“So who are you?” he asked finally. “Jordan Baker,” I snapped. “I told Bai that already.” “And you’re Vietnamese, right?” “I’m from Louisville,” I sniffed. “But … yes. Before that, from Tonkin. I came back with a missionary, Eliza Baker.” “She stole you?” “She rescued me. From the village where she was missioning. The Chinese were right across the river, so she took me and ran all the way to where the carriage was waiting. She used an orange crate as my cradle on the ship back to New York.” It was family legend, trotted out every Christmas while I lived in Louisville. I had grown quite immune
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