The Beloved Daughter (21 page)

“What happened?” He looked for a moment at the broken glass, glanced over at me, and then raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t let them in,” I whispered.

Kwan narrowed his dark eyes. “What are you doing, Wife?” I might have been afraid of his anger if I weren’t so scared of the strangers outside my door.

“Just listen,” I begged. “Those people are lying to you.”

“Do you know them?”

I shook my head but remained silent. Shouting wouldn’t prove my point.

“Is there a problem?” asked the man outside. “Perhaps my wife and I could be of assistance?”

“No!” I called out before Kwan could answer. “I cut my leg on some glass. Please, if you would wait outside for another moment, I’m not dressed decently. Please stay there.”

“You’re acting like a spoiled child,” Kwan scolded. “Mr. Kim’s policy at this home is to help anyone who is in need. Or maybe you have never bothered to read those verses in your father’s precious Bible.”

“If you knew who they were,” I whispered back, ignoring Kwan’s look of disgust, “you would send them away before they destroy us all.”

“We’ve had a long journey,” the woman called. “We were told you might help us.”

“Don’t come in!” I shouted. “I’m injured. If you want to help, you can go to the nurse’s house. She lives near the school, along the road to Longjing.”

“Longjing?” the woman snorted. “I saw no such road.”

“Let’s go,” her partner ordered.

I shivered as the front door slammed shut. Kwan pinched me on the arm.

“I hope that you have an explanation for your behavior.” Kwan dug his fingers into my flesh.

“They’re guards!” I was frustrated that what was so obvious to me was not just as clear to my husband. “It’s a trap, don’t you see?”

“They just looked like a poor couple to me, the kind of couple that Mr. Kim established this safe house to help.”

“Poor?” I shrieked, trying to keep my voice from hysteria. I wasn’t as angry as I was terrified for my own safety. “Did you look at the woman? She nearly had a double chin!”

“Well, I …”

“And the man!” I added. “Have you ever seen a refugee dressed like that?”

“But he …”

“And since when are North Korean defectors familiar with any road that leads to Longjing?”

Kwan opened his mouth and forgot to shut it again. He rubbed his chin. “We’d better call Mr. Kim.”

We didn’t need to. As Kwan made his way to the phone, Mr. Kim barged into the safe house. “Is Chung-Cha safe?” Mr. Kim stomped to our bedroom and let out his breath when he saw me. He frowned at the broken water vase, but didn’t ask any questions. “I just got word that an undercover raid is on its way.”

“They were already here,” Kwan muttered.

“What?” I never saw Mr. Kim so agitated before.

“They pretended they were defectors. Their disguise fooled me, but not my wife.” Kwan’s words might have made me feel proud were it not for the bitter sullenness in which he spoke them.

Whether Kwan was worried for my safety or brooding because I was correct about the strangers, I didn’t have the chance to find out. At that moment Mr. Kim demanded, “Where is my daughter?”

Flight

“Flee like a bird to your mountain. For look, the wicked bend their bows; they set their arrows against the strings to shoot from the shadows at the upright in heart.” Psalm 11:1-2

I couldn’t stop worrying about So-Young as I hurried beside my husband. Even though it was the middle of summer, I was shivering. “Are you cold?” Kwan asked me, holding my elbow as we rushed toward the mountain range between our hometown and Yanji.

Kwan carried a day’s worth of provisions in a small bag. We started out two hours ago and just now approached the foot of the mountains. From behind a sheet of thin clouds, the crescent moon offered little light to our path. I leaned against a tree to steady my shaking limbs.

“We’ll need to hurry to get to the cabin before daybreak,” Kwan urged. “Can you wait until we start our ascent before we stop again to rest?”

I was out of breath. My legs threatened to collapse beneath me. If only Kwan understood. But I couldn’t stop to explain things. We had to keep moving. I needed supernatural endurance, but God wasn’t cooperating with my prayers.

Shortly after the visit from the two strangers, Mr. Kim decided Kwan and I had to flee. We were heading to the cabin of a former house-church leader who was hiding there from the Chinese police. Mr. Kim was the only person who had any contact with this religious exile, and he took several minutes to explain to Kwan the way to the cabin. Then Mr. Kim packed a small bag with some boiled eggs and cabbage rolls before pushing us out the back door.

Mr. Kim planned to stay at the safe house until his daughter returned, and then he and So-Young would follow us up the mountain. To stay safe, we had to assume my behavior in the bedroom would have alerted the undercover guards. I didn’t know how much time Mr. Kim and So-Young had left. I was in the most danger since I would be sent back to North Korea if caught, but Kwan and Mr. Kim could also be arrested for helping refugees. I at least hoped So-Young would stay safe due to her age, but there was no guarantee for her protection either. Mr. Kim looked fragile and ragged when he prepared us for our journey. I was sure he was as worried about his daughter as I was.

Kwan and I walked as fast as we could all night long. About half an hour after the sun began to rise behind ominous storm clouds, we spotted a small structure in a clearing. “This must be it.” Mr. Kim hadn’t heard from his hermit friend in over a year and warned us that the cabin might be deserted.

Kwan knocked on a loose plank before entering. There was no door to speak of, only half a canvas hanging from a single nail. Kwan walked in first. The cabin was large enough to hold only a cot and a tree stump, probably intended for a chair. I was too exhausted from our mountain trek and too worried about our friends back in Sanhe to wonder about our supposed host.

“You can have the cot,” Kwan offered. “I’ll lie on the ground.” It had been more than twenty-four hours since I last slept, but I knew I would be unable to rest until my mind slowed down.

“Do you think they’ve started on their journey yet?” I still couldn’t find relief from my anxiety over So-Young’s safety.

“They’re probably only an hour or two behind us,” Kwan assured me. He sat down on the floor. “With as many times as you needed to stop and rest, I’m surprised they weren’t already here waiting for us when we arrived!” I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt my feelings, but our recent fight and the threat of danger left my spirits too bruised for joking.

“I hope nothing happens to So-Young,” I breathed into the semi-darkness. Kwan shifted over onto the little hammock and put his arm around me. Without thinking about it, I leaned into his wiry frame and rested my head on his chest.

Kwan leaned his cheek against my hair and took a deep breath. “I love you.” I waited for him to apologize for the argument back at the safe house, but he just sat and let me absorb the strength and warmth from his body. In spite of our frequent conflicts, I was now terrified to think of being separated from my husband.

“Are you scared?” I could only nod in response. I waited for Kwan to lecture me, to remind me yet again that it would be best for us to immigrate to South Korea. “What if you have a child?” Kwan often mentioned. “How could we stand to raise a son or daughter in this sort of danger?” If only Kwan knew how his words resonated in my soul this morning, now that I tasted true danger for the first time since arriving in Sanhe. I waited for the lecture to resume anew, but after a short period of silence, Kwan patted my knee and stretched out again on the floor.

I tried to recline on the cot, but after a few minutes, I crawled to the ground beside Kwan. I thought through our argument at the safe house. Like so many other times, I had refused to go to South Korea, certain that God’s work for me was in Sanhe. By my stubbornness, I put my family and our friends in danger. I couldn’t shake the foreboding in my spirit when I thought about So-Young. When would the Kims be here?

And now I realized that I had another person to care about, another being whose life and safety were intricately connected to mine. A wave of protectiveness swept over me.

“Husband,” I whispered as I wrapped my arms and legs around Kwan, as if I might hold on to him forever that way, “once we make sure So-Young is safe, let’s go to South Korea.”

Rescuer

“Come quickly to my rescue; be my rock of refuge, a strong fortress to save me.” Psalm 31:2

I woke up to the sound of driving rain. It was cloudy and dark. There was no way to guess how long I slept. Kwan’s coat was wrapped around me, but it was soaked from the water cascading in through the makeshift canvas door. Kwan was hunched over on the tree stump next to me, holding his head in his hands.

“Where’s So-Young?” I was surprisingly alert for just waking up.

“They haven’t come,” Kwan mumbled.

“What time is it?” I sat up and winced in pain. A nerve in my back fired all the way down to my leg in protest.

“It’s past noon.”

“I thought you said they were only an hour or two behind us.” I wasn’t trying to sound accusatory, but Kwan’s face set with characteristic defensiveness.

“How could I know the exact time that they left? Obviously I can’t be both here with you and back at the safe house at the same time.” I told myself that my husband wasn’t angry with me, just worried for our friends. I tried to lessen some of the tension in the dark cabin.

“I just … I …”

Kwan rolled his eyes. How I wished he understood. I opened my mouth but closed it again when Kwan stood up.

“I’m going to look for them,” he declared as thunder rumbled nearby.

“Right now? In this storm?” I wished I didn’t sound so irritated. “You must be crazy.” But I knew there was no way to change my husband’s mind. Kwan wasn’t an idle man. I couldn’t expect him to wait here until the storm subsided, not knowing what had become of our friends. Willing away my tears, I held out Kwan’s soaked coat.

“What good will that do me in this rain?”

“Please.” If something happened to Kwan, I didn’t want our last words to be angry. “Let’s not keep fighting like this.”

Kwan hardened his expression, shrugged his shoulders, and took his coat. He didn’t even say good-bye as he left the cottage.

By nightfall, the storm clouds were gone. So was my husband. I had hoped Kwan would find Mr. Kim and So-Young on his way down the mountain trail and we would all be reunited in a few short hours. Kwan didn’t leave me any directions to follow if he was delayed. I wasn’t even sure I knew which path would take me back to Sanhe.

I wanted to pray. Desperately, I longed to pour my heart out to the Lord and find the comfort and assurance that only he can give. But along with my broken relationship with my husband came an obstructed communion with God. Often I tried to apologize to the Lord for my resentment toward Kwan, but usually my prayers did more to exonerate myself and slander my husband than to address the sinfulness that dwelt in my own heart.

I peeked into the bag of provisions that Mr. Kim sent with us. I ate a boiled egg for dinner, leaving one more egg and two cabbage rolls to last until whenever my husband returned.

If he returned.

During my first year of marriage, I often imagined Kwan’s death. I hope that you do not think me a cold and unloving wife, but I must admit to you, beloved daughter, that I often pictured myself at Kwan’s funeral, accepting the condolences of So-Young and Mr. Kim and Pastor Tong. In my mind, I always appeared so stately and composed. In the most distressing days of my turbulent marriage, I envisioned how many ways my life would be easier if I no longer had a husband. I could move into So-Young’s room again and renew our late-night talks. Perhaps Mr. Kim would pity me as a widow and soften in his attitude toward me. Without the dark depression hanging over me – which I wouldn’t be struggling with if Kwan were a better husband – I could be a much more competent servant for the Lord. I pictured myself ministering graciously and tirelessly as So-Young did, without the heaviness of spirit that dragged me down ever since Kwan and I joined our lives together.