by Bodie Thoene
“Clive,” Kaiulani said in greeting, “it’s good to see you.”
“Yes,” Hannah added in a strained voice. “It’s been some time. You look…prosperous.” The way she voiced the adjective made it sound less than complimentary.
“Very busy,” Clive returned. “Very.”
Kaiulani waved her hand around the empty hall. “Would you like to come into the north wing? We can sit down.”
A peal of thunder cracked like a rifle shot overhead.
“No, no, thank you,” Clive replied. “Can’t stay. But I have something to say to you, Kaiulani.”
He stared pointedly at Hannah, who coughed as she said, “You’ll excuse me, won’t you, Clive? I have some mending to attend to.”
Clive waited until Hannah had left the room before taking Kaiulani’s hand. “I haven’t wanted to stay away,” he said. “You must not think that. It’s just—the Provisional Government thinks you are the focus of rebellion.”
“How can I have anything to do with rebellion?” Kaiulani challenged. “It’s they who are the rebels. I am the lawful heir apparent.”
Clive’s face twisted. “Yes, of course. But you must understand my position. You and anyone who associates with you are under suspicion.”
“Well, then,” the princess returned, “I will miss you, but I wouldn’t want you to jeopardize your position.”
Clive fumbled with his gold chain, drawing the watch before suddenly jamming it back into the waistcoat pocket. “I’m doing this very badly,” he admitted.
“Clive,” Kaiulani said, not unkindly, “we’ve been friends a long time. Why don’t you simply tell me what’s on your mind?”
Inhaling and apparently gathering his thoughts, Clive said, “You know I’m on your side. First, last, and always.”
“Yes,” Kaiulani returned. “You and your family have always been kind to me.”
Clive frowned, then continued. “You once said to me that as HRH Victoria Kaiulani you could not love me.”
“Please, don’t,” Kaiulani cautioned. “Clive, don’t—”
He rushed on, undeterred by the fingers she placed across his lips. “But you said as Kaiulani Cleghorn you did care for me. You did say that, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”
Kaiulani stared at him. How could he care for her and not see how much pain this subject caused her? Or did it not matter to him?
“Now that you’re a private citizen, free to love where you will, can’t you see yourself loving me?” He was pleading now, perhaps reacting to the stiffening Kaiulani felt in her frame and features.
“Clive,” she said sternly, “I can only care for my people. For Hawaii Nei. If I allow myself to think, even for an instant, that I may fail, then I am pau—finished—and of no use to anyone. Can’t you understand that?”
“I understand that this is not a fairy tale with a fairy-tale ending,” Clive said, mimicking Kaiulani’s gesture at the empty room. “I know money is tight. I know your father’s business is in difficulty. Kaiulani, think! I care for you! I can rescue you from this…this hollow shell. Married to me, you won’t be in danger anymore. Life can be good for us.”
The thunderstorm moved off toward Diamond Head, growling and grumbling as it went.
“Clive,” Kaiulani said, “thank you. I mean that; truly I do. But you do not know me. Not at all. I will go to my grave as a princess—a champion of my people. To do anything else would be to sell them out and abandon them to their fate. Your friends have raped our islands. Stolen what is not theirs. I can’t be part of that.”
“I see,” Clive said stiffly, jamming his hat firmly on his head. “Well, I can’t be responsible for what happens to you. If you refuse me, you are on your own.”
“I am never on my own. The good hand of the Lord is upon me.”
“You may find heaven too far away to protect you now. Good-bye, Kaiulani.” He turned on his heel and stormed out of the house without looking back.
Kaiulani stared at the restless sea. What had happened to the boy they had known in England? It was as if Clive Davies had died inside. Certainly his love for her had turned bitter when she refused him.
She felt Hannah beside her but did not turn. “Out there,” she said, “beyond the reef. That’s where I saw the old woman in the surf. Nothing solid under her feet. No land left on which to stand. Is that where we are? Is Clive right? Am I foolish to continue hoping?”
Hannah’s voice rasped a bit when she replied. “I saw a dark shadow cross his face when he looked at you. A shadow. Very dark! Kaiulani, listen. It’s dangerous for you to remain here. There was danger in Clive’s voice when he spoke to you. He isn’t safe anymore. Not the boy we knew. He’s no friend of Hawaii. You don’t love him in the way he wants your love. You must leave Ainahau, Kaiulani, or I’m afraid he will take your love—steal what you will not give him freely.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Kaiulani had promised herself she would make this journey up the Nuuanu Valley at her first opportunity after arriving home. Ever since leaving England to return to Hawaii, she had thought about visiting her mother’s grave. Now, heedless of the swollen clouds threatening to unleash a torrent of rain, she and Hannah were in the red carriage with boughs of jasmine blossoms and baskets of plumeria leis with which to deck the monument.
Kaiulani had been warned against attending any public gathering that could be viewed as rebellious by the ultra-sensitive Provisional Government. Without actually forbidding her to go outside her home, the message was clear: any action that might enflame the Hawaiian populace would not be tolerated.
Kaiulani ignored the threat. “I am going to visit my mother’s grave. Let them make of that what they will.”
Mauna ala, the “Fragrant Hills,” existed as a volcanic ridge halfway between mauka and makai, the mountains and the sea. The royal mausoleum also marked the final resting place for Uncle David and the spot where Kaiulani herself expected to be buried someday.
Almost as soon as the carriage left Ainahau’s gate, word about Kaiulani’s destination circulated among the Hawaiian population. First in twos and threes, then in larger numbers, friendly, sympathetic faces collected to trudge alongside Kaiulani and Hannah. They murmured expressions of sympathy. Many carried palm branches to offer in loving remembrance of the royal family.
It had only been one hundred years since King Kamehameha the Great followed this same route to his final battle for supremacy over the island kingdom. One hundred years from savagery to civilization; from idol worship to Christianity; from being almost unknown by the rest of the world to being coveted by powerful nations.
From self-rule to having no voice in their own affairs?
From the start of the dynasty to its end?
Kaiulani would not dwell on politics today. Her purpose and her thoughts concentrated on remembering and honoring her mother.
The crowd around the carriage numbered only about a hundred when they encountered a pair of soldiers of the Provisional Government on horseback. These two guardsmen did not challenge Kaiulani’s progress, but they did dig in with their spurs and gallop off toward Honolulu.
The progress up the highway rapidly took on the air of a solemn procession. Columns of Hawaiians flanked the carriage, carrying their palm branches like kahilis.
“Or like spears,” Hannah said to Kaiulani. “Thurston would not permit any such”—Hannah had to pause to catch her breath—“any such honor guard at the docks. But he can’t stop this one.”
Ten minutes later, as the number of impromptu attendants reached five hundred and the head of the throng reached the foot of the ridge, Kaiulani was not so sure Hannah was right. Posted across the lava flow, blocking further progress toward the cemetery, were thirty PG troopers, armed with rifles and bayonets.
Their captain, a scruffy-haired, scruffy-bearded young man of no more than twenty-five, ordered the crowd to turn around and go home. “Disperse!”
“His voice squeaked,” Hannah whispered. “Do you
think he’s frightened?”
“Perhaps,” Kaiulani returned. “And frightened men can be dangerous.”
“Disperse at once!” the officer repeated. “Gatherings of Hawaiians are forbidden by order of the Provisional Government. Anyone participating in an illegal assembly may be arrested.”
Angry growls came from some of Kaiulani’s attendants. Some dropped their palm fronds to pick up stones.
There was palpable tension in the air.
Kaiulani stood up and waved for silence. “This is neither a gathering nor an assembly,” she said. “I am going to visit my mother’s grave at Mauna ala. Won’t you let me pass?”
The captain hesitated. Kaiulani saw his fingers pluck at the sword by his side. “My orders—”
“Do your orders involve shooting women and children?” called a familiar voice. Andrew Adams stood on a small knoll of black rock beside the road. “Or bayoneting innocent people going to a cemetery? Because, if so, the whole world will know about it. I’m a newspaperman and a correspondent for several American papers.”
“My orders,” the PG captain stated again.
“Do you want to be known as the man who ordered the Mauna ala massacre?” Andrew demanded. “Do you think your chiefs will approve? What’s your name, so I get it spelled right?”
“I have a solution, Captain,” Hannah called. “Let the carriage pass. We will go pray at the grave and then come back here. The people will disperse after we return.”
“Andrew,” Kaiulani called, “please ride with us.”
“My honor, Your Highness,” he answered.
“Thank you,” Kaiulani said to Andrew and Hannah as the line of guards parted and the carriage rolled through. “Both of you.”
“You know your people would have charged bayonets and bullets,” Hannah said.
“Waving palm branches,” Andrew added.
“I know. I’m glad that was not required.”
“This time,” Andrew said, helping the two women down from the carriage beside the mausoleum. “Just remember: Thurston won’t forget about your people’s loyalty either. As for me, please forgive me if I don’t stay, but I think I should leave by another route. I don’t fancy my chances of escaping arrest this time. Good-bye, Princess, Hannah. Stay safe.”
“God bless you, Andrew,” they cried in unison.
* * * *
1973
Sandi stopped to pick up her picnic lunch from the kitchen.
Joe read off the contents of the basket. “Ham and cheese on wheat. For One. Hold mayo. Small bag Maui Chips. For One. Fresh fruit bowl with strawberry yogurt. For One. Pineapple upside-down cake. For One. Oh, look. Four Cokes. Gonna find somebody thirsty on the way?” He lowered the list and eyed Sandi with disapproval. “How can anybody so pretty as you order a picnic to go, and everything you order to go is For One?”
“I can’t eat more than one sandwich.”
“So you don’t like Archie? I know plenty of handsome guys who could teach you to surf. Teach you to scuba.”
She shook her head. “Oh, Joe, you know.” She tapped her wedding ring as she passed him a twenty-dollar bill.
Joe counted out change. “Your husband is one lucky fella. When he comes back, he can ask me! I’ll say, Sandi won’t even eat a ham-and-cheese sandwich with another man. Drove all the way to Hana alone!”
“I’m never alone. John’s right here, Joe.” She patted her heart.
He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I know. I know. You’re a good lady, Sandi. Lots of Aloha.” He slid the cash drawer closed. “Where you gonna stay tonight?”
“Hotel Hana.”
“Oh, yeah. There ain’t any other hotels in Hana. Room for One. No phones. No TV. Nothing to do.”
She held up her camera. “I have plans. Any suggestions where a girl can have a picnic—for One—on the road to Hana?”
“Wailua Falls, maybe. Waterfalls and pools everywhere. You’ll see. Like paradise. Road to Hana’s pretty crazy. We all know you don’t really know how to shift gears. You drive safe, huh? Aloha.”
With a wave, Sandi tossed the basket into the Toyota. Still smiling, she concentrated on a smooth exit from the parking lot. Joe and his cadre of relatives gathered on the lanai to smoke cigarettes and bet whether she could clear the lot without popping the clutch.
Miraculously the little car glided smoothly away from the Pioneer Inn. With a glance in the rearview mirror she saw the Hawaiians applauding and cheering her.
For an hour and a half, Sandi followed a pineapple truck across the island. At Paia the dirt-caked vehicle turned onto a farm road, and Sandi turned onto the twisting road to paradise.
Not one for statistics, Sandi reviewed what she had heard of the road: fifty-two miles from the airport to Hana; fifty-nine bridges in that same span.
With a pounding heart, she gave up the notion of counting them after a dozen.
As soon as the little car was pointed south along Maui’s east coast, the jungle closed in around the road. Sheer rock walls made Sandi hunch over her steering wheel, only to gasp when a canyon’s gash opened unexpectedly. Ravines choked with bright green leaves and florescent yellow blossoms framed picture postcard waterfalls.
Slowing to a crawl, Sandi jumped when a pickup behind her bellowed its impatience. “Sorry, sorry.” She waved out the window. The road itself was barely big enough for two lanes; the turnouts were practically nonexistent.
What was the count of the curves? Six hundred? Sandi no longer believed anything about Hana was exaggerated. At least second gear worked for this entire trip. Anything above thirty miles an hour felt dangerously fast.
Somewhere along the way she passed the famous ninety-foot-high Wailua Falls. She did not notice. When at last the road sign identified the turnoff for Hotel Hana, Sandi’s picnic lunch “for One” remained uneaten in the basket. Because she had to steer with one hand and shift with the other, she could not hold a Coke can. “Ah, well.” She sighed as she checked in and carried her provisions to the cottage. “I’ll have a ham sandwich ‘for One’ for my supper.”
It was dusk when Sandi lay down for a nap. Hawaiian music drifted across the grounds. Steel guitars and ukuleles accompanied a female vocalist singing “Little Grass Shack.”
Through the window of her dim room, Sandi heard the laughter of lovers strolling across the broad lawns of the resort.
The pangs of loneliness overrode the hunger pangs she felt.
“Oh, Jesus,” Sandi whispered. And then, “Oh, John!”
A heavy sleep washed over her like the waves against the rocky shore.
What was that song? “Blackbird…broken wings…learn to fly…”
The last chords died away. A voice called to her, “Sandi?”
She heard herself answer. “John? Is that you, honey?”
All human sounds fell silent, replaced by the rush of wind in the trees and the hiss of waves across sand. It was late. Midnight?
“Sandi?” It was John’s voice.
Directly overhead, the full moon was bright enough to cast shadows. Sandi, suddenly aware of the stillness, opened her eyes.
John stood framed in the doorway. The moon shone behind him. It was too bright for her to see his face.
“It’s you, John.”
“Hi.” There was a smile in his voice, like when he walked in and asked her what was for dinner.
“Ham and cheese. Pineapple upside-down cake,” she answered, although he had not asked.
“For one.” He sounded sad.
“You can have mine, honey.” She tried to sit up but couldn’t move.
“You can’t do this anymore, sweetie,” John said. “Life’s gotta be for two.”
“I miss you,” she cried. “When are you coming home?”
His words were like wind chimes. “You were always beautiful, Sandi. The moonlight on your skin.”
“Oh, John! It’s been so long. So long! Please.” Desire for his touch uncoiled in her. “Will you stay awhile? Touch me?
”
“Will you remember me?”
“I will. I do!” she cried.
“Don’t let life pass you by, Sandi.”
“Come home, John!”
He said softly, “Sandi, I am home. Safe. Don’t worry anymore.”
She began to sob. “Oh! I’m dreaming.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t ever want to wake up.”
“But you must. Five years. Sandi, time for you to wake up.”
The light behind him dimmed until she could see his features plainly. Ruggedly handsome, he smiled at her with his sideways grin.
