The Promise

by Jane Peart

  “Maybe,” Edith said doubtfully. “I hope you’re right.”

  At length she got off the bed, said a sleepy good night, and went listlessly into her adjoining bedroom.

  Jana had trouble getting back to sleep. What a shame, she thought, that the beautiful party and the celebration of the start of a new year had ended so badly.

  After Edith left, Jana lay awake. She realized there was deeply felt bitterness in Bayard Preston. He was caught between two cultures. As Colonel Preston’s son by his marriage to an American woman, he was ever considered by Hawaiians as a haole. No matter that he had been born here on the island. His was a love-hate relationship with the island. Half the year, he lived in the United States, where Hawaii was considered a foreign country, its traditions trivialized, its legends and lovely customs vulgarized. He managed to keep his anger controlled and suppressed—most of the time—but it cost him.

  Jana understood that under his outburst at his sister’s dancing was his fear that his friends would consider the hula something pagan, uncivilized. After all, the first missionaries had banned it at one time. They had missed the significance of the graceful, legend-telling native dance. He had impulsively acted in defense of what he held dear—Hawaii and Edith.

  It was a long time before Jana’s troubling thoughts allowed her to go to sleep again.

  The sun streaming in through the latticed screens awoke Jana. She lay there for a moment, reluctant to come into full wakefulness. The bed felt soft, comforting, like a cocoon from which she did not want to pull herself. But slowly the events of the ball and the aftermath pulled her into consciousness. She hoped there would be no repercussions from the upsetting scene between Bayard and Edith last night. She slipped out of bed and went over to the windows to see what kind of day the weather promised for the garden party planned as the last event of the holiday. Stepping out onto the balcony, she heard Bayard’s and Colonel Preston’s voices from the lanai below. Bayard was speaking earnestly.

  “Father, I know it would be hard for you to let her go. But Edith needs exposure to another culture, to the society in which she should learn to move, behave. You must see that, Father. She’s grown up almost wild here. She knows nothing but this island, the provincial attitudes. She needs polishing. She needs a whole other environment, different friends, other influences—she needs to associate with people of our own class, not just Hawaiians.”

  Jana stepped back as if she had been slapped. Bayard’s words, “not just Hawaiians,” stung. Did he include her when he said Edith needed a different kind of friends?

  The night before, she had felt compassion for his uncertainty about his life, had felt she understood it. Now she had only resentment, anger. Jana started to go back inside, but something held her. Colonel Preston was protesting.

  “I can’t let her go so far away.”

  “I’m not talking about England or a French finishing school, Father. There are many fine finishing schools in New England near New Haven, where she could be close enough to Yale so I could see her. Every weekend, if it came to that. And you could visit often. You make at least one trip to the States every year as it is.” Bayard paused, then said more forcefully, “Believe me, Father, it’s for Edith’s own good. At least promise you’ll think about it, won’t you?” Another pause. “In the meantime, I’ll do some checking into some of the schools for young ladies in the States.”

  Suddenly Jana wished she had not overheard this conversation. The bright promise of the day ahead faded. She wished she could leave the ranch. Right away. Go home. She was hurt. Words were weapons that could wound. The cuts Bayard’s words had inflicted were deep. And they were ones from which she might not recover.

  The two men’s voices faded as they left the lanai. Later she heard the sound of their horses’ hooves as they rode down the drive for an early morning horseback ride together. Jana dressed quickly and went downstairs. No one else seemed to be up or around except Meipala, who told her with a wink that the other guests were still sleeping, adding with a chuckle, “It musta been some okolehao.” Silently agreeing and secretly glad to be alone, Jana took her coffee out to the lanai to drink, in case one of the young men took it into their heads to come up to the big house for breakfast. She wasn’t in the mood to socialize.

  The prospect of the garden party loomed ahead. It was Colonel Preston’s annual open house to his local friends on New Year’s Day. New year, Jana thought, sighing. What did this new year hold for her? By this time next year, she would be almost through high school, and maybe even accepted at some mainland college and selected to receive a scholarship, if her parents’ hopes were fulfilled. The prospect filled her with sadness. She didn’t really want to go to the mainland. Unlike Bayard, she loved her life here—she didn’t want anything to change. His words to his father came back to her now, and she felt the slow rise of resentment again. There was still the garden party to get through. She would make it a point to avoid Bayard at this afternoon’s party. If she didn’t, she might lose her temper and tell him what she thought of his attitude about Hawaii and Hawaiians!

  Jana finished her coffee and went back inside and upstairs. Edith was awake and last night’s trauma seemed to have dimmed sufficiently for her to be her usual cheerful self. She had always been able to throw off moods, dismiss unpleasant situations. Surprisingly, she seemed to hold no grudge against her brother. In fact, she did not even mention what had happened the night before. She was flitting around her room like a butterfly, trying on one dress after the other to wear to the afternoon party.

  While Edith seemed to be looking forward to it, Jana dreaded it. But there was no way to escape. She just hoped her father would come early to pick her up and take her home.

  That afternoon, the garden was soon filled with ladies in pastel gowns and gentlemen in white linen suits, arriving from Hilo and Kona in their splendid carriages. While Edith moved gaily about among the guests, laughing and chatting and showing off one of the flowered organdy gowns her aunt had sent, Jana tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  Her effort to avoid Bayard proved impossible. She was hovering near the punch bowl, thinking herself safe, when she felt a hand on her waist gently but insistently turn her around and she was face to face with him.

  “Why are you running away from me?” he asked.

  Disconcerted, Jana demanded, “What makes you think that?”

  “It’s pretty obvious.”

  Remembering how Edith had often told her Bayard was pursued by young ladies in the most blatant fashion, Jana wanted to say something to deflate his smug assertion. “You’re pretty self-important to think I would go to the bother.”

  For a minute he seemed taken aback. “I was under the impression that we were hoalohas, friends, that we understood one another.” He frowned. “Was I wrong?”

  “I don’t know, I’m sure,” Jana shrugged.

  “I thought your lack of artifice, flirtatiousness, was very attractive. I don’t like to see you playing the usual feminine games.”

  “Don’t be so patronizing,” she flashed back at him. “Not every girl in the world wants to fall at your feet.”

  Bayard’s eyes narrowed, his mouth tightened. Then he did a surprising thing. He reached his hand under her chin, tilted it upward with his fingertips, gazing into her eyes.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Jana. I thought you were different. I guess I was mistaken.”

  She felt her cheeks burn. Her first indignation began suddenly to dissipate. A smile touched Bayard’s lips, as if he had read her thoughts or had found out what he wanted to know. His hand dropped away from her and he stepped back.

  “It’s all right, Jana. Forget what I said. Forget everything.” With that he turned and walked away.

  Jana got through the rest of the afternoon trying to follow Bayard’s suggestion. To forget the whole incident. Still, it cast its shadow. She was relieved when her father arrived earlier than expected to take her home.

  Chapter Ten


  Jana was glad to be home. The house party had been like indulging in too much rich food—she was happy to be back in her familiar surroundings, eating the plain fare of her regular life again.

  Most of all, she hoped the Kipolas were back from Kona and that Kimo would come to see her. After being exposed to Bayard and his college friends, it would be wonderful to be with someone like Kimo. So natural, so honest, so completely who he was.

  Remembering how his eyes had lit up when he first greeted her outside the church that evening before Christmas, and the way he had looked at her as he handed her his scarf at the rodeo, had sent her hopes soaring.

  Her mother wanted to hear all the details of the house party. Jana tried to give her a full report, except she left out the part about the borrowed designer gown she’d substituted for her own to wear to the New Year’s Eve ball. She didn’t want to hurt her mother’s feelings, so to distract her from questions about what she had worn, Jana went into great detail about Edith’s Hawaiian dress. She also left out her strange encounters with Bayard. Jana had the impression her mother would not have approved at all of any of it.

  Her mother seemed satisfied with the account. “Well, I’m glad you had a good time, dear.”

  Two days later, Jana took Nathan down to the beach to play.

  She was helping him build a sand fort when she happened to look up and see a tall, familiar figure coming along the beach toward them.

  “Look, Jana. It’s Kimo!” exclaimed Nathan, dropping his little shovel and waving his hand.

  Kimo waved back. He came up to them as casually as if he had never been away at all. “Aloha.” His gaze met Jana’s over Nathan’s head. Then, smiling, he squatted down on the sand beside Nathan, started scooping sand, packing it along with him. In a minute he looked up and grinned at Jana.

  “Like old times, eh?”

  “Yes,” she smiled, “like old times.”

  It was as simple as that. Even Nathan seemed to accept Kimo’s presence, as if it had only been a matter of days since they were all together. Later, when Nathan was busily running back and forth to the shallows to fill his sand bucket with water and bring it back up to fill the moat they had constructed around his fortress, Kimo and Jana began to talk.

  “I loved getting your letters,” he told her. “It was like receiving a piece of home. I could almost see, hear, and taste Hawaii.” He smiled. “Mahalo.”

  “I’m glad. I liked writing them.” She paused, hardly daring to meet his gaze, and then she said shyly, “I missed you.” She quickly asked, “How did you happen to come to the rodeo?”

  “One of my cousins is a paniolo, works for the Preston Ranch.” There was a slight sharpness to his saying of the name Preston—or was it her imagination? “He told me about it, said there were always prizes, that it would be fun. So I thought, why not?” Kimo shrugged. “Truthfully, Akela told me you would be at the ranch for their New Year’s celebration, so I decided to come along, hoped I might see you.”

  Ah, what she had longed to know, but to hide the color she felt flaming into her cheeks, Jana ducked her head as though to dampen down a crack in one of the fort’s turrets with water Nathan had just dumped into a hole at her feet.

  “Well, you did,” she murmured.

  “Yes, and it was wonderful,” Kimo said quietly.

  Jana raised her head and looked straight at him. This was how it should be. No games, no teasing, no subtle playing. Kimo didn’t know the meaning of subterfuge. What a relief. He was telling her he missed her and that he cared. Now she was free to do the same.

  “Oh Kimo, I’m so glad to see you. How long will you be here?”

  “Another week. You know this is my last year at the academy. My teachers have suggested I apply for an apprenticeship to a famous cabinetmaker in Germany—”

  “Germany!” Jana gasped. She had forgotten all about the possiblity that Kimo would receive the apprenticeship. She vaguely remembered him talking about it. But that had been long ago. So many other things had happened since she had first heard about it. But no…She blinked. The thought of Kimo’s leaving struck with a sharp pain.

  “Yes. He is very well known. One of the finest. It would be a real honor to be accepted. He only accepts a limited number of apprentices.”

  “But it’s so far away! So far from Hawaii.”

  “Yes, I know. But it would mean so much. Everything. For the future. If I get the opportunity, when I come back I can start my own business.”

  Over the hard lump rising in her throat, Jana managed to ask, “How long would you be gone?”

  “Two years.”

  “Two years?” she repeated, her heart sinking.

  Kimo met her startled eyes.

  “You would care? That I was gone?”

  “Yes, of course.” She lowered her eyes, afraid he would see the sadness and the fear in them. Fear that if he were gone that long, he might forget her…

  “No, Koana,” he said softly. “Don’t look so sad. It is such an opportunity for me, for the future. If I get to go—well then, I must go.” He paused. “You’ll be going off to school next year, too, won’t you? Akela tells me your parents want you to go to teachers college in the States.”

  “Yes, but I—” Jana made a sweeping fan in the sand with one hand, saying almost defiantly, “I don’t want to go! All I ever want is to stay here and paint!”

  Nathan, who had kept busy building his fort, suddenly looked up and said, “Jana’s an artist. She paints really good. Did you know that, Kimo?”

  Kimo laughed and reached his hand out, tousling the little boy’s hair. “Yes, I knew that, keiki. She sent me some of her paintings when I was away.” He turned back to Jana. “That’s what you will do, Koana. First you will do what your parents wish, and then you’ll come back here and paint.” He added softly, “Maybe we both have to go away—to come back.”

  For a moment Jana looked into Kimo’s eyes and knew that what had passed between them was real, binding, and a promise. A promise that couldn’t be spoken of yet, but one they both understood.

  Kimo got to his feet. “I’m taking Tutu over to Aunt Peula’s this evening. But could we spend tomorrow together? Take a picnic somewhere?”

  “Oh yes, I’d like that,” Jana answered, feeling her heart rise happily.

  “Well then, I’ll be on my way,” he said. “Aloha, Nakana.”

  The little boy looked up and grinned. “Aloha, Kimo.”

  “Aloha, Koana,” Kimo said to Jana, who echoed, “Aloha.”

  Kimo left then and walked back down the beach the way he’d come, stopping halfway, turning back to wave his hand. Waving hers in return, Jana felt happiness flood all through her. Kimo was back. He’d come home and to her. Just as she’d dreamed, just as she’d prayed.

  The next day when Kimo came, Jana was waiting. She had to check her impatience while he carried on a leisurely conversation with her parents. He answered her father’s questions—about school, his classes, his woodworking, life at the Heritage Academy—seemingly in no hurry.

  At length Jana picked up the picnic basket she’d packed early, and moved to the top of the porch steps. Her mother took the hint and said, “Well, you two have a nice day.” As they went down the steps, she cautioned, “Jana, be sure to keep your hat on. You know how freckled you get with too much sun.”

  Inwardly Jana winced. Why did her mother have to remind her—and Kimo too—that hers was not the sun-loving skin of a Hawaiian girl?

  “Yes, ma’am,” she replied.

  Kimo threw her a teasing glance, then said to her mother, “I’ll see that she doesn’t get sunburned, Mrs. Rutherford.”

  They took the path behind the house that led to the beach. Jana remembered the days when she and Kimo had raced down this same way when they were children. So many shared times, so many happy memories.

  “Akela should be here!” she said impulsively.

  “She’s with Pelo. She stayed over in Kona for a few days so that s
he could be with him some more.”

  Jana stopped in her tracks, surprised, and looked questioningly at Kimo. He smiled. “I think they’re in love,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Don’t look so surprised. It happens.”

  “Of course. I know, it’s just that—”

  “Akela didn’t say anything to you? Well, she’s shy. It’s easy to tell when they’re together. They have eyes only for each other.”

  When they got to the beach, they found a nice sheltered spot under a banyan tree, surrounded by dunes, and set down the basket.

  “So did you have a good time at the Prestons’ house party?” he asked her.

  How to describe all that had happened? “It was all right. But—” Suddenly Jana decided this might be the time to ask him about the night outside the church when he first came home. Hesitantly she told him how she felt, saying, “I thought you were angry at me.”

  “Angry? No, I’d never be angry at you, Koana. I guess I was just disappointed that you’d be away when I got back from Kona. Besides, maybe I resent the Prestons a little. For a lot of reasons that have nothing to do with you. Kala mai ia’u, I’m sorry, if you misunderstood.”

  Relieved, Jana said impulsively, “I’m glad. I was afraid something had happened that we wouldn’t be—well, friends anymore.’

  Kimo reached for her hand, held it for a minute. “We’ll always be friends, Koana, remember?” Then he leaned forward and with his finger wrote something in the sand—kau a kau maka maka, forever friends.

  Reading what he had written, Jana felt a warmth spread all through her until her very fingertips tingled. “Mahalo,” she said, smiling.

  “Let’s walk down where the rocks are, look for tide pools,” he suggested, getting to his feet, then reaching down to take her hand and pull her to her feet.

  “Wait!” she said and bent to unlace her shoes, pull off her stockings. Kimo had already kicked off his sandals. Together they walked to the edge of the water and waded along the shallows, letting the incoming tide curl around their bare feet.