“Belgian chocolate. Cream centers,” Hannah opined.
Annie agreed. “Compared to plain brown bread.”
Kaiulani laughed and took a dainty bite. “Exactly. Clive and Koa are brown bread to me.”
“And Andrew Adams?’ Hannah peered closely into her eyes. “The truth.”
Kaiulani pawed through empty paper wrappers, holding up a final round bonbon. “Possibly the only chocolate-covered cherry in the box!”
“Or poison.” Hannah raised her finger in warning.
Annie instructed, “Woman shall not live on chocolate alone.”
“Who says?” Hannah bit a dark raspberry cream in half and savored the flavor. “Poor, poor Clive. Someone should let him in on the secret. Kaiulani’s love for Clive is only brown bread. Alas.”
Annie yawned and stood. The clock chimed twelve. Time for bed. “Kaiulani, why set your cap for a cad like Andrew Adams? When you have the cream of British manhood, and a Hawaiian prince, both at your feet? I am your sister, so I can tell you the truth.” Annie tapped her temple and rolled her eyes to finish the point. A quick kiss on Kaiulani’s cheek. “Aloha nui loa. Sweet dreams. I think I know who and what you will dream about tonight. And I don’t think it will be brown bread.”
Chapter Ten
1973
Sandi rose early and had a light breakfast of fresh pineapple and some unique fruit juice Joe was anxious and proud to have her try. He called it pog, and Sandi loved it. It was sweet and citrusy and buttery feeling on her tongue.
“Wonderful!” she raved. “What’s in it?”
“Secret recipe.” Joe smiled.
He seemed to be full of those.
“Well, I have to say I like this much better than your other secret recipe. How did you come up with it?”
The hurt look on Joe’s face told Sandi she’d said something wrong. “Not my recipe,” he said brusquely, dropping her check and walking away toward the kitchen.
For the next half hour, Sandi combed the narrow beach just south of the harbor for stones and shells. “Hey, haole!” somebody called from the breakwater, “Madame Pele don’ like it when people steal sand from da islands.”
More like the Madam Agricultural Inspector, she thought. Looking up and around, Sandi didn’t see the person who gave her the advice, so she just called back, “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”
With two pockets full of clean, dry stones, she retrieved the collection of Princess Kaiulani’s papers from her room. It was too beautiful a day to work inside, so she sat at a red-topped picnic table under the banyan tree across from the hotel. After wiping the table down with a hotel hand towel, she began laying out the precious documents in piles that would help her make some sense of it all, each topped with a few stones as paperweights.
Should I do it chronologically, she wondered, or maybe according to who she was writing to? There was merit in both methods. If she read them strictly in order, she could get a good timeline of Kaiulani’s travels from start to finish. She recognized short missives from Clive Davies and a stack of notes from Andrew Adams. But if she didn’t read each collection of correspondence as a single conversation, she might miss or forget some point between letters.
To complicate matters, she had only the responses made to each of the letters sent from the Princess. Anything Kaiulani had mentioned in letters she wrote could only be inferred from what the recipient wrote back to her. That and anything Auntie Hannah can fill in, she thought.
The tabletop was full, and there were still more papers in the box. Sandi sighed and looked up from the stacks. She wondered how she could ever condense this into a single report. The Fifty States History Project was a noble idea to preserve personal recollections of amazing, eventful periods in time. But the lives of Auntie Hannah, Princess Kaiulani, and the people they knew could fill volumes—multiple series of volumes! How could she condense it into a hundred-page report?
As she thought it over, Sandi marveled at the tree providing the canopy of shade above her. When she first saw it and heard it was a single tree, she was dubious. But sure enough, sitting beneath it, she could trace all of the stalks back to a single giant trunk in the middle of the space. Over the decades since it was planted, vines had dropped from branches, taken root in the soil, and became their own sturdy trunks, supporting those branches as they reached farther and farther away from the center.
And the story of every human being who ever lived is a sprawling banyan tree. How can you capture it all?
“You read too much, haole!” A voice from behind her startled her out of the daydream.
“Archibald David La’amea Kalakaua,” Sandi said, carefully pronouncing each Hawaiian syllable. “Was that you warning me about the wrath of Madame Pele?”
Archie walked around the table and touched his hand to his forehead, before sitting on the opposite bench. “At your service, miss. Always happy to help a haole stay curse-free.” He rested his truncated left forearm on one of the stacks and Sandi couldn’t help glancing at it. Without seeming offended, Archie asked, “I’m sorry, does it bother you?”
Sandi was taken aback. “No, of course not!” She reached her hand across the table and patted his forearm. “It’s just that, whenever I see one of you guys who gave so much—”
“Ah, stop,” Archie interrupted, leaning away. “I don’t need your—”
“No, Archie, sympathy is much different from ‘thank you.’ ”
He was stunned. It was a minute before he spoke again. “Well, thank you. You’re right. We’re either spit at or told how wrong it was for us to be sent there. But that’s the first time I’ve heard a ‘thanks’ for what we did.”
She smiled. “Well, it helps that I’m a military brat and that my husband believes in—” She paused, unsure whether she should use the past tense instead. Not because he’s dead! screamed a voice inside her head, but because the war is over.
“Well, look,” Archie said, sensing her hurt, “it’s early yet. Auntie Hannah says you work too hard, and you need to see some kohola—the whales. I hear they’re jumping big off Oneloa.”
“Oh, good suggestion,” Sandi said. “But I can’t justify whale watching as a research expense.”
“What expense?” Archie said proudly. “I got a nice sailboat I take tourists out on for cash. Thanks to a thankful U.S. government, I own her free and clear. Wind’s free too.” He was already getting up from the table as if the discussion was over. “And you know Auntie Hannah won’t like it if you don’t take her advice. Next group’s going at ten. Be there at ten-till and bring a swimsuit. I got lots of snorkel gear on board. You can work off that haole tan!”
She thanked him and watched as he started across the park toward the marina. He jumped a low-hanging branch of the banyan tree like an energetic schoolboy, trotting away on the other side.
Sandi began collecting the documents from their little stacks, refiling them as best she could. It will be a nice break, she thought. How long has it been since I’ve done anything but work and school—and worry? Besides, I may never get to come to Hawaii again!
* * * *
Victorian England
Kaiulani’s calendar was filled. Holiday invitations to London social events arrived each day with the morning post. This evening’s soiree had been scheduled with the British Missionary Auxiliary at St. Mark’s Church, on North Audley Street. The main speaker was a preacher with the unlikely name of “Gipsy” Smith. Though Princess Kaiulani’s attendance was minor on the bill, her appearance had been scheduled and advertised for weeks. She dreaded the encounter with five thousand devoted missionary supporters. Hannah had helped her prepare and practice a short speech to thank the attendees for their support of missionaries. All in all, Kaiulani was certain it would be a very dull event. Worse than that, she discovered she had not brought a dress appropriate to wear to the somber occasion. Her holiday wardrobe was a flower garden of velvets and silks.
“Black,” Annie pronounced while scowling into
the closet. “Of course you must wear black. Modest and demure. Anything else and it will be reported in the news that you have no sense of what is appropriate.”
And so a shopping trip planned for Christmas gifts turned into a hunt for a gown Kaiulani hoped she would wear only once.
The expedition to Harrods Department store had begun with small expectations. First the trio of Hawaiians purchased a deadly dull dress, suitable for the missionary convention. Then, dividing up the cash, they set out in different directions to purchase gifts for one another and the Davies family.
After a morning wandering through every department of the famous department store, the round table in the hotel suite was stacked high with wrapped Christmas packages.
Kaiulani had intended to purchase only small gifts for the Christmas holiday. A pair of fur-lined gloves for her foster father, Theo Davies, had somehow become a wool overcoat. A single Sherlock Holmes novel for Clive had multiplied into a thirty-volume, green, leather-bound set of the works of Alexander Dumas. A bedroom clock for Mrs. Davies had become a bronze Junghans mantel clock with the cast figure of an elephant holding a gold-gilt eight-day timepiece in his trunk. Koa’s gift was a new carved meerschaum pipe. Kaiulani bought Annie and Hannah matching peacock brooches.
Annie, exhausted by the excursion, dozed on the sofa.
Hannah towered over Annie’s prone body. “She’s dreaming of a peaceful Christmas day beneath the banyan tree.”
Hands on her hips, Kaiulani considered the heap of gifts. “How will we get these to the Davies’ house at Sundown?”
Hannah eyed the heavy, red-wrapped box containing Clive’s novels. “You’re crazy.”
Kaiulani snapped, “After everything the Davies have done for us? They are our family in England.”
Hannah sprawled on the wingback chair and poured herself a cup of tea. “After tonight you should donate the black dress to a funeral parlor. Everything else we bought looks like the dowry for the Queen of Sheba.”
“Papa left it to me to represent the Kingdom of Hawaii and—”
“Such a gift. Thirty books. Clive will think you’ve fallen in love with him.”
Kaiulani was indignant. “Clive?”
“What else would he think?”
“Papa sent money for Christmas shopping and—”
“And Clive is certainly in love with you.”
“No more of that. Brown bread is brown bread.”
“When does anyone buy brown bread thirty novels bound in green leather with gold gilt pages?”
“Papa’s letter said I should purchase appropriate gifts. I represent Hawaiian monarchy. Pocket handkerchiefs would hardly impress anyone.”
Hannah lifted a piece of chocolate cake to her lips. “The Davies would have been just as happy with a tea chest and a platter of dried fruit.”
“I am not a kitchen maid.”
“We’ve spent almost all of Papa Archie’s allowance.”
Kaiulani silenced Hannah with an angry glance. “We’ll have to pack the gifts in a steamer trunk for the trip to Sundown.”
“And where will we pack our clothes?”
“Or maybe two trunks.”
A knock on the door interrupted their discussion. Hannah washed down her cake with a swig of tea. “I’ll get it.”
While Kaiulani laid out the black dress, Hannah threw open the door. A bellman bowed deeply. “A package for Your Highness.” He passed a gift-wrapped, book-sized package to Hannah.
“No message. Who from?”
The man answered, “A young gentleman in the lobby asked me to bring this up and put it in the hands of Princess Victoria Kaiulani and no one else. I presume you are—?”
“Well, then, thank you.” Hannah winked at Kaiulani over her shoulder. She tipped the fellow a shilling, then brought the package to Kaiulani. “You heard it. For Kaiulani and no other.”
Kaiulani shook the package. “If it feels like a book and is the size of a book…” She tore away the wrapping, revealing the familiar cover.
With one voice she and Hannah cried, “Little Women!”
Then the two exchanged a look. Hannah said quietly, “So.”
“Andrew.” Kaiulani’s heart beat faster. Her knees felt weak. An envelope protruded from the pages of the book.
Hannah pulled it out and opened it, scanning the masculine handwriting on the sheet of linen stationery.
“What does he say?”
A sly smile played on Hannah’s lips. “You should sit down, Kaiulani.”
Kaiulani sank to the chair.
Hannah read aloud.
“Princess Victoria Kaiulani,
Herewith, and with gratitude, I return to you my favorite novel: Little Women. How could I have gone my entire life and never read this masterpiece?
It could only be fate that we met again last night. I have had little sleep since my shameful behavior toward you on the train. I beg your forgiveness. I would do so on bended knee if only I might see you again face-to-face.
A mutual friend of ours has come into town and told me a most impressive story about a beautiful young woman who saved his life last summer. By way of his thanks and my apology, we have managed with great difficulty through the perseverance of my good friend, W. S. Churchill, to acquire box seats for the gala Christmas performance of As You Like It, starring Miss Lillie Langtry as Rosalind. Drury Lane Theatre. Tonight. If you and your dear chaperone would accompany me and Winston to the performance, after theatre supper will follow at Rules Restaurant. If you, Kaiulani, will stoop to join me, I will bend my knee to a royal princess and pledge my eternal faithfulness. I shall be waiting with my faithful friend at my side in the lobby of the Savoy Hotel at seven o’clock.
Your faithful servant,
Andrew Adams”
Kaiulani’s cheeks were crimson. “Winston! And Lillie Langtry! The Jersey Lily!”
“Not tonight,” Hannah scolded. “Annie can go with Winston—now there’s brown bread for you—but Andrew will have to find another date. You have a previous engagement.”
“Oh, Hannah!” Kaiulani moaned. “I thought I’d never see Andrew again!”
“Why do you want to?”
“He knows our dear little Winston. Good friends. That says something redeeming about Andrew, doesn’t it?”
“More about the character of Winston. That he would befriend such a rounder.”
“I must go.”
Hannah scanned the letter again. “You won’t.”
“I knew when I saw him last night…”
“You have a date with a couple thousand churchgoers.”
Kaiulani covered her face with both hands and confessed, “Listen, Hannah. I dreamed about Andrew last night. We were beneath the banyan tree at Ainahau. I heard the peacocks call. I turned, and he was gone. I felt the most terrible panic. I looked and looked for him.”
“And now this.” Hannah placed the letter on top of Clive’s package. “Poor Clive. Pocket handkerchiefs would have been kinder.”
“What?”
Hannah pursed her lips. “The convention has been expecting to meet the Royal Princess for weeks. Kaiulani, you can’t.”
Kaiulani glanced at the plain black dress and then at the closet filled with evening dresses. “Hannah?”
“No.”
“We’ve gotten away with it before.”
“I can’t. Kaiulani, they are expecting—are excited to see and hear the Royal Princess of Hawaii.”
“You know my speech as well as I. Hannah, please!”
Hannah shook her head in resignation. “They’re sending a committee to fetch Her Royal Highness at six o’clock.”
“Who will know the difference?” Triumphant, Kaiulani selected a burgundy velvet gown and held it up before the mirror.
“This time Andrew will know the difference.”
* * * *
Kaiulani and Hannah managed to keep the truth from Annie for several hours.
Annie knew only that Winston had somehow ma
naged to get tickets to the Langtry performance and that Annie was invited. She bustled happily around the suite. “Imagine! Seeing dear Winston again.”
It was almost six when Hannah donned the black missionary-suitable dress, while Kaiulani emerged dressed for the theatre in an elegant evening gown.
“What’s this? What’s this? Kaiulani? You can’t go looking like that. Hannah, you’re wearing Kaiulani’s dress.”
Hannah passed Andrew’s letter to Annie to read and retreated into the dressing room.