His eye color was blue green, like the sea beyond the reef. A handsome man, Sandi thought.
“I’m grateful to you,” he said, “for coming all this way to talk story. Her life—incredible, you know. The way it was back then. What really happened. Important stuff, and no one has taken the time before now.” He put his hand to his brow in salute. “Mahalo, as we say.”
“She insisted I must visit The Mission House on Front Street.”
Archie smiled wistfully and glanced out the window. “A sentimental journey. She and my great-grandfather were married right here. Downstairs. Sometimes she sits here and, by the look in her eyes, I think she can almost see him as he was.”
“Your great-grandfather? She hasn’t told me—”
“She likes everything to be orderly. With her, it’s got to be first things first. You may have noticed.”
“Where does Lahaina fit in?”
“She would say, ‘I can’t tell you the end before the beginning.’ It’s her story, you know.” Archie motioned toward the dark, burled-walnut baby cradle. “So, back to furniture. Made locally, mostly. Koa wood, but a few small pieces are English and were shipped around the Horn.”
* * * *
Victorian England
For the occasion of Kaiulani’s birthday celebration, she and Annie and Hannah were back at Sundown. Clive returned from school. The number of celebrants neared a hundred as the party included Liverpool dignitaries, the Davies’ Southport neighbors, and the families of Theo’s business associates.
Sundown was so ablaze with lights it appeared to be completely misnamed. From the gas lamps lining the drive to the flaming torches in the garden, every corner of the estate shone like a lantern.
There had already been dancing in the main salon and strolls in the rose garden. The butler had just summoned the guests to a midnight supper when Theo Davies approached Kaiulani and touched her elbow.
“A messenger with a present for you, my dear,” he said. “The train from London was delayed, but he had explicit orders to be here on your birthday, and he’s arrived with just five minutes to spare. I’m sorry to take you from your guests but think we should honor his integrity, don’t you?”
What could this mean? For a fleeting moment, Kaiulani’s heart raced. She imagined Papa Archie arriving from home as a surprise, but quickly put that thought away as impossible.
Theo escorted her to the entry to the library, asking if he could remain, as he had something to share with her after the present.
The little man waiting beside the floor-to-ceiling oak shelves was not anyone Kaiulani recognized. He blinked watery eyes at her from behind round spectacles and tapped a gold pocket watch against the palm of his other hand. On the table in front of him was a package done up in heavy brown paper and wrapped with twine.
The slightly built courier bobbed his head agreeably as Kaiulani entered. “Ah, Your Highness. I promised to make this delivery without fail. Now I can give him a good report. I know it will please him.”
“I’m sorry, Mister…Mister…?”
“Bain. James Bain,” the diminutive man supplied.
“And to whom was this promise given?”
Bain’s smile made his face crinkle from the corners of his mouth to the recesses of his eyes. Even his ears lifted with delight. “I think I should let the parcel speak for itself,” he said, pushing the package across the table.
It was addressed:
HRH Kaiulani
Sundown
Hesketh Park
Liverpool
Theo stepped forward and snipped the twine with his scrimshaw-handled pocketknife before moving back to let Kaiulani unfold the wrapping.
A heap of books and the aromatic fragrance of new leather tumbled out. Clothed in matching green bindings were copies of Treasure Island, Kidnapped, The New Arabian Nights, and The Merry Men—all by Robert Louis Stevenson.
Beneath the title, each cover was embossed with gold foil:
HRH Kaiulani
From
R.L.S.
“Oh!” Kaiulani exclaimed, clapping her hands. “He remembered. I only mentioned once the titles I did not own, and here they are! But how—”
“A mystery easily explained, Your Highness,” Bain asserted. “I have the honor to be Mister Stevenson’s favored bookseller in London. He enlists me when he has a special binding request, as in this instance. In his letter of last April Mister Stevenson was very explicit as to his directions, which is why I came in person.”
As she opened the cover of Treasure Island, Kaiulani’s thoughts flew back across the intervening months. April! Her dear author friend had planned this moment before Kaiulani had even left Hawaii! In that instant she prayed for him, prayed that anticipating this surprise had given him as much pleasure as she had received from it.
Bain presented her with a letter with the distinct handwriting of Stevenson. “I thought perhaps Mr. Stevenson’s letter of instruction to me might also give you pleasure.”
Kaiulani opened the envelope and scanned the page.
April 1889—Honolulu
Dear Mr. Bain,
This is most important to me. I wish to get Treasure Island, Kidnapped, The Arabian Nights (1st series), and The Merry Men (illustrated) and have them bound for me as you know how and no man better, and to have on the binding of each of these, these words:
HRH Kaiulani
From
R.L.S.
elegantly imprinted. The little lady in question is the Princess of Hawaii—a pretty and engaging Royal Princess. As soon as you get the books bound, they are to be delivered to Her Royal Highness for her birthday, 16, October, c/o Mr. Theo Davies Esq. Sundown, Hesketh Park, Liverpool.
Pray give this trivial affair (to which I attach so much importance) your kind attention…
R. L. Stevenson
Kaiulani’s eyes brimmed as she folded the letter and pressed it to her heart. “Thank you, sir. As we would say at home, Mahalo.”
Bain produced a business card from a waistcoat pocket and handed it to Kaiulani with a flourish. “Number One, Haymarket,” he said proudly. “Perhaps you’d care to visit when your travel takes you to the capital.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied. “You’re very kind. More than kind. Won’t you please stay to supper?”
“I mustn’t impose,” Bain protested.
“Not at all, not at all!” Theo replied. “Delighted to have you. I believe you saw the dining room on your way here? Splendid. We’ll be along directly.”
Kaiulani turned each volume over in her hands, stroking the fine leather and admiring the painstaking workmanship. When she lifted her eyes, she saw Theo Davies regarding her strangely. Was that a hint of sadness in his expression?
“Kaiulani,” he said, “I very much hate to introduce any unpleasant note into your celebration.”
“What is it? Not Papa? Is he well?”
Theo made placating gestures with his hands. “Nothing like that, I promise. Nothing personal. This is news of a—more of an affair of state. Let me explain.” Theo produced a folded sheaf of paper from an envelope. “This came by the same carriage that brought Mister Bain. I’ve received advance notice by cable from my New York office of a story that has just appeared in The New York Times. It concerns you, my dear. Once The Times of London gets wind of it, they will certainly seek a statement from you. I didn’t want you to be unprepared. Journalists can be such vipers in the way they strike.”
“Please tell me the news,” Kaiulani said calmly.
“The American Secretary of State is calling for a Pan-American Union. An alliance of North and South American nations to lower trade barriers and provide for common defense.”
Kaiulani strained to see the connection. “But what has this to do with me?”
Theo was grim as he replied. “As part of his speech, the secretary mentions Hawaii. He says specifically that Hawaii has much more in common with—” And here Theo read from the file: “ ‘More in
common with the vigorous, young democracies than with tired, outmoded, and corrupt monarchies.’ ” Theo paused to let the princess digest the implications.
“He is aligning himself with the Reform Party and against the king,” she said.
“He is signaling that President Benjamin Harrison will back the rebels if Thurston leads a revolt against your uncle,” Theo concluded bluntly.
“I know so little about affairs of state. I wish I were better informed, better educated. What must I do? What should I say?”
“If any newspaperman dares confront you tonight, you must say only that you will have a prepared statement to issue tomorrow. That will give us time to frame a proper response. I’m very sorry, but I could not let you be taken unawares.”
“Thank you,” Kaiulani said. “Please don’t delay supper further. Offer some excuse for me. I’ll be along soon. I just need to think.”
Theo nodded and silently left.
Kaiulani sat in a chair beside the library table, deep in thought. She retrieved the copy of Kidnapped and turned it over in her hands beneath the green globe of the oil lamp. So it was true. The United States would swallow up Hawaii and spit out King David like a papaya seed. Could this force be resisted? Should she appeal to those in America who seemed friendly to the monarchy? Or should she appeal to Queen Victoria—one royal family desiring aid from another?
The library door creaked open, and Clive entered. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I came looking for you. When Father spoke, I—I’m afraid I overheard it all.”
Kaiulani nodded. Soon everyone would know. Most would not care what happened to a tiny island kingdom half a world away.
“But I would care. I do care,” Clive said fervently.
Kaiulani didn’t realize she had voiced her thoughts aloud.
Kneeling beside her, Clive took both her hands in his. “Please, I offer you my services. More than that, I offer you myself. I want to be your protector. I’ll stand beside you. Fight beside you. Die for you, if need be.”
The princess shook her head. Retrieving one hand from his grasp she laid it on his cheek. “Dear Clive, I cannot agree, cannot lead you on. I cannot be to you what you want me to be. Please understand. As Kaiulani Cleghorn, I care for you very much.”
Clive brightened measurably at those words and his breath quickened, but Kaiulani saw him deflate just as suddenly with her next words.
“But as Her Royal Highness Victoria Kaiulani,” she said, “my life is not my own. I may be asked, for the good of Hawaii Nei, to make a marriage of state. Something to save the kingdom. Something to save my people. I cannot promise you anything, or even let you hope.”
Chapter Eight
The crisp autumn stirred Blenheim’s blood as Kaiulani led him from the barn. Head up, he pranced on the cobbles of the yard and snorted in the frosty morning air.
A western saddle, shipped from Hawaii by King Kalakaua for Kaiulani’s birthday, was heavy on the big hunter’s back. Still her weight, combined with that of the rig, did not amount to that of a man. Dressed in a riding skirt and tall boots, Kaiulani mounted and sat astride Blenheim as if ready for a cattle drive on the Parker Ranch.
Clive hurried from the house and called to her, “Kaiulani! Wait! I’ll come with you.”
She waved and mouthed the words, “NO, THANKS!” Then, as Clive watched with his hands hanging limply at his sides, she gave Blenheim his head and never looked back.
Kaiulani never felt as happy or free as she did on the back of the hunter. The cold tore at her face, stinging her cheeks. Her hair tumbled down her back, a tangle of curls in the bitter breeze.
As if the horse had some memory of her pleasure as his rider, he tore toward the rock wall and jumped it with ease. This time Kaiulani did not pull up or give any sign that she was finished. Blenheim galloped cross-country, leaping over hedges and fences for another mile. At last Kaiulani cued him into a gentle lope and reined him to a stop beneath the copse of leafless plane trees.
Blenheim’s steamy breath matched hers. She leaned forward and stroked his muscled neck. “Mahalo. Good boy,” she crooned. “I’ll take you home to Hawaii Nei one day. We’ll see if you have cow sense as well as speed.”
Relaxed in the saddle, Kaiulani surveyed hedgerow pastures bisected by muddy lanes and stone walls. In the distance lay Hesketh Park and the great mansion of Sundown.
Kaiulani spoke quietly. Blenheim’s ears turned at the sound of her voice. “I could be happy here for the rest of my life if, every day, I could fly across the countryside on your back.” She patted him, then held her gloved hand to her nose and inhaled the tangy scent of his lather. “Who am I fooling?” She laughed. “What sort of English gentlewoman loves the smell of a horse? But I do. I confess to you, dear Blenheim, I do love the aroma of a horse barn too.”
With a cluck of her tongue she urged him forward. With perfect precision she opened the gate and passed through to the lane. Drained now of excess energy, Blenheim headed home at a slow walk. The miles they had traversed in minutes took an hour or more on returning. The horse was cool and calm when, at last, Kaiulani rode into the yard and dismounted. Suggins tugged his cap and took his reins. “Never see this big fella so happy as when you ride him out, Miss Kaiulani.”
Theo Davies was waiting for her when she returned, contented, to the house. Hannah and Annie were playing chess before the great roaring fire. They looked up only briefly, then returned to their game.
Theo called Kaiulani into his study. “Good ride?” He motioned for her to sit in the burgundy wingback chair before his desk.
“He is the best horse—most honest—I’ve ever ridden.”
“He’s yours. You’ve won his heart as no other.”
“You think he’d be happy in Hawaii?”
Theo did not answer but slid a handwritten document across the blotter to her. “Touching on the matter we discussed last night, I have written out a statement for you in case you are asked about the events concerning the Hawaiian monarchy and the United States.”
Kaiulani removed her gloves and scanned the paper. “Yes. Yes, of course. We are a sovereign nation. No other government may dictate our laws or, well, I don’t really understand it all.”
“No need. Read it. Commit the text to memory. If you are asked, this contains everything you should say in reply.” Theo passed a silver tray with a letter on it. “From your uncle, the king. It came in the morning post.”
“Oh! From Papa Moi! Only a day late for my birthday.”
Theo’s mouth turned up at the corners, but his eyes did not smile. “Perhaps the king has some instruction for you—for your statements to the press.”
She broke the red wax seal, pulled out the letter, and scanned it quickly. “Asking me about school and such. Very cheerful. I’ll have to write him.” And then her smile faltered as a written warning, inscribed in the Hawaiian language, leapt off the page. Kaiulani recognized the Scripture in Psalm 55:12: “No ka mea, aole he enemi, ka i hoino mai ia’u; Ina pela hiki no…”
Kiulani lowered the letter without telling Theo about her uncle’s terrifying words. “…and that’s all.”
“What is it, Kaiulani?” Theo’s gaze bored into her. “Is everything all right?”
“Nothing at all.” She laid the letter down face up on the desk, certain that Theo could not read her native language. He glanced at it. She touched her forehead, feigning a headache. “I–I’ve been in the cold air all morning and suddenly my head—”
Picking up the correspondence, she excused herself and hurried up the stairs to her room. On the settee in her bedroom, she again scanned her uncle’s letter. The warning of the psalm continued with a personal note in Hawaiian. The king’s message sent a chill through her: “You must be on guard against certain enemies I do not feel free to name in writing… .”
* * * *
1973
“You’re watching TV Two, Eyewitness News at Ten, with B.J. Sams and Bob Basso. Les Keiter, Sports.”
Sa
ndi stood at the Pioneer Inn’s bar, a nearly untouched Joe’s Special on the counter before her, sweating with condensation. The drink was a secret recipe, but at first taste, Sandi figured a principle ingredient must be Old Spice aftershave. She wasn’t much of a drinker anyway, but the newsbreak appearing in intermittent rolls on the ancient black-and-white television above the bar made her forget about it completely.
The bar wasn’t too busy, but against the waves crashing against the breakwater, the volume wasn’t very high. Sandi had to strain to hear the newsman’s voice: “Taken yesterday afternoon, these pictures come to you courtesy of the press pool assembled at Clark Air Base, Luzon, the Philippines. There you can see the first of four jets carrying American prisoners of war, released just a few days ago from prisons in North Viet Nam.”