Hawaiian Crosswinds

by Linda Chaikin

  He smiled wryly. Nice young man, otherwise, or could be, if he’d lay off the half-brother jealousy. Would be kind of nice to have a brother, if the guy didn’t relentlessly hate the sight of me. And why? What have I taken from him so far? A job managing the sugar production that Zachary hadn’t wanted anyway. So what was his problem?

  If anyone has a right to resentment it’s me! I’m the one rejected and cheated by the Derringtons. I belong here as much as Zachary, Candace, or Eden. Was it my fault Townsend didn’t marry my mother?

  He smiled to himself, amused by the standoff between his cousin Candace and Rafe’s friend Keno. He rubbed his chin. Maybe not so amusing the other night, however, when Keno had flattened Oliver. Not that he minded the British sympathizer getting a firm lesson in humility.

  Silas chuckled, swinging his walking stick. If Oliver had known he’d be picking himself up off the ground he may have thought twice about his tactics.

  Silas stiffened his jaw. That incident with Keno was planned, of course. Oliver had lain waiting, as the old saying went, “to pick a bone” with Keno. He’d needed an alibi. Well, he’d stirred things up all right, and made a big alibi, not that it would do him much good now, since Oliver failed to accomplish his task for the British.

  Oliver had planned to steal his father’s secret seven-page manifesto, written for the upcoming trip to Washington. The policy document was to find its way ultimately to the desk of President Harrison, who favored annexation of the Hawaiian Islands.

  As Silas understood it, the document laid out in full detail every step planned by the Hunnewell-Derrington committee to bring events together for the rapid success of annexation.

  Mr. Hunnewell would be astounded if he discovered the truth about Oliver’s underhanded ways.

  Silas shook his head. What a plunge into the muck of disappointment for poor old Thaddeus! His own son, a spy for men surrounding the British commissioner. Oliver, who was boasted about, promoted to success at Harvard through no sweat of his own, spoiled by easy riches, had turned out to be an ungrateful son to the man who’d done it all for him. But as yet, old Thaddeus didn’t know.

  What did the British want the document for? Undoubtedly to send it to London to embarrass the American government. The British powers that be would delight to put pressure on the US Congress to denounce the secret cooperation between members of the Reform Party and the American president. Harrison might have no choice except to back away from annexing the Pacific Islands.

  In view of all that, Oliver had his mission laid out for him last night. He was to create a diversion. The more trouble and confusion Oliver caused, and the more people suspected of possibly spying on the Annexation Club meeting, the better. The fiasco of confusion gave more reasons to Thaddeus Hunnewell and Ainsworth Derrington to place the blame for the document’s theft on the Royalists, rather than someone inside the club.

  And Oliver himself? What was his rationale for cooperating with the political treachery? He needed nothing. He was already a wealthy young man, an only son, the sole inheritor of the great Hunnewell bounty. He was permitted by the social norms of the day to tread in his father’s footsteps all the way to the Legislature to take possession of power he hadn’t earned and didn’t deserve.

  More than likely Oliver’s reason for joining the Brits wasn’t to receive anything tangible from them, but to keep something buried. Some sin he wanted covered up that they knew about. So what else was new? Silas thought with scorn for the rich. Or he could be so misguided as to feel a thrill when the old Union Jack waved in the winds.

  Could the arrogant Oliver P. Hunnewell have a secret he needs to keep locked away so his father doesn’t find out? An undisclosed incident back in the States may well damage his present plans if unveiled in the newspapers—just the way the Derringtons were willing to hush up Townsend’s actions. For Oliver it might be something he didn’t dare let Candace discover.

  Why was Oliver aiding the expansion of London’s empire over and above the United States? Only Oliver knew. Somewhere along the way he had made a decision to support England. Then again, politics aside, Oliver had a sound reason to keep any scandal hushed up from Ainsworth. There was all of the Derrington inheritance and land that he would rake in through marriage to Candace. A man would need a strong reason to risk losing it to the possibility that Ainsworth might learn he was against annexation!

  “The elite,” Silas murmured sneeringly. He knew all too well the insults paid to the socially inferior. Oh yes, Oliver had meant every cutting word he’d used to slice through Keno’s self-respect the other night, even though the fracas had been planned and Keno had walked into a bull’s ring by mistake.

  And so Oliver had responded to the task given him that night without a missed step. If it hadn’t been Keno, who would it have been? That it had turned out to be Keno merely worked in Oliver’s favor. He could add a little vindictive poison to the commotion already planned.

  He curled his lip and swiped his walking stick hard against a bush in his way.

  “What about you, Silas? You’ve been able to cover your bitterness toward the Derringtons pretty well, indeed, since coming here to Honolulu. You’ve been the smiling, amiable cousin from afar who bears no grudges that your childhood and youth were ones of neglect and abuse.

  “How self-righteous of them to condemn me for being a gambler. They didn’t need to hang out in the dives of Louisiana as a boy, waiting for a handout to get something to eat. What else would I learn but a deck of cards, a quick ‘cheat’ to get ahead? And all while the Derringtons lolled about in their Hawaiian paradise.” He whacked at another bush.

  He glanced at the time. There remained an hour before the Derringtons were to gather at Kea Lani at Ainsworth’s request to discuss Silas’s wayward father, Townsend.

  Silas came to a fork in the road. To his right was the road to Kea Lani, while on his left was Ambrose’s bungalow and the small church with its cross and open door.

  Ambrose was in his church office sitting at his desk writing with one hand and leafing through his Bible for the verses he wanted with the other. He paused and glanced up when a board creaked near the open door. Silas Derrington leaned in the doorway, a tired smile on his face.

  “Don’t you ever get tired of reading that Book?”

  He looked like his father, except he was more elegant, more limber and fashionable than either his father, a professed boxer, or Zachary, an outdoorsman. If Zachary was hoping that Silas was falsely claiming to be Townsend’s firstborn, he was wrong. His credentials as a Derrington were evident to the eye.

  Ambrose smiled, removed his spectacles, and leaned back in his squeaky old chair. He motioned for Silas to enter and have a seat in the small chamber. The breeze blew in through the one window open toward the sea.

  “The answer to your question, my lad, is no. There is nothing stagnant about knowing Jesus Christ. I continually learn of the goodness and greatness of God each time I give my sincere devotion to the Word.” And he quoted, “More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold; sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.”

  Silas smiled ruefully. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Don’t ever do that. Taste and see for yourself that the Lord is good. God keeps an individual relationship with each of His own. Don’t trip on that box of books, lad. They just came in today. I’ve not had time to unpack them.”

  “The question remains of where you’ll put them,” Silas said, stepping over the box and finding a small foothold of empty flooring to ease himself into a cane chair.

  Ambrose laughed. “A trifle cramped, all right.”

  “With all the money the Derrington family has in the Spreckels bank,” he said, glancing around, “I’d think they’d get together and build you a bigger church. They all claim to be religious.”

  Ambrose took note of the vein of resentment in his tone. Was the bitterness for the Derrington name or what he thought hypocrisy? He decided it was the Derringt
on name. Now what was the root of it? Ainsworth was making Silas a top manager of the sugar manufacturing and paying him double what he would normally pay one outside the family. He had also been embraced into the midst of the family as a full-fledged member, with the assurance of a bigger future inheritance. What continued to feed the resentment?

  “A larger and finer building has already been suggested, but Dr. Jerome, and Eden as well, wish to keep its historic reputation. I admit I do too.” Ambrose went on to briefly explain how Jerome and Rebecca had founded the church here, and how the first Hawaiian who had come to faith in Christ was Noelani’s mother.

  “Until her conversion, the Hawaiians wouldn’t venture to within a yard of the front step. I had superstitious trouble with the Hawaiian leaders just a few years ago when a hurricane came through. They insisted the storm came because we worshiped Christ instead of the gods of their Polynesian myths, Kane and Pelee, the primary spirit. They insisted I bless all of their animals and fishing nets so no harm would come to them in the hurricane. If they lost their animals and nets, their spirit god was deemed the stronger and the true.”

  Silas’s eyes reflected interest. “What happened?”

  “By the grace of God the storm blew through. Their livelihoods were saved. More importantly the true and living God was glorified as the Creator. The people began to come on Sunday in larger numbers. Since then they’ve sincerely turned to Jesus as their only Lord and Savior.”

  Silas changed the subject as soon as an opening came.

  “I’ve been out walking this morning. I came upon my cousin Candace returning from the Easton plantation. Isn’t that where a Chinese man was found murdered this week?”

  Ambrose sadly noted the pretentious attitude of ignorance that Silas displayed. Silas already knew who Sen Fong was, yet he was suggesting otherwise. Ambrose knew this to be true because of something Sen had told him, something Ambrose would not repeat because it had been given to him as a man of God.

  “Yes, his name was Sen Fong,” Ambrose said quietly. “Eden found him in the garden at Hawaiiana’s house.”

  “An ugly discovery for a fine girl like Eden.”

  “She’s a nurse and she has seen worse.”

  Ambrose believed Silas had stopped here today by chance, but after he’d gotten here had decided to see if he could discover how much was known about Sen Fong’s background. Ambrose decided to come straight to the point. Silas remained connected in some way with the gambling cartel, he was sure of that, but what of the opium dealers? Ambrose hoped he was wrong.

  He folded his arms on top of his desk and leaned forward with a level stare. “Did you know Sen Fong?” Ambrose asked outright.

  Startled by the bluntness of the question, Silas stared.

  Ambrose was heartened when he saw the struggle Silas went through in order to not lie to him.

  “Oh well, you know, I’d seen him around now and then.”

  “Now and then,” Ambrose repeated, still meeting his gaze squarely.

  “Actually,” —and Silas pulled at his earlobe, glancing about the room— “well yes, that is, I knew who he was.”

  “He was in the opium cartel. He told me about it.”

  Silas glanced at him sharply. “He told you!”

  “Sen became a Christian a few weeks ago.” Ambrose leaned back comfortably.

  Silas nearly choked out his unbelief and shock. “Sen Fong a Christian! That can’t be.”

  “Why do you say that, lad?”

  “Well! Sen Fong was a terrible man. He was an opium dealer, all right, and a lot more, including a murderer.” His light-blue eyes narrowed. “He killed a Chinese once. I don’t know what it was about.”

  Ambrose showed no shock. He told Silas of the Bible campaigns on the Oahu plantations. “He came here late one night with Keno and asked for Dr. Jerome and me to answer his questions on the merits of gaining forgiveness of his sins. I showed him through Scripture that Christ Himself is our merit, our righteousness. He is made unto us everything we need as corrupt, leprous sinners. He is made unto us wisdom, sanctification, redemption. Sen Fong exchanged his sin for a robe of righteousness that night.”

  Silas moved uneasily. Again he changed the subject.

  “Then Keno and Jerome know about his involvement in the opium?”

  “So does Rafe.”

  Silas let out a breath of what may have been despair, or perhaps relief, and leaned quickly against the back of the chair.

  “I see.” He was thoughtful. “Yes, I think I understand now.”

  “Understand why he was murdered?”

  Silas remained silent and pensive. He stared at the Bible on the desk.

  Ambrose went on quietly, “We think his coming to Christ was the reason the kingpin had Sen murdered.”

  At the word kingpin, Silas swerved his gaze to Ambrose. A glimmer showed in his eyes. He seemed surprised or troubled that Ambrose knew the term, though he said nothing to prove he was thinking that.

  “What makes you so sure it was the opium dealers?”

  “Sen Fong was a kingpin himself. I know that because he told me so. He wanted to be free of the evil, and of the men who lorded it over him. He had a new Master now. He told me he would be in danger, that he knew too much, but little did I realize how soon, or how violently they would move against him.”

  Silas shifted in the cane chair. His blue eyes had turned cold and angry.

  Why is he angry? Ambrose wondered. And at whom? At me? With the cartel?

  Silas leaned forward and his gaze seemed to grab hold of Ambrose. “You say ‘we’ believe this about the opium dealers. Who are we, you and the marshal?”

  “I don’t know what the marshal thinks. He hasn’t said much to me yet. I was speaking of myself and my nephew, Rafe.”

  “What does Rafe know about this?”

  “Probably about as much as the marshal. He’s put a few ideas together that make sense.”

  He sank against the chair back. “It’s atrocious about Sen Fong. Makes me angry thinking about it.”

  Ambrose came to the conclusion that Silas was not involved in Sen Fong’s death at the hands of the opium cartel. He too was upset by the murder and perhaps had come here to find out, in a roundabout way, whether the law believed the cartel had committed the atrocity. If Silas was still involved with gambling, would this injustice to Sen Fong help to turn him away?

  “It was done for money,” Silas murmured more to himself than to Ambrose.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Silas looked at him. “Ah, yes, money,” Silas repeated with some disgust. “People will do anything for money. I include myself. I acknowledge my weakness. But murder? No. Money is the root of all evil. You see? I do know something about your Book.”

  “A good start, lad. I’d like you to begin coming to the men’s Bible study on Monday nights. The Bible, however doesn’t say that money itself is the root of all evil, but that man’s love of money is the root of all kinds of evil. A gold piece sitting here on my desk—if I had one—” and he smiled, “would be neither good nor evil. It would be neutral. It’s what a man might do in order to take that piece of gold from my desk, and what he’d use it for if he had it in his possession. It could be used for good, or evil.”

  “And Sen Fong was murdered because he chose, as you put it, a new and better Master. So then, ‘they,’ whoever was behind it, and the assassin who pushed that knife under his ribs, were together in the deed. And they did it for money.”

  “Yes, and in the long run it was more of a tragedy for them than Sen Fong.”

  Silas looked at him with doubt. “How do you come to that conclusion? Sen Fong is dead. They walk away free.”

  “Not forever. ‘Fret not over the man that brings wicked devices to pass, for he will soon be cut down like the grass, and wither as the green herb.’ From this life’s standpoint, yes, it was probably tragedy, since if he’d lived he may have been able to lead others to the Light that he had found. Then agai
n, there’s the issue of God’s sovereignty at work. Nothing takes Him by surprise. Sen’s days on earth were cut short. But Sen was ready to step into the presence of God. We never can be sure when our own time is up. Sen was ready. He was clothed in the righteousness of his Savior, Jesus Christ. Eternity is out there, Silas. The crucial question is are you ready?”

  Silas shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He avoided Ambrose’s eyes and looked at the time. “You’re right,” he said in his offhand way, and stood, “time is catching up with me. It’s time I removed myself from here to Kea Lani. If I’m late my grandfather will hold it against me.”

  Ambrose walked with Silas to the front door of the church.

  Silas smiled. “Thanks for the Book information. I’ll give the matter some thought when I have a more convenient time.”

  “You know Silas, I read something of that nature before.”

  Silas looked around for his hat and walking stick. “I must have left my stick in the buggy.” Then, with a suave “aloha,” he was gone.

  Ambrose looked after him with a note of sadness. Silas strolled on his way toward the fork in the road—whistling a meaningless tune.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Decisions

  In a gesture of determination, Rafe jerked his hat lower and tramped along the edge of the pearl lagoon. The full moon climbed above the blue-black water, causing it to shimmer with diamond sparkles. The fringed silhouette of coconut trees stood along the water’s edge where he emerged from the beach. Kea Lani was not far ahead. He intended to find Great-aunt Nora and discuss the prescription bottle, which she’d told everyone she mistakenly threw away. Thanks to Zachary’s slip of the tongue, if it was that, Rafe knew differently. The challenge would come in convincing Nora to turn the prescription over to him. He must talk to her alone while Ainsworth was busy elsewhere. Rafe didn’t put it past him to wrangle Nora into either keeping it hidden or releasing it to him.

  The wooden building stood across the road on a gardened plot of land once owned by the Derringtons but now part of a larger acreage sold under his stepfather Townsend to Parker Judson.