At this terrible moment, Snow Flower came to my side and took my arm again. Custom dictated that I leave the party, so she escorted me out of the temple and back home. She helped me upstairs, and then lifted off my headdress, removed the rest of my wedding clothes, and buttoned me into a nightdress and my sleeping slippers. I stayed quiet. The perfection of my mother-in-law’s shoes gnawed at me, but I was afraid to say anything, even to Snow Flower. I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me too.
Very late that night, my family returned home. If I was going to get any advice about bed business, it had to happen now. Mama came into the room and Snow Flower left. Mama looked worried, and for a second I thought she’d come to tell me that my in-laws wanted to back out of the arrangement. She rested her cane on the bed and sat down beside me.
“I have always told you that a true lady lets no ugliness into her life,” she said, “and that only through pain will you find beauty.”
I nodded modestly, but inside I was practically screaming in terror. She had used these phrases again and again during my footbinding. Could bed business be that bad?
“I hope you will remember, Lily, that sometimes we can’t avoid ugliness. You have to be brave. You have promised to be united for life. Be the lady you were meant to be.”
And then she stood up, balanced on her cane, and hobbled out of the room. I was not relieved by what she had said! My resolve, my adventurousness, and my strength had completely weakened. I truly felt like a bride—afraid, sad, and very scared now to leave my family.
When Snow Flower came back in and saw I was white with fear, she took my mother’s spot on the bed and tried to comfort me.
“For ten years you have trained for this moment,” she gently reassured me. “You obey the rules set down in The Women’s Classic. You are soft in your words but strong in your heart. You comb your hair in a demure manner. You don’t wear rouge or powder. You know how to spin cotton and wool, weave, sew, and embroider. You know how to cook, clean, wash, keep tea always warm and ready, and light the fire in the hearth. You take good and proper care of your feet. You remove your old bindings each night before bed. You wash your feet thoroughly and use just the right amount of scent before putting on clean bindings.”
“What about . . . bed business?”
“What about it? Your aunt and uncle have been happy doing this thing. Your mama and baba have done it enough to have many children. It can’t be as hard as embroidery or cleaning.”
I felt a little better, but Snow Flower wasn’t done. She helped me into the bed, curled around me, and continued praising me.
“You will be a good mother, because you are caring,” she whispered in my ear. “At the same time, you will be a good teacher. How do I know this? Look at all the things you have taught me.” She paused for a moment, making sure my mind and body had absorbed what she’d said, before going on in a much more matter-of-fact manner. “And besides, I saw the way the Lus looked at you yesterday and today.”
I twisted out of her arms and turned to face her. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”
“Remember when Lady Lu brought you the soup?”
Of course I remembered. That was the beginning of what I imagined to be my lifetime of humiliation.
“Your whole body trembled,” Snow Flower continued. “How did you do that? The entire room noticed. Everyone commented on your fragility combined with restraint. As you sat there with your head tilted down, showing what a perfect maiden you are, Lady Lu looked over you to her husband. She smiled in approval and he smiled back. You will see. Lady Lu is strict, but her heart is kind.”
“But—”
“And the way the whole Lu party examined your feet! Oh, Lily, I’m sure everyone in my village is happy to know that one day you will be the new Lady Lu. Now try to sleep. You have many long days ahead of you.”
We lay face-to-face. Snow Flower put a hand on my cheek in her usual way. “Close your eyes,” she ordered softly. I did as I was told.
THE NEXT DAY my in-laws arrived in Puwei early enough to pick me up and get me back to Tongkou by late afternoon. When I heard the band on the outskirts of the village, my heart began to race. I couldn’t help it, but tears leaked from my eyes. Mama, Aunt, Elder Sister, and Snow Flower all cried as they led me downstairs. The groom’s emissaries arrived at the threshold. My brothers helped load my dowry into waiting palanquins. Again I wore my headdress, so I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard my family’s voices as we went through the final traditional calls and responses.
“A woman will never become valuable if she doesn’t leave her village,” Mama cried out.
“Goodbye, Mama,” I chanted back to her. “Thank you for raising a worthless daughter.”
“Goodbye, daughter,” Baba said softly.
With the sound of my father’s voice, my tears came down in twin streams. I clung to the railing leading to the upstairs chamber. Suddenly I didn’t want to go.
“As women, we are born to leave our home villages,” Aunt sang out. “You are like a bird flying into a cloud, never to return.”
“Thank you, Aunt, for making me laugh. Thank you for showing me the true meaning of sorrow. Thank you for sharing your special talents with me.”
Aunt’s sobs echoed back to me from her dark place. I couldn’t leave her to mourn alone. My tears matched hers.
Looking down, I saw Uncle’s sun-browned hands on mine, pulling my fingers away from the railing.
“Your flower-sitting chair waits for you,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion.
“Uncle . . .”
Then I heard the voices of my siblings, each of them wishing me farewell. I wanted to see them with my eyes instead of being blinded by those red tassels.
“Elder Brother, thank you for the goodness you have shown me,” I chanted. “Second Brother, thank you for letting me care for you when you were a baby in split pants. Elder Sister, thank you for your patience.”
Outside, the band played louder. My hands reached out. Mama and Baba took them and helped me over the threshold. As I stepped over it, my tassels swung momentarily back and forth across my face. In little flashes I saw my palanquin covered in flowers and red silk. My hua jiao—flower-sitting chair—was beautiful.
Everything I had been told since my betrothal was arranged six years ago flooded my mind. I was marrying a tiger, the best match for me, according to our horoscopes. My husband was healthy, smart, and educated. His family was respected, rich, and generous. I had glimpsed these things already in the quality and quantity of my bride-price gifts, and now I saw them again with my flower-sitting chair. I loosened my grip on my parents’ hands and they let go of me.
I took two blind steps forward and stopped. I couldn’t see where I was going. I reached out my hands, longing for Snow Flower to take them. As she always had, she came to me. With her fingers wrapped around mine, she led me to the palanquin. She opened the door. All around me I heard crying. Mama and Aunt sang a sorrowful melody—the usual one to say goodbye to a daughter. Snow Flower leaned in close and whispered so no one could hear.
“Remember, we are old sames forever.” Then she took something from inside her sleeve and tucked it inside my jacket. “I made this for you,” she said. “Read it on your way to Tongkou. I will see you there.”
I got into the palanquin. The bearers lifted me up and I was on my way. Mama, Aunt, Baba, Snow Flower, and some friends from Puwei followed my escorts and me to the edge of the village, calling out final good wishes. I sat alone in the palanquin, crying.