Children of the Promise

by Dean Hughes

  Love,

  Richard

  Bobbi felt like crying and laughing, and a couple of times she had even felt the impulse Richard had talked about: to tear the letter up. But she was touched. None of this even sounded like Richard, but he was trying so hard to do what she kept asking of him—to say what he really thought. The only trouble was, the heart of the letter was a defense of his desire never to tell her the very things that would be hiding away in his heart and head forever. How could that work? Still, after she read the letter a second time, she found herself happier than she had been the past few weeks, happy to be loved, and happy that he would say it with such strength. And happy that he had made up his mind to fight for her.

  She was also worried. What bothered her most was that she saw her father at work, trying to make sure the two of them ended up together, still building his little industrial kingdom and placing his sons and sons-in-law where he wanted them. Bobbi wasn’t sure that was good at all. She thought Richard really ought go back to college and do the things he had told her he wanted to do. Somehow, Richard just didn’t seem like a businessman.

  Bobbi waited a couple of days so she could think about everything before she wrote back. Her letter must have sounded as reticent as some of Richard’s had sounded in the past. She told him that she, too, still considered herself engaged to Richard, but she wanted to spend some time with him again when she got back—and just “let their love rebuild,” whatever that meant. She also warned him. He should do with his life what he wanted to do, not let her father make his decisions for him. What she didn’t tell him was that she had her answer, that she had prayed and gotten a response. She had meant to do that, to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come. She needed to see him and find out what she felt when she did. Even God should understand that.

  ***

  Afton returned from Arizona after Thanksgiving, and the week after that, she and Sam were married in the temple in Laie. That evening the Nuanunus put on a luau reception in their backyard, and most of the members of the Waikiki ward came, along with other friends and neighbors. Bobbi loved the atmosphere, and she was pleased to see Afton so happy. Bobbi and Afton had had a couple of long talks that week, and Afton really was resolved now. Her time at home had been good for her. Her parents had not been willing to come to the wedding, and probably were not able, but they had softened a little as they had listened to Afton. She felt now that she could take her husband home to Mesa someday and that her family would relent even more once they got to know Sam. But she had also found the desert less appealing now after these years in Hawaii, and she had missed Sam every minute. There was no doubt in her mind that she was doing the right thing.

  “I thought I was going home,” she told Bobbi, “but this is my home now. What I love most is here. I feel more Hawaiian than haole.”

  “Who would have thunk it?” Bobbi said, and she laughed. “Just think of us when we first got here.”

  “Thank heavens for the war,” Afton said, but then she added quickly, “No, I shouldn’t even joke about that. But it is strange how such good things can come from a bad time. And a lot of good things did come out of the war.”

  Bobbi hated to admit it, but she felt the same way. And she was reminded of the thought at the reception. Afton, in her simple wedding dress—shapely and not at all like a muumuu—got up before everyone and danced the hula with her friends. And she did it very well. If the hula was supposed to speak to a man, it was obviously saying volumes to Sam, who looked as happy as anyone Bobbi could imagine. Bobbi remembered the day so long ago when she and Afton had tried to do the hula, and Bobbi had felt so self-conscious. That had been the last time she had tried it, but Afton had embraced the dance along with everything else she loved about Hawaii. Now, among the people in their aloha shirts, their muumuus and leis, she seemed to fit in as well as anyone.

  Bobbi was watching Afton and the others when Sister Nuanunu approached her. “I told you that night, way back two years ago, that these two were watching each other, didn’t I? Now look what’s happened.” Sister Nuanunu laughed in her big, rich voice.

  “Which one is more Hawaiian, Sam or Afton?” Bobbi asked.

  “Oh, Afton is, to be sure. My Sam, he spent too much time with the haoles. He’s a store manager now, a man of business. But dear Afton, she’s more my child than Sam is. She’s as natural as our flowers. And just as pretty.”

  Bobbi thought that was true. Afton wasn’t deep, but she was clear, like the streams in Hawaii. And she was good. She would love Sam, and she would never hold anything back.

  “Bobbi, when do you and Brother Hammond get married?”

  “I don’t know, Sister Nuanunu. Nothing’s settled.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bobbi didn’t want to get into all that. Sister Nuanunu had a way of asking more questions than Bobbi felt comfortable answering. “We need to see each other again and spend some time together—make sure we know how we feel. We’ve never really had a chance to do that.”

  “You’re talking foolishness. You know that, don’t you?”

  “What’s so foolish?”

  “This man is beautiful. And he’s very kind. You are beautiful—and lovely in your heart. So what’s to think about?”

  “I don’t know whether we’re enough alike. Our personalities are just so different.”

  Sister Nuanunu leaned her head back and laughed. She was wearing a wonderful muumuu, with big purple flowers and green leaves, and she had flowers in her hair—an orchid

  and some plumeria. She was a big woman, and beautiful herself.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” Bobbi said. “You know how I am. You told me yourself—I think about things too much.”

  “Yes. But I thought by now you might learn something from us. You’re still a haole, through and through. You tell me now, what’s so different about you and Brother Hammond?”

  Bobbi tried to think what she could say. “Brother Hammond is a very private person, Sister Nuanunu—not at all like you.”

  But Sister Nuanunu was laughing again.

  “What’s so funny about that?”

  “Because that’s just how you are. You’re both haoles, down to your toes. You’re not too different—you’re too much alike.”

  “That’s not really true. When I’m with him, I open up. I tell him how I feel about things. He doesn’t like to do that.”

  “No. No, Bobbi. You try to understand yourself. You think about it, try to say it. And it takes you forever because you use so many words. But you’re not open—not really. You don’t let yourself feel, and then do something about it. You don’t listen to your heart. You have to consider everything, think about it for a year or two, take one little step at a time. You must be careful or God will turn you into a pillar of salt. You spend your whole life looking behind you.”

  “But a person has to make wise decisions.”

  “Sometimes. And sometimes a person has to know—and then do something.”

  That sounded a little like Richard’s letter, and the idea startled her. Maybe that’s what Richard was trying to do, and she was the one being reticent now, the one holding back.

  “Look at me, sweetheart.” Bobbi turned and looked straight into Sister Nuanunu’s eyes. “I’m going to ask you a question.”

  “All right.”

  “What’s better—happiness or unhappiness?”

  “Happiness.”

  “Ah, you say that, like it’s easy. But then you consider when the choice comes. When a beautiful man—a good man—wants to marry you, it’s time to say yes. It’s time to be happy. There’s nothing to think about.”

  That sounded right in Sister Nuanunu’s mouth, but what about all the terrible marriages Bobbi had seen? Was it really that simple? “But if two people are not right for each other—beautiful or not—they can make each other very unhappy.”

  “No. That’s more haole talk. Two good people can choose to make each other happy. They don’t have to thi
nk so much about themselves all the time. They don’t have to think about being happy. They can be happy. The worst silliness I can think of is to be loved by a good man, a fine man, and to turn him down because you think too much.”

  “Sister Nuanunu, there was another man. Someone I liked very much. He wasn’t a member of the Church, but he was a good man. But he was killed in the war. I keep wondering whether he wasn’t more the kind of man I should have married.”

  “Bobbi, you make no sense at all sometimes. Most of the time.”

  “But won’t I always—”

  “Bobbi, listen to me. Can you marry this man, the one who is dead?”

  “No.”

  “Can you marry Brother Hammond, this beautiful and good man?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Now you know your answer.”

  Bobbi laughed. “I’m sure that’s right,” she said. “And I’ll admit something else to you. I feel almost sure that God feels the same way—that he wants me to marry Richard.”

  “No question about that. I see God in all of this. He sent you here, sent Brother Hammond here, to find each other.”

  “Maybe so. It seems so, doesn’t it?”

  “It is so.”

  Bobbi felt happier. And she found herself moving about the party, talking with people, not dancing but letting the music fill her, the laughter. And she was delighted when she saw Ishi and Daniel arrive, with Lily and David. She had seen Daniel at church on Sunday, but she hadn’t had much chance to talk to him, and so she went to the Aokis as soon as she spotted them.

  Ishi had told Bobbi that Daniel was self-conscious about his limp, but now, as Bobbi watched him walk across the lawn, she could barely detect it. She was not sure she would have noticed, had she not known. “Ishi, Daniel,” Bobbi called, but it was Lily and David who heard her, and they both ran toward her. She knelt and grabbed them, each in one arm. “You little sweethearts,” she said. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Why haven’t you come to see us yet?” Lily asked. She was wearing a white dress, and her black hair, glistening in the sun, fell down over her shoulders, lush and beautiful.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I will.” But she stood then, and said to Ishi, “I’m not sure you want me popping in the way I used to. Things are a little different with a man around the house.”

  Ishi laughed. “Don’t mind him,” she said. “He doesn’t get in the way much.”

  “How are you doing, Daniel?” Bobbi asked. “Is it a little strange to be home?”

  He nodded, but the question seemed to catch him off guard. He was so much more formal than his wife. “A little, I suppose,” he said. “But it’s very nice, as you can imagine.”

  Now it was Bobbi who hardly knew how to react. “You can’t imagine how often we’ve talked about this time, when you would come home. It’s so good to see all four of you together.”

  He nodded again, even bowed just a little, seeming more Japanese than Ishi ever did.

  “Have you gone back to work at the bank?” Bobbi asked.

  “No. I haven’t.”

  “Oh, Bobbi, it’s so awful what they did. They told him that his position no longer exists.”

  Bobbi looked at Daniel, saw the tension in his face, and knew that he didn’t want to talk about this, but still she said, “Oh, Daniel, that’s so unfair. You’re a hero. You’ve received all those medals. How could they do that to you?”

  “It will all work out,” he said. “I’ll find something else.” He looked off across the lawn. “I’ll get us something to drink. Come with me, kids. You can help me.” He walked away, and Lily and David followed.

  As soon as he was gone, Bobbi said, “Ishi, I’m sorry. I said the wrong thing, didn’t I?”

  “No, not really. It’s very hard for him. He took the train across the mainland before he sailed back here, and people called him ‘Jap,’ wouldn’t let him eat in some of the restaurants. He had his uniform on, with all his ribbons, and they still asked him to leave. Then he gets home, and he can’t find a job. He feels it as a shame to him—and to all our family. He doesn’t blame anyone. He’s just embarrassed to say he doesn’t have work.”

  “But has it been nice for the kids to have him back?”

  “It will be. He’s very kind to them, very tender. But they don’t really know him now, and he doesn’t know them. He can’t seem to let loose with them yet. He’s more reserved now than he used to be, and I’m not sure why.”

  “When he gets a job and gets back into things, he’ll be himself again. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes. I think so. I hope so.”

  “Is he in pain?”

  “I don’t know. He says he isn’t. But he doesn’t want to admit anything. When I ask him about the battles and what he did, he only tells me about the places he saw and the friends he made, not what happened to him.”

  “So many of the men are like that. But he’ll tell you when he’s ready. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Sister Nuanunu has just been telling me that we have to choose to be happy and not worry about everything so much.”

  “She’s been telling you that for as long as I’ve known you,” Ishi said, “and you haven’t listened yet.”

  “That’s not true. I always listen. I just can’t do it.”

  “That’s the same for me.”

  “I think we have to try this time, Ishi. We got what we wanted, and now we need to be thankful for it.”

  “I am, Bobbi. I am. At night, I wake up and hear him breathing next to me—snoring sometimes—and I touch

  him with my hand or foot just to be sure he’s really there. I knew he would have to make some adjustments when he got back. I can live with anything like that as long as I have him with me. And he has been lovely with me, Bobbi. He’s such a tender man.”

  Bobbi did like to think of that, of having Richard close to her. Maybe this time she would not only listen to Sister Nuanunu; she would also learn. She would actually try to be a little more Hawaiian.

  Chapter 7

  Alex Thomas was sitting in front of the little branch of Church members that had gathered in a Frankfurt Gasthaus for sacrament meeting. It was December 9, 1945, and he had been set apart as a member of the branch presidency along with a young brother named Theodor Studdert. This was only Alex’s second time to conduct the meeting, but he wasn’t nervous about that. The branch was small, with only about thirty people usually attending, and by now Alex was well acquainted with everyone. The congregation sang “Sehet Ihr Völker”—“Hark, All Ye Nations!”—a favorite hymn. After the opening prayer, Alex told the members, “We still have great need for blankets and coats, with the weather so cold. If you have old coats that need mending, we have members in the branch who would be happy to do what they can to repair them. I was able to get several spools of thread.” He smiled. “It’s not always in the best colors, but it will still help.”

  Sister Hirschberg, seated at a table near the front, asked, ”Where should we bring these coats, if we have something?”

  “You could bring them here next week,” Alex said.

  But President Meis was quick to say, “I’ll stop by your apartment, Sister Hirschberg, perhaps even later today. We need coats immediately. There are people who are not with us today because they have nothing. Children’s coats are especially in short supply.”

  “Come today then,” Sister Hirschberg said, and two others raised their hands, saying they would have something if someone came.

  “I was also able to secure a few blankets from the military base,” Alex said. “If you are short of bedding—or if you know of anyone in the branch who is—please let me know today. I’ll see what I can do to obtain more. I have no way to get feather ticks, but these army blankets might help someone.” Alex waited and looked about, but no one admitted to a need. He knew they very well might talk to him afterward, however. “Brothers and sisters, we all know that food will be in short supply throughout the winter and spring. The rations you rece
ive will keep you from starving—but they’ll do little more than that. I’ll bring anything I can get. In fact, today I have a bag of rice. If you can carry a little in a pocket or a purse, there isn’t much, but perhaps enough for a meal or two for each of you.”

  Alex saw the delight on the faces of the people. He knew that having rice, as a change from the rationed food they received from the American food stations, would be more than welcome. He wasn’t supposed to carry food off the base, but he watched American soldiers waste their meals every day, dump what they didn’t like into garbage cans. He couldn’t imagine that it was a sin to bring, from time to time, a bag or can of food to hungry people.

  “We will now sing ‘Näher, Mein Gott, zu dir,’ after which we will partake of the sacrament.” The branch only had two hymnals, one of which the music conductor used, so the best practice was to stay with familiar hymns, ones the members could remember.

  Alex sat down on a wooden chair next to President Meis. Off to the left one of the Gasthaus tables had been set up for the sacrament. Sister Walter had donated a linen tablecloth for that purpose, even though the cloth might have bought her a good deal of food on the black market. Rudi Fichte, the only young man in the branch who held the Aaronic Priesthood, broke the bread, along with Brother Studdert. The members didn’t exactly sound like a choir, but they sang with full voice and with a conviction Alex didn’t remember hearing back in his home ward. It seemed that the German members felt “nearer to God” in these hard times than they ever had before. After the hymn, and after Rudi blessed the bread, Brother Studdert and Rudi also passed it to the members, who were seated at the heavy, dark-stained restaurant tables. There was still no electric power in the building, and with a cover of clouds outside, the windows didn’t provide much light. The members sat in shadows, bundled up, their faces hard to see.

  As the bread was still being passed, Alex saw a young man enter the Gasthaus and slip into a seat at a back table, close to the windows. He was dressed in a heavy wool coat that had seen a great deal of wear. He took off a battered cap, and a cluster of hair flopped onto his forehead. Alex suspected that the man had heard the singing and come in off the street. It was not uncommon for that to happen. Many people lived in the streets these days, and the singing—or even just the chance to get inside, out of the cold—often attracted strangers. Even though the branch couldn’t afford to heat the building as much as might have been comfortable, members would contribute a few lumps of coal when they could, or a little kindling, and that was enough to take the chill off the room.