Silken Thunder

by Fayrene Preston

  Remembering the night that she and Sloan had just spent, wrapped in each other's arms, she took a moment to decide how best to answer. “Henrietta, what my grandmother failed to tell me, I learned by growing up on a ranch. I learned that lovemaking doesn’t have to be bad or distasteful between a man and a woman. As long as there’s kindness and caring and respect from both people, then the — uh — carnal side of marriage can be quite pleasant.” Henrietta stopped her pacing to look quizzically at her, prompting Brianne to add, “Or so I’m told.”

  Her face clouded. “I guess that was the problem. By his actions Horace made it obvious that he truly didn’t respect me.”

  “That’s because you didn’t give him a chance to get to know you. Did you try to talk to him? Before you hit him over the head with a pitcher, I mean.”

  “No.” She threw her hands up in the air and her voice broke. “Oh, what does it matter anyway?”

  Henrietta’s stern facade cracked, giving Brianne a sudden glimpse of a vulnerable, lonely, frightened woman. “I think it matters very much,” she said softly.

  Brusquely Henrietta dashed away a tear that had begun to slide down her cheek. “At any rate, I’ve decided to stay here in the West and teach.”

  Brianne’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “I thought you hated the West.”

  “I do. That is, I did. But … well, I’ve come to the conclusion that the West badly needs civilizing. If this part of the country is going to be shaped into the cultural and enlightened society it should become, then someone’s obviously going to have to stay here and do it. In my view, no one is as well qualified as I — ” A timid knock on the door halted her speech and shattered her newly gained composure. “Oh, my Lord, it’s he!”

  With resolve Brianne stood. “Good. I think it’s about time I met your husband for myself.”

  “You’re not going to let him in, are you?” Henrietta asked in horror.

  Another knock sounded. “Just a minute,” she called, and put a soothing hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “He is your husband, and he’s obviously gone to an awful lot of trouble to find you. Now, if you don’t want to go back with him, you won’t have to, but I think it’s only right that you should at least talk to him, don’t you?”

  Henrietta hesitated, then reluctantly nodded.

  Brianne made her way to the door and rotated the key in the lock. Before she turned the knob, however, she looked over her shoulder. “Are you ready?”

  The effort was visible as Henrietta attempted to hide all signs of vulnerability behind her usual front of schoolmarm poise.

  Brianne opened the door to a big, oxlike man whose large body looked as if it had been shoehorned into the black wool suit he wore. And although his hair had been heavily pomaded, two clumps of hair at the back of his head seemed determined to stand straight up. “Horace Bartholomew?”

  He swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am. I'm sorry to bother you, here in your bedroom and all, but, well … ” Remarkably to Brianne his ruddy face turned bright red. He sneaked a quick peak at Henrietta, who was standing behind her, then hastily looked again at Brianne.

  “You’d like to talk to Henrietta?” she prompted.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, I think that’s a fine idea. By the way, I’m Brianne Delaney.”

  Evidently relieved to have someone talking to him, he smiled. “Pleased to meet you. I’ve come from California for my wife.”

  “That’s a very romantic thing to do, don’t you think, Henrietta?” She took a step to the side so that she no longer stood between husband and wife. “I believe it shows admirable sensibility.”

  Happy to find an ally, Horace went on. “I left the workings of my mines to my men. It’s taken me a while, but I’m real glad I finally found Henrietta.” “Mines? You’re a miner, then?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I own about six of them.”

  “Own? Henrietta, you never told me that.” Henrietta shrugged.

  “I think that any man who comes the distance Horace has come and has left his business in the hands of others is obviously sincere and deserves a chance to be listened to. Horace, you do have some things to say to Henrietta, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.” He dug into another pocket and came out with several crumpled pieces of paper. “I’ve made notes.”

  “That’s very nice, Horace.” She whispered in Henrietta’s ear, “Remember when you told me how you wanted to help civilize the West? Well, that civilizing can start with one person. Horace would be the perfect person.”

  Henrietta frowned uncertainly. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, Henrietta, he came all this way for you. And legally he is your husband, no matter how much you try to deny it. At the very least you have to give him a chance to say his piece.”

  Henrietta cast a dubious glance at her anxious husband, then squared her shoulders. “Horace, we will go down to the parlor, and you may court me.”

  “We could kiss here for a while,” Sloan said. He and Brianne were alone in the dining room. “Then we could go someplace else.”

  She stood, walked around the table and settled herself on his lap. “Where, for instance?” Bending her head, she gave him the kiss he’d requested.

  “The parlor,” he said, returning her kiss and deepening it.

  She curved her body against him, softening. “That’s where Henrietta and Horace are.”

  “The front porch.”

  “I believe that’s where Kam is.”

  “Then,” — he kissed her again and his hand found her breast — “we may just have to go back up to your room.”

  “The maid may be there.”

  “Then my room.” Her nipples was tightening beneath his hand and his caresses turned urgent. “Suddenly I want to do a lot more than kiss you.”

  “Alarm! Alarm!” Kamanahua came running into the room.

  Both Brianne and Sloan came to their feet. Brianne straightened her dress selfconsciously. “Kam, what's wrong?”

  “The missionaries have landed!”

  With desire still strong in his body, Sloan couldn’t tear his gaze from Brianne. Her face was flushed from his kisses and caresses. “Chango isn’t a port town, Kam,” he said absently. “Boats can’t dock and people can’t land.”

  “It has come to pass! They are here!” His chest was heaving with exertion.

  “Now, Kam, you must calm down. You’ve suspected everyone you’ve met of being a missionary, including me, and you’ve always been wrong.”

  “No, no, they have landed!” He took her hand, dragged her to the window, and pointed. “Listen!”

  Brianne could hardly believe her eyes … or her ears. Kamanahua was right. A buckboard containing six black-frocked men and women was being driven down Main Street. A man was driving the buckboard with a woman sitting beside him. The remaining four people were in the back, sitting in chairs that had been roped down. With hymnals open in their laps, they were loudly singing, “Bringing in the Sheaves.”

  By this time huge tears were streaming from Kam’s eyes. “Make them stop the joyful noise unto the Lord!”

  “Kam, they’re just worshiping in their own way. And it’s only a song, after all. Nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I will hide,” he announced.

  “No, Kam,” she said firmly. “You’ve been hiding from these people long enough. We’re going out to meet them.”

  The driver of the buckboard, a tall, skinny man with a hollowed-out face and tufts of whiskers at- tached to his chin, was just climbing down from the buckboard when they came out on the porch. At the sight of Kamanahua his somber visage brightened somewhat.

  “Kamanahua, my son, at last we have found you.”

  Brianne moved forward to the edge of the porch and Kamanahua followed her. “I’m Brianne Delaney, and I’m a friend of Kam’s.”

  The man tugged at the celluloid collar he wore, the only relief for his otherwise entirely black attire. “Oh, how do you do. I’m Brother Je
didiah, and this is my wife, Sister Ruth.”

  Sister Ruth was a tiny woman with stooped shoulders. With her husband’s help she climbed down from the buckboard. When she was on the ground, she clasped her hands at her waist, as if in prayer, and peeked at Brianne from under her bonnet. She reminded Brianne of a banty hen without any of the fiestiness.

  Brother Jedidiah continued. “And our fellow travelers are Brother Albert, Sister Sarah, Brother Markum, and Sister Gertrude.” His piercing eyes fixed on Kamanahua. “We’ve come to save a heathen from the depths of hell.”

  “Your mission is very admirable, I’m sure, Brother Jedidiah, but if the heathen you’re referring to is Kam, he would rather not talk to you.”

  Brother Jedidiah drew his skeletal frame up to its full height. “Who are you, my good woman, to stand in the way of his salvation?”

  “Don’t you mean stand in the way of your taking the land that belongs to him and his ancestors?”

  He put one foot on the bottom step of the porch and gestured broadly. “Giving up their land is the only way that the heathen Hawaiians will be able to free themselves from their idols and superstitions.”

  “I’m certain it’s also the easiest way to line your pockets.”

  Brother Jedidiah looked down his bony nose at Brianne, which was a real feat, since she was standing above him. “A Christian is above argument, but for your enlightenment, our mission to get Kamanahua to the Boston missionary school is of a high order of importance.”

  “But he doesn't want to go.”

  “The Hawaiians are as children. They must be led.”

  “Their way may not be your way, Brother Jedidiah, but it has served them well for centuries. They’ve been a happy people, without illness or disease.”

  He pointed a finger heavenward. “And quite without shame. Miss Delaney, you do not know of what you speak, I assure you.”

  “And I assure you that you will not take this boy anywhere he does not wish to go.”

  Brother Jedidiah blinked, not used to encountering resistance from a woman. His gaze turned on Sloan, who was standing behind Brianne. “Sir, surely you can see the reason of what I say. I implore you to take this headstrong young woman in hand and show her a woman’s place.”

  Sloan leaned toward her and murmured, “Miss Delaney, I believe I suggested earlier what and where your place might be. My bedroom. Surely Brother Jedidiah would agree.”

  Brianne threw a brief scowl at Sloan.

  Brother Jedidiah motioned for his group to gather around them. After a quick conference he turned back to Brianne. “Out of Christian charity I have decided that if Kamanahua will simply sign this document” — he paused to pull a folded piece of paper from the inside of his jacket — “we will be on our way.”

  Brianne's trust of the black-frocked people was nonexistent. “Let me see it.”

  He climbed the stairs and put it into her outstretched hand. After a quick scan of the document, Brianne looked up at Brother Jedidiah in puzzlement. “But this calls for the king of Lakahani’s signature.”

  Brother Jedidiah’s somber expression turned even more grave and he began intoning in a deep, droning voice. “It is my most unfortunate duty to inform Kamanahua that his father, the king, has gone to that dark place where the fires burn. It is to my great sorrow that I have to admit this, but, lamentably, we were never able to convert him.”

  Behind the post Kamanahua let out a great wail of grief.

  Brianne put her arm around him. “Kam, I’m so sorry.”

  Brother Jedidiah tried in his own way to comfort. “It was inevitable, my son. The king embodied so many of the deadly sins — sloth and gluttony to name but two. He finally succumbed to advanced years and impure living.”

  Kamanahua began uttering words of Hawaiian and keening loudly. His anguish and grief were monumental.

  “Brother Jedidiah, if you say one more word,” Brianne snapped to the missionary, “you’re going to be a step closer to your maker! Come on, Kam, Sloan and I will take you upstairs to your room.”

  Kamanahua's mourning continued all afternoon. He stayed in his room, sobbing and wailing, refusing any food or water, dealing with his grief in the way of his ancestors. The sounds carried to all parts of the hotel. But no one could do anything for him.

  “We’ll have to take turns watching him to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself,” Brianne told Sloan, Phineas, and Henrietta.

  “I will take the first vigil,” Henrietta announced. “Poor boy, his father’s death was such a shock. Horace, you may come up and sit with me.”

  The big man who had been lurking at the edge of the porch smiled broadly. “Thank you, Henrietta.”

  The many creases on Phineas's face were folded into a design of genuine worry. “I feel so bad for the boy.”

  Silently Sloan picked up Brianne's hand. She smiled up at him, grateful for his comforting presence. To Phineas she said, “For now, at least, I think the best thing to do is to make sure he knows that he has our support and love.”

  “The second watch will be mine,” Phineas said. “In fact, if necessary, I’ll stay the night in his room.”

  “Thank you, Phineas. That's very nice of you.”

  “Not at all. I’ve become very fond of the boy.”

  It wasn’t until just before sunset that Kamanahua’s wailing stopped. Those assembled on the front porch exchanged uneasy glances.

  “What do you think it means?” Henrietta asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Brianne murmured. She looked around. She could feel a change in the air. Unless she missed her guess there was a storm heading their way.

  Suddenly Kamanahua walked out the door. Brianne noted that his eyes were dry. He looked the same, yet there seemed to be something different. With his arms folded across his bare chest, his bearing was majestically erect in a way she had never seen before. He strode out to the street where the six missionaries were waiting.

  Brianne hitched up her skirts and went down the steps to him. “Kam, are you all right?”

  He nodded. “My father is dead, Brianne. I am now the King of Lakahani.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Brother Jedidiah spoke up. “Since you are now king, the — ”

  Brianne rounded on the irritating man. “Leave him alone. You’re not concerned for his soul. Only his land. You took him from his home when he didn’t want to leave, and had him so frightened of you and that school in Boston where you were taking him that he ran away.”

  He held up his hand. “Brianne, you are a goddess, but you no longer need to protect me. I am a king now, and a king cannot be afraid.”

  “Yes, you are a king, Kamanahua,” Brother Jedidiah eagerly agreed. “Your actions must be above reproach. You must be an example for the people of Lakahani. You can no longer worship idols or you will go to that dark place where fires burn eternally as your father did.”

  “You lie, Brother Jedidiah!” Kam bellowed, causing Sister Ruth to gasp. “My father has gone to the world of cool waters, gentle winds, and brights suns.”

  Brother Jedidiah made a vexed sound. “A heathen does not go to heaven, King Kamanahua.”

  Kamanahua thumped his chest. “I am not a heathen. I am a Hawaiian!”

  Brother Jedidiah opened his mouth to speak, but Sloan, having come off the porch to stand beside Brianne spoke first. “You can’t argue with him on that one.”

  “No, you can’t,” Brianne agreed. “And I think it would be an excellent idea if you and your brothers and sisters left town.”

  The missionary nodded solemnly, but there was a light in his eyes. “Perhaps you are right, Miss Delaney. We will take King Kamanahua with us. He must return to Lakahani, and we will go with him. He will need much guidance and direction.”

  Brianne looked uncertainly at Kam. Unfortunately Brother Jedidiah was right. Now that Kam was king, he did need to return to his island and his people. “What do you want to do, Kam?”

  Brother Jedidiah pulled fro
m his pocket the document he so desperately wanted Kamanahua to sign and clutched it to his breast.

  Kamanahua ignored him. “I have missed the rolling surf, the crying of the sea birds, the swaying palms. And my people desire my body to be on my island. I must go. I will be a great king and have many wives and great numbers of children.”

  Showing a high degree of agitation, Brother Jedidiah waved the document in the air. “You and your people cannot survive if you obstinately cling to the old ways. God’s wrath will be expressed!”

  Kamanahua looked wildly around, spotted a box of matches on the ledge beside the front door lantern, bounded up the stairs, grabbed the box and yanked it open. Matches flew everywhere, but when he turned around, he had one match in his hand. Three long strides took him back down to the street. He flicked the tip of the match with his thumb nail. Snatching the document away from a stunned Brother Jedidiah, he held the burning match beneath the paper. “Now Pele has expressed her wrath!”

  After the document had gone up in flames, he planted his feet apart and spoke in a booming voice. “Later, when I feel the hour has come, I will call upon the missionaries to come and teach us. But I will never surrender my land. Nor will my sons. And when the missionaries come, they will not be you, Brother Jedidiah.”

  Up on the porch, Henrietta called out, “Bravo!” Phineas yelled, “Well done!”

  Brother Jedidiah turned to his wife and fellow missionaries. “We have failed. Obviously this is a heathen town, and Satan has a strong hold on these misguided sinners. Let us leave them to their woeful ways and find more fertile waters upon which to cast our nets.”

  They marched around the hotel to where their camp was set up, and for a few more minutes, they could be heard muttering prayers that were occasionally punctuated with loud “amens” and “hosannas.”

  Brianne turned to Kamanahua. “I am so proud of you, and I want you to know that Sloan and I will help you in every way we can. As soon as possible, we will make sure you get on a ship heading for Lakahani. We can’t go with you this time, but we will come and visit.”