening prayer sessions. Paul and Rachel had never been overbearing or intrusive in their efforts to bring Christ’s teachings to this remote part of China. Mostly, however, the peasants who wanted Paul and Rachel gone were afraid of what might happen to the villagers if the Communist authorities found out the people in the village had protected these American missionaries. Brutal stories had been told about those who had defied the Communists, and many were fearful.

Yet Paul and Rachel still procrastinated about their decision to stay as Paul’s love of China and the Chinese people was undiminished. Rachel, however, could no longer put off telling her husband about her pregnancy. So on a lazy Sunday afternoon after prayer services, a week after Rachel’s discussion with Mu Ju, and as they puttered around the house, Rachel decided it was time, saying, Paul, please come sit down next to me. We need to talk.

Paul stared at his wife with a puzzled look and said, What is it? as he sat down on the wooden bench next to his wife.

She continued, You know I’ve been feeling out of sorts lately. Mostly just tired, but I’ve also missed my period. She paused. For the second straight month. Paul, I think I’m pregnant. She said it in such a pensive voice, without joy and with such a resigned attitude that Paul couldn’t understand it.

A broad smile crossed his face, and he said, Rachel, this is another chance for us! It is a gift from God. He has seen our sorrow and pain and is giving us another chance to have a child. You should be happy!

Rachel looked down into her lap, shut her eyes as tears rolled down her face, and shook her head, saying, Paul, I am so scared. I can’t go through again what we went through with Caroline. Or the others. I could not bear it!

Paul looked at his wife, sighed heavily, and spent a moment deep in thought. He knew his wife was right. The thought of another dead child was unbearable to Paul as well. Silence permeated the room before Paul finally turned to his wife and said, Rachel, you must go back to have this child. You should go back as soon as possible, while you are still able to travel and while the baby is still tiny in your womb. Go to your parents in Seattle. Stay with them and find a good doctor who can help you through this pregnancy. It’s the only way. Here, half the pregnancies don’t survive. You’ll get the very best care in Seattle. Your mother will be a comfort and a great help to you. Rachel, it’s the only way. You must go back.

Rachel stared in shock at her husband and shook her head. No… no. It’s just not possible, Paul. I can’t leave you here alone and I can’t leave all these people with no medical help for such a long time. I can’t do it.

Paul looked back at his wife with an intensity she had never seen before and said, No, Rachel. Not this time. This time, we will be selfish. This time, we will do what is best for this unborn child. No one, not even God above, will see this as anything but doing everything we can to insure the survival of our child. And they will understand. Ama would be the first one to tell you this is the only way. And you will come back. We’ll make sure of that. I’ll be fine. This trip, on the other hand, will be hard and difficult for you. We need to make it as safe as possible. We’ll go see Ama tonight.

CHAPTER 2

Paul could tell that his wife was nervous as a cat. They had spent the last two months planning for her trip home, and now it was time to depart. Rachel was afraid to leave. She fretted that she may not be able to come back. And what then? China was so volatile right now with the civil war raging and turmoil everywhere. There was so much that could go wrong. Mu Ju had insisted on traveling with Rachel to Hong Kong where she had purchased passage on a freighter to Seattle. Their church had agreed to pay for the passage: a reward for a lifetime of service. They had, at first, insisted that Paul come along and not return, but Paul had refused. They had relented, and the money had been a godsend for the Cahills.

Rachel climbed aboard the cart and sat next to Mu Ju. It was chilly on this day in mid-October 1948. At 6:00 a.m., the sun had not yet risen. Mu Ju’s grandson, Wu Cheng, had agreed to take them to Xinlong where his uncle and Mu Ju’s oldest son, Wu Gang, lived. Wu Gang was the district magistrate and had one of the few cars in the district. He had agreed to take them along on a trip he had to make to attend a government meeting in the provincial capital, Chengdu. From there, they hoped to take a train to Hong Kong, although train service in China these days was sketchy at best.

Wu Cheng spurred the donkey along the only road out of the village, a heavily rutted dirt road, as Rachel and Mu Ju bounced around on the seat next to him. Rachel had only a small bag of clothes, a Bible, and a few personal items. Paul had insisted that she must not burden herself with a heavy bag of nonessential items or gifts. After all, he said, she was pregnant and had a long trip in front of her. So down the misty, chilly, and primitive road they went following a foul-smelling donkey.

By midmorning, Rachel’s back ached. She tried to stretch and twist it to stop the pain but to no avail. As Paul had said, it would be a difficult trip. They stopped for a breather, and Mu Ju and Rachel climbed down and walked for a moment.

Mu Ju looked at Rachel and said, Please, Jia, keep your head covered. The farther we get from the village, the more important that will be. People won’t know you and one never knows how they will react to a foreigner. These times are so troubled and unpredictable. I wish I could give you a Chinese face for these next few days.

Ama, you shouldn’t worry so much. There is no reason for anyone to bother us. And you’ve clothed me to look just like any field-worker we might meet, so why would anyone give us a second look?

Ah, Jia. I wish it were so. But these are not normal times. The war is turning, and with it the Communists, who are winning, are feeling their oats. It seems as if people need to prove themselves to their comrades by being inhumane. Some of it is fear I guess, although some people just like the feeling of power over others. But all the nasty traits of people seem to rise to the forefront in such times. We do need to be very careful, Jia. Please don’t underestimate the cruelty and vindictiveness of such people as they rush to reap the spoils of their coming victory.

They climbed back onto the cart and continued on their way with Rachel subdued as she pondered Mu Ju’s comments. She had heard it before, but this time, Rachel was not in her bubble of safety inside her village of twenty years with her husband beside her. She would be traveling a long way from her small village to Hong Kong and then Seattle. She had heard the stories of mobs of people in the cities descending on houses of foreigners, dragging them out and killing them. But it seemed so bizarre and distant to her that she had not reflected on how it might affect her. Now Mu Ju was forcing her to confront the reality of what was happening in China as they travelled through the countryside to reach their destination.

It took all day and into the darkness before the donkey cart pulled up to the house of Wu Gang in Xinlong. It was a pleasant-looking wooden house on a paved road, not extravagant by any means but certainly a big improvement over any of the dwellings in Mu Ju’s village. Wu Gang greeted them in a reserved manner and asked them to quickly move into the house. He had been very reluctant to honor his mother’s request for a ride to Chengdu, but his mother’s insistence had won the day. She had reminded Wu Gang that Jia was the wife of the person who had been like a brother to him while growing up, and it was true. Paul and Wu Gang had been bosom buddies as boys growing up in Ping Mu. Paul had tried hard to maintain that friendship, but Wu Gang had retreated from it over the years as his career had advanced. Mu Ju had been powerless to staunch the fading friendship, and Paul had resigned himself to the fact that his best friend no longer was interested in maintaining their friendship. Wu Gang had his reasons though. He had foreseen the continuing turmoil of the civil war and had predicted that the Communists would likely win—simply because the corruption of the Nationalists was so pervasive and so hated. He was trying hard to navigate through the turmoil and didn’t need or want the burden of a Western friendship. He had warned his mother many times to send Paul and Rachel back to America where they would be safe. And he made the same argument again as his wife served dinner to their guests.

He said, Jia, I think it best that you stay in America with your baby once you arrive there. I will try to get Shilin to follow you. It is not safe for either of you to stay in China. The Communists will win this war, if not this year, then next. No one knows what will happen then, but it is clear that foreigners and especially Christian missionaries will not be welcome. I think at best you will be sent home, but worse things could happen. Please, if not for yourself, then do it for your child.

Rachel sighed before responding, Wu Gang, you are so kind to help us, and I cannot thank you enough. I understand what you are saying, and Shilin and I have talked many times about this. It’s true we are concerned and torn over what to do. It’s so hard for us to imagine that we may be in danger. Shilin considers himself Chinese, certainly much more than he considers himself American. He was born here and has lived here his whole life. He does useful work that he believes is a great help to the farmers, and I feel the same way. Why would anyone consider us to be enemies or a threat to anyone? We can’t even conceive of this. That’s why this is all so hard. We both desperately want to stay in China. This is our home. This is everything we have. We have nothing in America.

Ah, Jia, but you misinterpret this. It is not something personal. You know the history of our country well enough. When the British and Germans and Americans and Japanese came to China, they came not as friends but as conquerors or exploiters to take what they could, the Chinese people be damned. We are a proud people, proud of our history and our accomplishments. It is a tragedy that the emperors let the country get so weak but that cannot be changed. The Chinese resent the foreigners who have come here to tell us how to live. Even such people as you and Shilin who have helped us with such humility over many years are resented simply for the fact that your presence indicates that we need your help. Now it is time for us to help ourselves. And I’m afraid it is time for you and Shilin to go. I fear it will not end well if you stay.

Rachel sat quietly, deep in thought. She nodded her head at Wu Gang, then got up and headed to bed. Rising early, Mu Ju bundled up Rachel, hiding her dark blonde hair under a large cotton shawl, but it was much more difficult to hide her big blue eyes, broad shoulders, and five feet eight frame. Wu Gang drove as Rachel sat quietly in the backseat of the car contemplating the prior evening’s discussion. How would she convince Paul that it was, truly, time to leave China? It would not be easy. Paul truly did think of himself as Chinese. He spoke, dressed, and acted like a Chinese man although his six feet one gangly frame, sandy hair, and fair skin made it obvious he was not. She knew he could not even conceive of the local villagers harming them. But she knew Wu Gang was right. They could not hide themselves and could not change their appearance. She realized that she would have to come back to China with her baby and do everything possible to persuade her husband to leave.

Wu Gang drove cautiously toward Chengdu. It was a daylong drive on mostly dirt roads but still light when they drew close. Wu Gang could see in the distance through the dreary rain the huge fortress walls of the city, ten meters high and ten meters wide. When they finally arrived at the train station, he told his mother and Rachel to wait in the car while he bought them tickets. He then walked into the cavernous train station packed with people. He weaved in and out of the many people standing around waiting for their train, struggling to reach the end of the long ticket line before slowly shuffling along toward the ticket window. When he finally arrived at the window, he purchased two tickets to Hong Kong. He asked the man selling the tickets when he expected the train. The man shrugged and said it would be there when it arrived. Wu Gang took the tickets, sighed, and turned to watch the hordes of Chinese standing, sitting, and pacing back and forth, all waiting for their train. He did not want to do the same, yet he felt some obligation not to strand his mother amongst this mass of humanity waiting for a train that may or may not come. He stared out at all the people and saw not one foreigner. If anyone noticed Rachel, it could get ugly. This crowd of impatient and restless people could easily become a mob if provoked—which could end in disaster for Rachel and Mu Ju. No, he would not leave them alone here. He would wait for the train with them, keeping Rachel out of sight. He bought a few rice balls and carried them back to the car where they ate out of sight and waited.

The train did not arrive that day. Wu Gang was furious, but there was nothing he could do. It became hard to hide Rachel, especially when she had to relieve herself in the train station’s restroom. The female toilets were simply a series of holes in the floor behind a wall and open to inquiring eyes. And it didn’t help that Rachel towered over every Chinese woman in the place. But although some women stared at her, no one made a fuss, and Rachel returned to the car without incident.

The train to Hong Kong finally arrived the following morning. The crowds streamed toward it, and everyone pushed and shoved to get on. Wu Gang watched and waved as finally his mother and Rachel were able to climb onto the train. He wandered back to his car and decided he would need to push Shilin to follow his wife back to the United States.

The train was jam-packed with people, and Mu Ju, with Rachel in tow, pushed and shoved her slim five foot frame through the masses of people standing in the aisles in search of a place to sit. Rachel was more than four months pregnant now, and Mu Ju wanted her to be able to sit during the long train ride to Hong Kong. With frequent stops along the way, it would be a two-day journey to travel the twelve hundred miles. In the third train car they entered, Mu Ju eyed two seated young men smoking and joking with each other and decided she would try to shame them into giving up their seats. She told Rachel to hunch over, look down at the floor, and cover her face as best she could. She then grabbed Rachel as if she was carrying her and marched smartly over to the two men.

She shouted at them, Get up, you lazy, good-for-nothing imbeciles! Can’t you see this old woman and this very sick pregnant woman are in need of these seats? Now get up and smoke your cigarettes in the caboose! Move!

The two men looked up at Mu Ju in shock. They looked at each other and then at the other people in the train car who were all looking in their direction with scowls on their faces. One older man yelled at them to move, while a younger woman in the seat next to them smiled and said it would be nice of them to give up their seats. They both frowned as Mu Ju yelled at them again, and finally, they reluctantly got up and moved out of the car. Mu Ju quickly sat down, relieved as could be that her ploy had worked. She then pulled Rachel into the seat next to the window, pushing Rachel’s head down and hoping that no one saw her Western facial features. The train soon lumbered on.

The old couple sitting across from Rachel and Mu Ju largely ignored them, with the man snoozing as his wife knitted with her head down. Two stops later, they got off, and two other women who had been standing nearby quickly took their seats. The woman sitting across from Rachel peered at her curiously, staring openly. Mu Ju was nervous. She wanted no distractions on this journey and quickly asked the woman where she was heading. Visiting relatives in the south was the response, and then the woman asked Rachel a question. Rachel responded saying she was going home to have her baby. But the woman knew immediately that Rachel wasn’t Chinese—both from Rachel’s heavy accent and also from her face that could not be totally hidden when she was speaking. Mu Ju held her breath, and then said breezily that Rachel had been visiting China for too long now and that it was time for her to go home.

Where is your husband? the woman asked.

Rachel responded that he was finishing up some business and would follow her shortly. The woman turned around and looked at some of the other passengers for some kind of guidance about what she should do. But no one said anything. Mu Ju prayed to herself that no one would cause a scene. Finally, the woman turned back around, telling Rachel that she hoped she would have a