by Bodie Thoene
While Andrew would have preferred to slink away, he was called up by Captain Samuels and made to stand beside the three Hawaiian maids from school. “Our delighted thanks,” the skipper said, “to Andrew Adams. He possesses…unexpected talents.”
Then before Andrew could jump overboard in hope of meeting the shark, the captain continued, “We also are grateful to Annie and to Hannah. Beautifully rendered. Well done. But I must offer our greatest appreciation—”
Andrew was confused. Why was Samuels urging Hannah to step forward?
Samuels continued, “Our deepest indebtedness goes to the Princess Victoria Kaiulani, for suggesting and organizing tonight’s festivities.”
Only now was the cup of Andrew’s humiliation complete. Not only had he made a fool of himself, but he had been duped for days into treating Hannah as a royal princess and speaking very familiarly to one he supposed was a servant.
It might have eased Andrew’s pain if he had perceived a small frown on Kaiulani’s features or the slight look of regret in her eyes.
But he was sunk too far in his own misery to notice.
* * * *
1973
Sandi sipped iced tea and tapped her foot. The rocking chairs on the lanai of Auntie Hannah’s room creaked as the old woman croaked musical numbers from The Mikado’s second act. Her recollection of the lyrics was perfect. It was as if she had performed the operetta yesterday.
“Sit with downcast eye—
Let it brim with dew—
Try if you can cry—
We will do so too.” 8
Sandi, an audience of one, applauded enthusiastically.
Auntie Hannah bowed and waved her hand as if she saw the faces of the sailors grinning before her. “Mahalo. Mahalo! Oh, we three were indeed three little maids from school—Kaiulani, Annie, and Hannah. All flown away now, but me.” She tossed a crumb of banana nut bread onto the planks. A brown myna bird swooped down from the banyan and snatched the morsel. He blinked at her, as if expecting more. “That’s all. That’s all for now, Nanki-Poo.”
The aged woman laughed as Sandi shook her head in admiration at the deception. “It was so elaborate. So clever.”
Auntie Hannah drew herself up. “We were a bit cruel to poor Andrew, I confess. By the end of the voyage he had fallen in love with the Royal Princess of the Kingdom of Hawaii, whom he had believed was just a commoner named Hannah. Our entertainment broke his heart. Loving Kaiulani was an impossibility for him. But certainly Princess Kaiulani was also falling in love with Andrew.”
“Hard to tell she loved him by the way she treated him.”
“Kaiulani had no experience of love. Andrew was the first awakening of desire. I am certain she did not realize how cruel our charade was to him.” A flicker of sorrow passed through Auntie Hannah’s eyes. “Auwe. We were schoolgirls. How could we know of such things? How could we know how deep love would grow? How painful the story would become in the end?”
Auntie Hannah closed her eyes and seemed to doze a moment. Or was she replaying some long distant memory? A smile danced on her lips as she gently spoke the name of Kaiulani’s beloved: “Andrew. What did we do to your heart?”
* * * *
1889
The royal entourage disembarked from the Umatilla with little fanfare. Unlike the great crowds at the wharf in Honolulu, Americans seemed disinterested in Kaiulani’s arrival. One reporter from The Examiner was at the bottom of the gangplank to greet the princess as she stepped onto American soil. He was from the society page of the newspaper and no doubt was unaware of the political turmoil taking place in the Islands.
Kaiulani, in the shadow of her father, stopped only briefly to speak to the man. Andrew Adams pushed past without greeting. His eyes were downcast, and his sullen face betrayed anger at being bested by three little maids from school.
The barbarian princess stared coolly after her adversary as Andrew and his father hailed a horse-drawn cab. She hoped this was the last she would see of the brash young man.
The Occidental Hotel, located on Montgomery between Sutter and Bush, was the finest establishment in the city. Four stories, of Italianate styling, the Occidental was the ne plus ultra of Victorian fashion. Days passed with visits to family and friends, parties, and high teas. Young Andrew Adams and his father were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, Kaiulani thought, father and son had gone directly to the train and were already on their way to the East Coast.
However, on the morning of Kaiulani’s departure from San Francisco, Andrew once again briefly appeared in the gun sights of the female war party. Kaiulani’s heart leapt when she saw him enter through the revolving door and dash across the plush red and gold gilt lobby.
Hannah nudged her in the ribs. “Our victim still lives.”
Annie stared openly. “And he inhabits the Occidental.”
Hannah scowled. “He’s not a gentleman. Look how he avoids us.”
Kaiulani’s eyebrows raised slightly at Andrew’s handsome but downcast appearance. “He’s vanquished. What care we?”
At that moment Andrew caught sight of the triumphant trio. He quickly looked away. Anger clouded his face. Chin up, full lips slightly clamped together, he did not tip his hat in greeting.
“Did he notice us?” Annie, ever charitable, asked.
Hannah remarked, “Auwe. He noticed us all right.”
Kaiulani gazed after Andrew as he hurried toward the broad staircase and took the steps two at a time. “He runs like a rabbit, in hopes we did not see him.”
Annie bobbed her head. “Good riddance.”
Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “Barbarians indeed.”
Kaiulani concurred. “No doubt when the flush of his shame finally dims, he will only repent that he gave away his copy of The Black Arrow.”
Hannah reached into her valise and produced it. “An excellent novel. Finished last night. All’s well that ends well. Right conquers might.”
“We should not let him believe Hawaiians are thieves as well as barbarians.” Kaiulani took the volume from Hannah and penned a note on hotel stationery, which she tucked beneath the front cover. “Now that the truth of our identities has been revealed, we must not part from Nanki-Poo, leaving him in suspense about who won the war of wits.” Kaiulani gave the book to the bellman. “When we have departed, will you please see to it this book is delivered swiftly into the hands of Mr. Andrew Adams and no other?”
Chapter Five
The weather in Oakland was dismal. A thick, damp blanket of fog shrouded all of San Francisco Bay. The crossing by ferryboat had been punctuated by the mournful wailing of foghorns. Though Kaiulani was back on land once more at the East Bay rail station, the impenetrable mist remained.
Nothing about the miserable day lifted Kaiulani’s spirits. This clinging moisture was like nothing she had ever experienced back home. Despite a heavier coat than she had ever worn, the dank cold penetrated her very bones, even to her heart.
Leaving Hawaii Nei had been difficult but could have been tolerated as a temporary adventure. Kauilani had so far pretended this journey was just a brief shared experience—a memory to be revisited with Hannah amid much laughter on banyan tree evenings.
The impatient chuffing of the black beast of a Southern Pacific locomotive engine insisted otherwise. Though this was the first railroad Kaiulani had ever ridden—and three thousand miles of track lay ahead—there was no excitement in the day.
Today she would bid farewell to her father.
Papa Archie was turning back here. He would be returning to the sunshine and rainbows of Ainahau even as Kaiulani, Hannah, and Annie approached New York.
“Auwe,” Annie said, wiping a film of moisture from the window with her sleeve and straining to study the bustling platforms of the Southern Pacific terminus. “So big! Great brutes, these engines. Is it true they go a hundred miles an hour? However do they stop?”
Annie’s words, while sounding frightened, conveyed the delicious excitement of pretended dange
r.
For Kaiulani, the train was likewise a beast, but one determined to carry her away from where she wanted to be. Even if the engine were a fire-breathing dragon, no knight would appear to rescue her.
“Two minutes,” called the stentorian voice of the conductor in the passageway outside the private compartment after he’d knocked on the door. A moment later he repeated the announcement outside the compartment occupied by Kaiulani’s chaperone, Mrs. Walker, and her two young children. “Train Eleven. Departing for Salt Lake City and points east in two minutes. Two minutes.”
Papa Archie, looking older than Kaiulani had ever seen him, squared his shoulders and straightened the front of his frock coat. Until that moment Kaiulani had not realized this parting was also painful for her father.
“Girls,” he said, his gaze embracing Annie and Hannah but coming to linger on Kaiulani, “the time has come for farewell. I expect you to write me often and tell me everything. I shall do the same. And we will not be apart for so very long. You’ll see. The time will pass quickly. Of course, if anything exciting happens, I will cable you the news. This modern age has shrunk the world to the size of a marble.”
His words were brave, but his tone was strained and his throat husky.
“Kaiulani,” he said, “you are young, and I have no wish to burden your youth. Only remember this: you are a princess of Hawaii. You are going to a land where they have a long tradition of royalty; see that you act the part. Never think for a moment that what you say and do will not be known in Honolulu. Those who wish you well, and those others will be watching. Have fun; add to the sum of your experience. But never forget: you are the Princess Victoria Kaiulani.”
Had Papa deliberately stressed the word you in that sentence? Did he know about the deception they had practiced on Andrew Adams?
Papa leaned close to whisper in Kaiulani’s ear and remove all doubt: “William Adams is a well-known and respected publisher and journalist. It may be fun to fool a newspaperman’s son, but don’t make a habit of it. They have devious ways of striking back.”
“No, Papa. I understand,” Kaiulani murmured.
“Hannah,” Papa Archie added, “I rely on you and Annie to keep Kaiulani reminded of her position.”
Hannah, around whose eyes had lurked a giggle, dropped her face. “Of course, Papa Archie.”
“Now, hugs all around.”
From the great, wide ocean and the bustling metropolis of San Francisco, now Kaiulani’s world did shrink indeed. Though spacious and richly appointed, the private compartment was scarcely large enough to contain all the tears that flowed.
“All aboard!” echoed the length of the train station, stabbing Kaiulani with greater grief than she had known since her mother had died.
Slowly, great drive wheels slipped on the wet rails, then gained purchase and tugged inexorably forward. Train Eleven, bearing the Princess Victoria Kaiulani and her retinue, began its transcontinental journey and the second leg of the trip that would carry Kaiulani halfway around the world, to England.
Kaiulani’s father remained on the platform. His fluttering handkerchief stayed visible for the briefest of moments before being swallowed up by the fog.
* * * *
1973
It was late—a hot Lahaina night. At the open-air restaurant at the Pioneer Inn a grizzled Front Street musician strummed a battered guitar and belted out a last Jim Croce song before the bar closed down. Sandi perched on the wide stone wall of the breakwater. Waves splashed gently against the black lava rocks on the beach. Snatches of lyrics rose and fell with the rhythm of the waves.
“…such a long time ago,
I was walking…
…tired of dreaming alone,
Like all the lonely people I had known.”
Beyond the lights of Lahaina the stars filled a moonless sky and reflected in the calm sea. A gleam shone from the deck of a returning dinner cruise boat packed with tourists. At the end of the breakwater a couple kissed like a slow dance.
“We spent the whole night talking.
You said you’d like to see the sunrise.
But in the gold of morning,
There was nothing that I had not seen in your eyes.” 9
Sandi searched the early spring sky and imagined John looking up at the same stars. The guitar strummed, and in the next breath she imagined John looking down at her from the stars.
The music stopped. The mic buzzed a moment before the singer switched it off. He was almost alone in the bar.
Sandi watched him as he emptied his tip jar. No future in Front Street singing. No future singing someone else’s songs. He packed up his instrument and downed the last of a flat beer before leaving the platform that served as his stage.
And the lights switched off. It was mostly dark except for the stars. Lahaina was suddenly almost quiet.
Sandi tossed a stone into the lapping waves and looked up into indigo night. She whispered her complaint: “Oh, God. I’m trying. I really am. Happy, yes, for all the other families. I am, God. But what about my life? If only his name had been on the list.”
Suddenly from behind her and above she heard music and a sweet soprano voice singing.
“Sorry her lot who loves too well,
Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly…”
Sandi turned and followed the source of the music to Auntie Hannah’s open window. She stood beside the wall, arms limp at her sides, and searched the darkness. Had the old woman been watching? Had she seen Sandi sitting alone?
“Sad are the sighs that own the spell
Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly;
Sorry her lot who loves too well…”
The scratching of the old woman’s phonograph record could not conceal the message.
“Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly,
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When love is alive and hope is dead!
When love is alive and hope is dead!”
A white shadow emerged from the French doors as Auntie Hannah stepped onto her lanai. Hobbling to the railing, Auntie Hannah raised her hand, acknowledging Sandi. Sandi returned the gesture, palm up, imploring the aged woman not to go. Auntie Hannah nodded slowly, then sat in her rocking chair.
“Sad is the hour when sets the sun
Dark is the night to earth’s poor daughters,
When to the ark the wearied one
Flies from the empty waste of waters.
Sad is the hour when sets the sun…”
The two women, young and old, lives separated by time and continents and history, listened together, their hearts in the music.
“Dark is the night to earth’s poor daughters.
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When love is alive and hope is dead!
When love is alive and hope is dead!” 10
Part Two
Chapter Six
Victorian England, 1889
It was fortunate Kaiulani made her first visit to the home of her guardian, Theo Davies, in high English summer. Located north of Liverpool, the Merseyside area called Southport was a cheerful, bustling beach resort when seen in July. The breeze off the Irish Sea had no bite. The sky was blue like the water—not a vivid blue-green, like off Lahaina Roads, but a sensible, deep English blue. Crowds of pleasure-seekers came from all over England to enjoy summer holiday at Southport.
Kaiulani stepped off the train at the Southport rail station almost into the arms of a broad-shouldered, well-dressed young man. “Here,” he insisted, “let me take that for you.” Tipping his straw boater, he reached for her portmanteau.
Hannah appeared on the platform one step behind Kaiulani. “A moment, sir,” she said frostily. Then in a none-too-subtle aside she remarked, “Don’t give it to him. No uniform. He could be a thief.”
“What? Me, a thief?” the handsome stranger bumbled. “There’s some mistake.”
“There certainly has been,” Hannah retorted. “Yours. And un
less you leave immediately, I shall summon a policeman.”
The heads of nearby travelers swiveled to witness the disturbance.
The young man’s face colored up to the line of his dark, wavy hair. He backed up abruptly, hands widespread to protest his innocence.
The phalanx of three Hawaiian maidens confronted him in a wall of suspicion.
“My father, you see, he’s detained. He sent me…oh, dash it all, I’m Clive Davies.”
