by Bodie Thoene
Compounded with the salt-sea and the flowers, this combination of aromas could locate only one place on earth: Hawaii Nei, “Beloved Hawaii.”
Kaiulani closed her eyes and drank it in. Even if she lost her sight on this journey, she would know home again at her first intake of breath.
When she opened her eyes again, Kaiulani was startled to see a thin, pale, moustached haole smiling quizzically at her. He extended his hand to assist her exit from the carriage.
“Mister Stevenson!” she exclaimed as she recognized the novelist.
“You didn’t think I’d miss the opportunity to wish you Aloha and bon voyage, did you? Especially since you are journeying from your homeland to mine? I fear my country will not bestow as warm and delightful a welcome as this outpouring upon your departure.”
“I treasure the suggestions you made about what I must visit in England,” Kaiulani said. “And the kind things you wrote in my autograph book.”
Stevenson’s head bobbed agreeably. “Hawaii’s temporary loss will be the old country’s gain. Dear Island Rose, you will be a breath of tropical springtime to brighten Europe’s chill.”
“I’ll miss you,” Kaiulani said. “Be well! When I come back, we’ll talk story for days and days. Aloha.”
“Aloha nui loa,” Stevenson returned.
Was that a twinge of sadness in his eyes?
“Come along.” Hannah grasped Kaiulani’s hand and linked arms with Annie. “We need to get aboard before the dock collapses!”
As if to emphasize the urgency, Umatilla’s steam whistle blasted a warning.
“Please, Papa,” Kaiulani urged, “can we go up on top of the wheelhouse, where we can see everything?”
“Of course, child. Just don’t fall overboard—or jump either!”
The fervor of the multitude was muted when Kaiulani disappeared up the gangplank, only to break out again when she reappeared on the highest spot above the steamship’s bridge. The temporary break in the clamor was sufficient for the Royal band to again make itself heard. The strains of “Hawaii Ponoi,” the Hawaiian national anthem written by King David himself, drifted up.
A moment later the crowd was singing to her as well: “Hawaii’s own true sons, be loyal to your chief!”
As the plaintive notes ended, the steam whistle blared again. Nearby the wailing siren of the British warship HMS Cormorant added urgency to the departure.
As the stern line was cast off, Umatilla crawled up on her bow mooring. The human flower garden on the dock exploded with shouts, cheers, calls of Aloha, and a shower of leis cascading into the widening gap of water between ship and shore.
Kaiulani’s right arm was sore from waving, so she switched to her left. As she did so, the angle of her view changed and she saw for the first time a young man on the deck below her. He was not looking back at Hawaii. He was staring insolently up at her. About seventeen or eighteen, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, with sandy-colored hair and wide-set blue eyes, he studied her with what seemed a disapproving gaze.
Elevating her nose and looking off toward the Punch Bowl crater, the princess nevertheless jerked her chin in his direction as she asked Hannah, “Who is that rude haole?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah replied. “But he’s really handsome.”
“Is he?” Kaiulani returned dismissively. “I didn’t notice.”
All too soon a cloud passed in front of the sun, dimming the verdant greens of Beloved Hawaii. The love-laden chants and the haunting melodies faded.
Long after Honolulu was swallowed up in the heart of the sea, Kaiulani continued to watch every craggy pali and gaping canyon of her homeland until these, too, almost faded from view.
Chapter Two
The engines pulsed beneath the feet of Kaiulani, Hannah, and Annie as they stood together at the stern of the ship. The V-shaped wake of the Umatilla pointed away from everything Kaiulani loved. The variegated turquoise of familiar waters darkened to the deep, purplish-indigo-blue of the open sea. Far distant now, the islands of home were concealed by clouds impaled upon jagged, volcanic peaks.
Kaiulani said to her half sister Annie, “I wonder if we will ever see our home again, or perish in some distant, unfamiliar country.”
Annie, usually a simple and cheerful companion, was stricken. Her brows furrowed, and she began to sob. “Auwe, little sister, my very thoughts! The very thing I have feared most, and now you have spoken what I was thinking. Perhaps it is a prophecy. Perhaps we will never see Hawaii Nei again! I am suddenly unwell. I cannot bear it any longer.” Annie covered her brown face and ran away to her cabin.
Hannah’s mouth was tight with disapproval. She glared at Kaiulani. “That was kind of you.”
Kaiulani feigned ignorance. “What? What did I do?”
“You know Annie, sweet Annie. You know she could hardly bear the thought of leaving home. She only agreed to come along to keep you company, to cheer you up. Now you will not be cheered unless you make her miserable.”
Kaiulani shrugged. “I say only what is on my heart.”
Hannah adjusted the broad brim of her sun hat. “As I must also: Kaiulani, I say we are standing at the wrong end of this vessel. As for myself, I must be facing future, not lamenting the past. You’ll find me at the bow of the ship. ” Hannah turned on her heel and left Kaiulani brooding above the churning screws and roiling water of the wake.
Stubborn tears stung Kaiulani’s eyes. What had she done to upset Hannah? What right did Hannah have to judge the emotion Kaiulani felt in saying farewell to her people and her kingdom? Annie was right to weep, and Kaiulani was right to wonder if they would survive to return to the Islands.
Kailulani decided she would not speak to Hannah again unless she apologized. Perhaps she would jot her a note and—
Behind her, a male voice with a faint Scots accent interrupted her revere. “Historic moment, eh?”
Kaiulani turned to face the handsome young man she and Hannah had noticed earlier on deck. His expression was impudent, his lips curved in a slightly mocking smile. He was attractive and seemed to know it. He acted far too familiar with her. Did he not know she was a royal?
“Historic?” Kaiulani asked.
“I’ve seldom seen such adoring crowds,” he replied, leaning against the stern rail beside her. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Andrew Adams. Traveling home to Scotland with my father.”
“Aloha. I am—”
“You are Hannah Lilo Duncan.”
“Am I?” Kaiulani smiled and did not look into his eyes. “You pretend to know an awful lot for someone I have never met.”
“We must become acquainted. This ship is not so wide as an island.”
“Why do you think there were such crowds on the wharf? Who had the people come to see?”
“The royal princess, eh?”
“Yes.”
“I was also waiting for her to leave, so I might have a word with you.”
“Who?”
He was cheerful as he reported what he had seen. “The princess seemed quite unhappy with you.”
“The princess?”
“I passed her when she left you. Her expression was very regal and displeased.”
“You mean”—Kaiulani turned to scan the deck for sign of Hannah— “she is…the princess is not…how did you know which of us three is Princess Kaiulani? How do you know she is the princess?”
“When we, that is, my father and I, spotted the three of you on the docks, my father told me. ‘Kaiulani, the tall one,’ he said.”
“She’s not much taller than I.”
“No. That’s true. Not too much taller. Younger, though. You are what? About sixteen? A year or two younger than me? And the princess? A year or two younger than you? But there is fire in her eyes. Quite striking, she is. We could see she has a regal, confident air about her. Conquer the world. She is not a person I would approach casually. Then there is Annie Cleghorn. Half sister to the princess. My father tells me Annie is also daughter of
Archibald Cleghorn, the Scottish father of the princess. What do you know about that? Why was Annie Cleghorn crying just now?”
“You ask a lot of questions.” Kaiulani enjoyed the freedom in this deception.
“Curiosity. It is in my nature, so I am told.”
“Curiosity killed the cat. So I am told.” How long could she keep the truth of her identity from this young commoner? Perhaps Hannah would agree to play the game of who’s who for a while.
“Cats are said to have nine lives.”
“How many have you lost so far—sticking your nose into other people’s business?”
“This may be my first demise.”
“You are very young to start so early.”
“I am of age. Celebrated my eighteenth birthday on the Island of Maui last week. We traveled with the king and Robert Louis Stevenson to the king’s estate at Ulupalakua. There we celebrated my birthday. In such exalted company I had my first cigar and my first taste of spirits.”
“Congratulations.” So Andrew was a braggart as well as nosy. “Very fine company, indeed.”
Andrew squared his shoulders, as if certain of impressing her. “Are you familiar with Mister Stevenson’s novels?”
“Somewhat.” Kaiulani resisted the temptation to retrieve her autograph book from her stateroom and open it to the page R. L. Stevenson had inscribed to her. Nor would she mention her long talks under the banyan tree at Ainahau just now. “Mister Stevenson is fond of Princess Kaiulani, they say.”
“Yes. So he told me,” the brash young man asserted.
“Mister Stevenson told you?”
“Yes. He spoke about her to King Kalakaua, and to my father and me, at length. Very fond. I have traveled half the world in the company of my father, who publishes Mister Stevenson’s work. Father came to meet with him and collect the manuscript of his new novel. Now we’re returning to Edinburgh. I’ve learned how little time there is on sea voyages to become acquainted with fellow sojourners. Therefore it is important to learn all you can up front.” He flashed a grin. “Then you can move into further discovery. But I will be content to hear the details of questions raised by first impressions. So why did the half sister of Kaiulani flee?”
“Annie is very sensitive. Homesick already.”
“Ah. Youthful emotion, rather than seasickness. Glad to hear it. I assumed a true Hawaiian would not get seasick. Look at you, for instance. Clear-eyed, wits about you, though a bit wistful. I assume you do not greatly regret leaving Honolulu.”
“You cannot guess what I might be feeling. You go too far in your assumptions.”
“The journey has only made me hungry to travel farther and learn more.”
“I think I shall not tell you more. I’m offended by your arrogance.”
“Me? Andrew Adams, arrogant?” He held up his hand in pledge of truth. “Curious, only.”
“Yes? Then I’m offended by your curiosity. Yes, offended on behalf of Princess Kaiulani and her sister, Annie.”
“How will I learn if you won’t answer my questions? Are you some sort of relative too? I’ve heard there are lots of royal relatives roaming about.”
“Not so many as there once were, I fear.”
There followed a long pause, punctuated by the thrumming of the freighter’s engines. He seemed to consider the significance of her answer. “Of course. Hard times for the descendants of the Hawaiian kings.” He shook off the reverie. “And so to the point. Exactly to the point. I was wondering, since we are traveling the wide sea together, if you might condescend to a favor on my behalf.”
“A favor?”
“Yes. You see, I would very much like to be introduced to the young royal princess. I would like to interview Princess Kaiulani. To write an article about her for The Times, perhaps. Her feelings about…well, everything. The monarchy. The future of Hawaii, from the perspective of a princess. The views of a royal heir. That sort of thing.”
It was growing dark. Kaiulani smiled into Andrew’s eager face. “An interview. I’ll ask Her Highness. Perhaps she would consent. Well, we must dress for dinner. A pleasure to meet you. Aloha, Andrew.”
“Aloha.” He bowed slightly and thanked her as they parted company.
There was a spring in her step and a gleam in her eye as Kaiulani returned to her teak paneled stateroom. Two steamer trunks containing a carefully selected travel wardrobe had been unpacked for the voyage. On the dressing table lay the silver mirror, brush, and comb that had belonged to her mother. Beside them was Kaiulani’s autograph book, covered with red Oriental silk. A bright peacock feather served as her bookmark. She opened the pages and found the distinct verse written by Robert Louis Stevenson: “Forth from her land to mine she goes… .”
* * * *
1973
The first light of dawn crept over the West Maui Mountains. Across the Pailolo Channel, clouds seemed impaled on the peaks of the island of Molokai. Sandi looked up at the blue morning and pondered Auntie Hannah’s description of Kaiulani’s red autograph book.
Three file boxes of corroborating letters and yellowed news clippings were on the floor beside Sandi’s makeshift desk. Was there documentation of the autograph book? Was the actual inscription of R. L. Stevenson among the material?
What would such a thing be filed under? A for autograph? K for Kaiulani? Or S for Stevenson?
Leaving the notebook open on the bed, Sandi clambered onto the floor and lifted the lid of the cardboard file labeled A to K and spread the contents on the bed.
A shaft of sunlight swept in from the open door of the lanai and illuminated a gleam of dark red silk inside the last A folder in the box: Autograph Book.
Could it be?
Sandi held her breath and carefully lifted the priceless object. It was wrapped in clear plastic. The tip of a peacock feather protruded from the pages of the book.
“I’ll be!” Sandi stood and carefully placed the package on the bed. Mindful of the likely fragility of a book over eighty years old, she washed and dried her hands before removing the covering. Then, with a sense of awe, she carefully peeled away the protective wrapping, revealing the shining silk cover that encased the treasure.
“Where are you, Robert Louis Stevenson?” Sandi wondered aloud as her hands hovered above the volume.
Her brow furrowed as she thought of Stevenson and the young princess under the banyan tree as peacocks roamed about. Would Kaiulani have marked the great author’s inscription with a peacock feather?
Sandi opened the page indicated by the colorful bookmark. She gasped with pleasure at the elaborate Victorian handwriting and the signature R. L. Stevenson at the bottom of the page.
As sunlight chased shadows across the sea, illuminating the highest peaks of the island of Lanai, Sandi read Stevenson’s words aloud:
“Forth from her land to mine she goes,
The island maid, the island rose,
Light of heart and bright of face,
The daughter of a double race.
Her islands here in southern sun
Shall mourn their Kaiulani gone,
And I, in her dear banyan’s shade,
Look vainly for my little maid.
But our Scots islands far away
Shall glitter with unwonted day,
And cast for once their tempest by
To smile in Kaiulani’s eye.”
Beneath the stanza followed a tender postscript in the poet’s hand.
“Written in April to Kaiulani in the April of her age, and at Waikiki, within easy walk of Kaiulani’s banyan. When she comes to my land and her father’s and the rain beats upon the window (as I fear it will), let her look upon this page; it will be like a weed gathered and pressed at home; and she will remember her own islands, and the shadow of the mighty tree; and she will hear the peacocks screaming in the dusk and the wind blowing in the palms.” 1
Sandi let her weary eyes linger on the page as she imagined Kaiulani, far from home, must have done. Over three-quarters of a c
entury had passed since Stevenson had written the poem to comfort the anxious heart of the Island Rose. How could either have known how much would happen to the Islands between the day of his writing and the end of their brief lives?
This record of pleasant days beneath the banyan tree and their parting on the docks of Honolulu suddenly became Sandi’s memory. The princess and the poet were no longer characters in a history book, but living, breathing, grieving human beings.
Sandi held the peacock feather up to the window. Where a commoner would press a blossom between the pages of a book to remember a place, a day, a moment, the young princess had pressed the tail feather of one of her favorite pets.
