by Jane Peart
Jana glanced at him once or twice, thinking how kind he had always been, always interested in her activities, encouraging her talents. Would he turn against her now, side with her mother, agree that marriage to Kimo was impossible? She twisted her napkin nervously in her lap.
Finally the meal was over. Mrs. Rutherford rose from the table and said, “Wes, Jana has something to tell you. She has already told me—however, it is something we must all discuss together. As soon as I put Nathan to bed, I’ll be back.”
When her mother left, her father turned to Jana, his eyes filled with some amusement. “Well, Jana, what’s this all about?”
She knew he had no idea of the seriousness of what she had to tell. She drew a long breath and poured out her heart. He listened attentively. “Kimo will come and talk to you himself, tell you his plans, ask your permission. He is doing so well, Papa. His cabinet shop is thriving—they have several big orders. He will be able to support a wife, and I plan to keep on working at the store for a while, and—”
“What about your own plans, my dear, your dreams? Your scholarship? Surely you don’t imagine to marry and then take off for a year on the mainland? Have you considered all these things before you make such a statement? Marriage is not to be entered into hastily, you know, but with much prayer, much thinking.”
Her mother had reentered the room and took her place at the other end of the table. Jana looked from one to the other and then, near tears, said shakily, “I love Kimo, he loves me, and that’s all that matters.”
“No, my dear, that is not all that matters,” her father said quietly.
Silence fell upon the room. Then her father continued, saying, “You are too young to make such a serious decision. To give up your scholarship would be foolhardy, something you would regret bitterly later. As your parents, we cannot allow you to make this mistake. You will go on with everything as planned, Jana. Your passage is booked, your living in Oakland arranged, and the school is expecting you to start with the next term.” He paused. “As for marriage to Kimo, I believe you when you say you love each other. From what I know of Kimo, he is a fine, intelligent young man of character and integrity. I am sure he will agree with our decision.” He paused again. “True love waits. If your love is such as you declare it to be, time apart will not weaken it—it may strengthen it. There is plenty of time to speak about marriage.”
Jana pushed back her chair and stood up, her hands clenched, her breath short from trying to suppress sobs of grief and frustration. “I have to do what you say, Papa, Mama. But I don’t understand. I think there’s some reason you’re objecting to our getting married. But I don’t think I want to hear what it is!”
Jana walked across the room and yanked open the door, letting it shut behind her just short of slamming it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Jana awoke, sunshine was streaming in through the window. The palm fronds of the tree just outside her bedroom shadowed her quilt with its own intricate patterns. It was as if the Hawaiian design were superimposed on the coverlet her mother had made. Mrs. Rutherford’s quilts always reflected her North Carolina memories. The colors were the magentas and mauves of rhododendron and the pink and tangerines of mountain laurel. The colors of Hawaiian quilts were rich and vivid, the designs bolder, just like the landscape, rich and lush.
She knew she would be expected to appear for breakfast, for family morning prayers. She had gone to bed in such misery, she didn’t know how she could face her parents, pretend everything was fine when everything seemed so wrong. For a few minutes she lay huddled there, unwilling to get up. She knew that the resentment she was feeling was not right. No two people could be more loving and compassionate than her parents. They just didn’t understand. How could she convince them?
Finally she threw back the covers and got up. Stretching, she padded over to the window and looked out. Warm, sweet air was blowing in. The cloudless sky met the line of the ocean like a paintbrush stroke of three different shades of blue. How could a day be so beautiful when her heart was breaking? It should be enough just to be alive. Yet Jana felt weighted by her own sadness.
As she stood there, she saw a mother and a little boy on the beach below, walking along the water’s edge. The child ran ahead, dodging the frothy waves, then turned and ran back to his mother, gesturing, stopping every once in a while to look for shells. Jana’s heart was suddenly wrenched. She remembered when long ago she had strolled with her mother along that same stretch of sand. They had been so close, mother and daughter. It hurt her that now this misunderstanding had come between them. Could they ever get back that old closeness? Did love always have to cause pain to someone?
Didn’t her parents know that Hawaii was her home? She loved this little town, with its small, New England-style houses and their gingerbread porches and peaked roofs. Here she had grown up in view of Mauna Kea. Here the wind blew cool with the combined smell of the briny sea, the flowers, the orchards, the sugarcane fields, the coffee and orchid farms. The thought of going away was like a knife cutting deep.
And leaving Kimo. For a minute Jana closed her eyes, bringing his face into her mind—the dark eyes, so dense that sometimes they seemed impenetrable, then the smile that softened his expression and warmed her heart…Long before they had declared their love, she had copied a quotation from the writings of Alphonse de Lamartine: “There is a name hidden in the shadow of my soul where I read it night and day and no other eyes have seen it.” Kimo was that name for her.
Knowing now that he loved her too, made leaving Kimo seem impossible. “True love waits,” her father had said. Was her father right? Fragments of a melody, words of a half-forgotten song, floated into her head. It was a famous Hawaiian love song: Ke kali nei au, “I am waiting,” Ko’u aloha. She spoke the words softly to herself. Would it be possible to do? For a whole year?
Jana sighed. She dressed and left her room. The house felt strangely quiet. Empty. When she went out to the kitchen, she realized why. Her mother had left a note propped against the sugar bowl on the table.
I’ve gone to the missionary society meeting. Took Nathan to the Caldwells’. Be back about noon.
Love, Mama.
She glanced at the clock. It was after nine-thirty. But it was Saturday, and she didn’t have to go to work today. She must have been worn out from crying and had slept heavily toward dawn. She poured herself some coffee from the pot still hot at the back of the stove, then wandered out on the porch to drink it.
There was so much to think about. Kimo would be coming from Hilo for the weekend, expecting to go to her father, ask for her hand. She would have to intercept him. She would have to explain what she could about her parents’ opposition. She didn’t want him to be hurt, to misunderstand.
She was convinced, though, that they were wrong—especially her mother, who’d explained about them being from different worlds. She and Kimo were more alike than any two people she knew. They were both Hawaiians. They had been born on the islands, had grown up together. More than that, their spirits, their souls, were in perfect harmony. Their love was deep and real. It would endure, no matter what. Of that Jana was sure.
She finished her coffee and went back inside. Coming down the hallway, she paused outside the open door of her parents’ bedroom. Her attention was drawn to the quilt covering their bed. She had seen it a thousand times, had heard the story of its making. Now it seemed to hold some kind of message for her.
Jana walked slowly into the room and over to the bed, with its tall, carved posts. She stood at its foot, looking down at the neatly sewn quilt squares.
This was the “waiting” quilt her mother had worked on for all the long, dreadful years of the war that had divided the States, when her parents lived on the mainland. Her mother had created the design to disguise the “pledge” she and Wesley Rutherford had secretly made before he left to join the Union Army. Jana now realized that this was like the huna Tutu had explained to her, the hidden poetic meaning t
o a Hawaiian quilt’s design, known only to the quilter herself.
With her forefinger, Jana traced the outline of the doves in each corner of every square, the clasped hands in the center holding the tiny heart. The quilt was larger than most, because her mother, JoBeth Davison, had kept adding to it for three long years. She had pledged to keep making it until the war was over and the two lovers were reunited.
No wonder her father could say that true love waits. He and her mother were living proof that love can last through every kind of trial, tribulation, separation.
But that had been wartime, and her mother’s relatives had been vigorously opposed to the match, declaring Wes a traitor to his people for siding with the Union against the Southern Confederacy.
For her and Kimo it was different. Jana did not really understand why her parents seemed so much against their love, their wanting to marry. She thought of her father’s words again. She was willing to wait if in the end she and Kimo could marry.
Why were her parents so concerned, so reluctant to give their consent, even their blessing, to a future marriage? She did not know how to prove to her parents that their love was true. Her plans were as vague and unformed as the drifting clouds overhead. But somehow she knew she would find a way.
She knew she needed assurance, help. Instinctively she went down on her knees, put her head into folded hands, and whispered, “Dear God, tell us what to do and we will do it. I want to be in Your will. I know that’s all that matters. Please help us.”
Jana had been taught that asking for a sign from God was not something to do lightly. However, having also been taught that parents were His earthly representatives and were to be obeyed, Jana prayed to accept their decision. But she wanted to feel that it really was God’s will for her.
The next day, she had her Sunday school class to teach but was distracted by her own turbulent mind. It probably didn’t help when she went in to face fifteen restless, active, mischievous five—and six-year-olds. Singing always seemed to give them a chance to vent their energy, so she had them all join hands and form a circle and sing some of the hymns she had taught them. “Jesus Loves Me” was one everyone loved and knew the words to and sang at the top of their lungs. Round and round the little group went, singing it over and over. Then one little girl piped up with the first line of another hymn. Raising her voice above the rest, she sang, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world.” All of a sudden, Jana’s heart was struck as she looked around the circle at all the little faces, all the little mouths open, their voices singing with complete assurance that they were loved and accepted by the Creator of the universe. She was hard put not to start crying. She gazed at each child. Of course it was true. Hawaiian, Chinese, Portuguese, Japanese, or a mixture—they were all God’s beloved children.
When the older girls came over to take the smaller children out to play in the churchyard during the service for the adults, Jana, deep in thought, walked over to the church. She slipped into one of the back pews. The choir was just filing out, and Reverend Homakaa was stepping up to the pulpit.
She had asked for a sign but had not expected to get such a clear one. She heard the minister’s voice say, “I am taking my sermon today from Acts 10:34—35, where Peter states, “God is no respecter of persons. In every nation he whoever fears him and works righteousness is accepted by him.” In both Galatians 3:28 and Colossians 3:11, that same theme is repeated: “In Christ there is neither Greek nor Jew, slave nor free, nor male or female. All are one in Christ.”
To be truthful, Jana did not really hear much of Reverend Homakaa’s sermon. She had opened her Bible and read and reread the passages he had quoted. Thank you, Lord, she said in her heart. That is what I needed to hear.
The doxology was sung in Hawaiian: “Ho’o-na-ni-i ka Ma-ku-a-mau, Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” and Jana rose to sing it with a grateful heart.
During the closing hymn, Jana left quietly. She needed to be alone before joining her parents and telling them she had accepted their decision.
She could still hear the voices of the congregation raised in praise as she took the path that led down to the beach.
Suddenly she saw the day in its glorious beauty, the blue sky and sea merging almost seamlessly, the whisper of music in the palm fronds tossed by the soft wind.
God must see his world like a quilt, she thought, made up of all different textures, colors, designs, sizes, shapes, all blending into a beautiful whole. She smiled at her own imagery and then thought that perhaps God smiled, too.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Afew days before Jana was scheduled to leave for Honolulu and from there take the ship to the mainland, Tutu Kipola sent for her. Jana’s heart was heavy as she went up the familiar path to the small house shaded by the wide banana tree leaves, through the garden lush and brilliant with flowers.
She found Tutu sitting at her frame on the porch, busy quilting.
“Aloha, Tutu,” she said, embracing her.
“Aloha, Koana,” Tutu replied, using her Hawaiian name. “Come sit down here beside me and tell me—are you all ready to go?”
Jana tucked her skirt up and sat down on a low stool at the side of Tutu’s chair. “Yes, everything is packed,” she sighed, then impulsively burst out, “You know I don’t want to go. I’m just doing it for my parents’ sake.”
Tutu took a few tiny stitches more before raising her head and meeting Jana’s soulful eyes.
“Respect for your parents is not a thing to be sorry for, Koana. You would regret it if you went against their wishes.”
“I hate leaving. I’ll miss…everything so much. It will all be so different.”
“Yes, that’s true, Koana. It will be different, but you will learn many new things, many new ways.”
“I’m happy here. I don’t care about new things.” Jana hesitated, then rushed on, saying, “Oh Tutu, the real reason, the main reason, I don’t want to leave is Kimo. You know we love each other. What I really want to do is stay here, be with him. I’m afraid—” She caught herself before finishing the sentence.
“Afraid, Koana? Of what are you afraid?”
“Of losing”—Jana thrust out her hands in a sweeping gesture—“this, all this. And maybe…of losing Kimo.”
“But what you carry in the heart is never lost, little one,” Tutu said gently. “If your love is real, true, it will last. Separation will not destroy love. It may even make it stronger.”
“Please don’t tell me that true love waits, Tutu. That’s what my father says—that’s why I’m going. He thinks this is some kind of test for Kimo and me.”
“And maybe he is right.”
“We’ve already been tested. First when Kimo went to the academy on Oahu, then all the time he was in Germany. My parents simply don’t understand. They think we are too different, that we would not be happy, but they’re wrong. We were children together—all my memories of my childhood include him. Kimo was the most wonderful playmate, full of fun and imagination, always ready to laugh and enjoy whatever the moment held. Even as a boy, he was sensitive to and tender toward animals, had an appreciation for the natural things—the shells, the tiny creatures in the tide pools, even the gheckos, the little lizards that are everywhere, the ones most people dislike.”
Tutu laughed and nodded her head.
Warming to her subject, Jana went on, saying, “When he came back from Germany and I saw him again, every other man I had ever met simply faded into the background. Everyone else seemed smaller, paler, by comparison. Now that we’re grown up, I know so much more about him, so many things that I admire and love. It’s breaking my heart to leave.”
Tutu put aside her needle and thread, carefully folded the quilt she was working on, got to her feet, and said, “Come inside, I want to show you something.”
Jana followed her into the cool interior
of the cottage. Tutu went to the large closet and opened its doors and pulled out one of the sliding drawers. Jana knew this was where Tutu kept her treasury of quilts, alternating them on her own beds or keeping them for when opportunities arose to give them as gifts. Now she carefully lifted one out, slowly unrolling it so that Jana could see it at full length.
It was exquisite. Pink and green on a paler green background, the elaborate scrolls around the scalloped edge surrounding interwoven wreaths of flowers, the circling design repeating itself, forming a medallion in the center.
Jana drew in her breath. “It’s beautiful, Tutu,” she whispered.
“It’s for you. I made it for you. To take with you now so that every time you see it, use it, you will be reminded of the island and what the message of this quilt is…“
Jana waited for Tutu to tell her what the secret of the design was, although she longed to ask.
“I call it Ka Makani, Ka’ili Aloaha, Wind That Wafts Love from One to Another. The encircling wreaths, with flowers you recognize by their shapes as being island flowers—plumeria, hibiscus—represent two winds that blow, meeting each other, wafting in opposite directions, then coming back together to meet in a perfect circle. You and Kimo are like that: one calm, steady; the other adventurous, going hither and thither; both unsure, then blending in one harmonious center. See? Understand?”
Jana nodded. “Yes, I think I do. We both have to find that center, even as we search in different directions?”
Tutu smiled and the radiance that was in her shone in her eyes and smile, making her brown, wrinkled face almost beautiful.
“Oh Tutu, mahalo from the bottom of my heart! How can I ever thank you enough?”
