Love Finds You in Lahaina, Hawaii

  “Oui,” the teacher agreed, as the other two girls finished. “The correct responses are ‘les aïeuls’ and ‘les aïeux’—the grandfathers and the ancestors. A small, but important distinction, non?”

  Each girl grabbed a fold of her own skirt and hurried to wipe her slate clean, eager to meet the next quiz from Madame.

  I must remember to write Papa about that, reflected Kaiulani. That’s how it is at Great Harrowden Hall. The matrons are so kind and so trusting that the girls wish to please them as they would their own mothers.

  But as enchanted as she was with her school and with England generally, Kaiulani intensely disliked the weather. Every gauzy window at Harrowden Hall framed a perpetually gray sky. As she inclined her head to get a better view of the chapel’s spires, the wavy glass undulated as though coursed with rain.

  How Kaiulani missed the Islands’ thick heat tempered by balmy breezes. She was grateful for the new experiences, the sights and sounds of cultures so very different from her own. But the weather, she thought, surely that is what drove the poor English to exploration in the first place.

  Aside from pointing the way for the first missionaries to bring the Word of the Lord to the Islands, for which Kaiulani was truly grateful, she sometimes wished Captain Cook had just stayed home. Then home is where I’d be too.

  “Mademoiselle?” called Madame, interrupting Kaiulani’s reverie. Annie and the other two girls tittered. “Mademoiselle Kaiulani? I think you are already contemplating the next word, non? Le ciel. The sky.”

  Les cieux, wrote Kaiulani, the heavens. Then, les ciels, skies in pictures.

  “Tres bon,” said Madame Brun as Kaiulani beat Hannah to finish first and reversed the board for Madame’s inspection.

  Hannah feigned astonishment and Kaiulani smiled coyly.

  A sharp rap sounded at the door, and Madame Brun rose to open it. Headmistress Bartlett peered in and spoke quietly to the teacher.

  “Mais oui, Madame Bartlett,” Madame Brun replied and turned, crooking a finger at Kaiulani. “Princess, Headmistress Bartlett asks to speak with you.”

  Kaiulani left her slate and chalk in her seat, dusting her hands on her skirt as she walked into the hallway. She pulled the door closed behind her. There she realized they were not alone. Her guardian, Theo Davies, was waiting also. To Kaiulani, he looked older somehow—ashen and troubled.

  Immediately Kaiulani was alarmed. Whatever had caused Mr. Davies to make an unexpected journey from Sundown to the school was not good. “What is it?” she asked. “Mister Davies? Whatever is the matter?”

  He stepped forward to greet her, kissing her on each cheek, as was their custom. “Kaiulani, I’m afraid I have some terrible news.”

  She clutched her hands to her bosom but said nothing. Headmistress Bartlett stepped to her side and placed an arm around her shoulders.

  “It’s the king, your uncle,” Davies continued. “I regret to inform you he has died, while on a trip to San Francisco. Just yesterday. Word came by telegram.”

  Kaiulani felt herself grow lightheaded. Steeling herself, she did not faint but swayed slightly in place. Headmistress Bartlett passed her a handkerchief in case she cried. But I will not, thought Kaiulani. Not in front of anyone, anyway.

  She drew herself up, saying, “Of course. I knew he was ill. He had been for some…some time. Our Lord has called him home, and his suffering is over. It…I was caught off-guard.”

  Davies was shaking his head. “Kaiulani, he is your uncle. Your Papa Moi. It is not shameful to cry.”

  “Thank you, Mister Davies,” she said. “And so I shall, when there is no one but God to see me. For what should a lost soul think if he saw me weep at this news, but that I think my Papa Moi is not with God; when rather, the truth of my tears will be much more selfish. I will cry for me.”

  Kaiulani nearly wept anyway when Davies hugged her and praised her bravery. “This changes everything at home, you know?” he asked. “The king’s sister, Liliuokalani, will become queen, and that means you are next in line to the throne. I think it might be best if you and Hannah and Annie come away from school to Sundown for awhile. If you are called home, we should be ready to sail at a moment’s notice.”

  “Of course,” the princess agreed. “It will take us a few minutes to pack our things.”

  Headmistress Bartlett interjected, “The maid and the porter will take care of everything, dear. I will direct them myself. Don’t trouble yourself about it at all. I am so sorry for your loss, and I want you to know how much you will be missed here. Come back soon, won’t you?”

  Madame Bartlett called Hannah and Annie from class then, and Davies explained what was happening to her as they made their way down the stairs and through the foyer to his waiting carriage.

  Before climbing in, Kaiulani looked back longingly at the white stone buildings, then away to the chapel, shrouded by leafless trees. Somehow she knew she’d never return. Just like Papa Moi, she thought, mes aieux en cieux.

  As she bade them all farewell in her mind, she also began composing a letter home to her aunt, the new queen:

  Dear Auntie,

  I have only just heard the sad news from San Francisco. I cannot tell my feelings just at present, but Auntie, you can think how I feel. I little thought when I said good-bye to my dear uncle nearly two years ago that it would be the last time I should see his dear face.

  Please give my love to Mama Moi and tell her I can fully sympathize with her. I cannot write anymore, but Auntie, you are the only one left of my dear mother’s family, so I can ask you to do that little thing for me.

  I must close with love and kisses,

  I remain,

  Your loving niece,

  Kaiulani

  The carriage trounced over rutted roads in the seemingly endless fields of the Midlands countryside. “I’ll have a letter home for the post,” said Kaiulani.

  “Of course,” Davies replied. “Strange to say, but because of the telegraph line to America, we know of your uncle’s passing well before anyone in Hawaii. It will be several days before the kingdom knows it has lost him.”

  * * * *

  An unseen sun above thick gray clouds dragged a blanket of cold across the countryside on its way toward setting. A long gallop on the back of Blenheim did not lift the cloud over Kaiulani’s heart. She walked the barren rose garden of Sundown Estate alone. Though she had promised herself a good cry over Papa Moi’s death, she’d had no time by herself, and the opportunity never came. With the best of intentions, the associates and friends of Mister Davies came calling, one after another, offering condolences for Kaiulani’s loss. The grief she longed to pour out to God remained bound inside her and she in it.

  After a few days passed, the callers became less frequent, and at last she found some little space where she could be alone and pray. Even now she knew her sister and Hannah were likely watching her from their rooms, and she was quite sure that Mister Davies was, as he finished his afternoon tea in the parlor overlooking the garden.

  She paused in a row of bloomless bushes, the last yet to be pruned back for the winter by Sundown groundskeepers. Absently, she pulled a thorny, browning cane toward herself as if inspecting some invisible flower with still-sweet aroma. But there was none. Nothing but dead and cold, she thought. No life here, no life.

  She sank to her knees, pressing her palms into the fabric of her dress. The fine gravel path was cold and damp and began soaking her thick skirts. “Makua Ke Akua,” she cried. “I do not know Your mind, and I do not mean to question Your plan. But, Iesu, You know my grief. The pain You suffered for my sake is far beyond any I shall ever endure, yet my heart is broken as much as it ever shall be. How will the pieces ever hold Your hope again?”

  A grinding step told Kaiulani she was no longer alone in the garden. She hurried to wipe her eyes on her coarse sleeves and patted her locks made curly by the mist, making sure everything was in its place before rising to her feet again.

  “Princes
s?” a tentative voice called. It was Clive Davies. “Kaiulani? I saw you fall. I came to see…are you all right?”

  Kaiulani was frustrated and shook when she said, still sniffing, “Isn’t there anywhere a woman can be alone?”

  Clive stretched out his hand to her, but she turned from him. He cast his eyes toward the ground. “Why do you insist on solitude? For what reason? I—” He corrected himself. “We love you and care for you and only wish to help you through this difficult—”

  “It’s not as though I’m running away, Clive,” she said. “I only wish to be alone to grieve for my uncle and pray in private. There are things I must ask our Lord. Things I must say.”

  “Princess.” Clive took a step closer. The musk he wore was the only scent in the brittle air. “Can’t you say them to me also? Then I can pray with you.”

  “You think yourself a better confidant than God, Clive?” Kaiulani snapped, then instantly regretted it. “And now do you see? Not only am I cursed with such sorrow, now I must feel guilty when I refuse to show it.” She was weeping, and Clive stretched out his hand once again, placing it gingerly on her shoulder.

  Gently, he turned her toward him and offered his handkerchief, saying, “My father told me what you said—about not showing your grief. May I say: No one who sees you cry will think you’ve lost your faith in God. Rather, they’ll see God in you when you show your faith in the midst of grief. Don’t be afraid to admit how dark are the trials of man, but remember to speak also of the Light for which we live in spite of everything.”

  “Faithful Clive.” She embraced him. “You bring the answer I was praying for. Bless you, brother.”

  Clive held her to his chest and laid his cheek on her head. “Nohea,” he whispered.

  Kaiulani shrugged away from his arms and stepped backward. “What did you say?”

  “Did I say it correctly?” he asked her, then repeated himself haltingly, “No-Hay-Uh? ‘Lovely,’ isn’t it?”

  “I know what it means, Clive. Why did you say it?”

  “I have been practicing, Kaiulani. I thought if I could tell you how I feel about you in your own language, then—”

  “Then what, Clive? In the middle of my mourning you would profess more romantic fancies?”

  “Kaiulani, I love you. I’ve loved you since I first saw you. Things are dangerous for you, I know. I heard of Kalakaua’s warning. Surely there are those who would not mourn if all the Hawaiian Royals were dead?”

  “That was private correspondence!” she stormed. “I shared it with your father in complete confidence. How is it you come to know of it?”

  “Kaiulani, please. Koa told me of it. I think he’s worried for your safety also. Will you not even consider that you need someone to protect you?”

  Sarcastically she asked, “Why? Do you know of someone who could?”

  “I meant me, of course, Kaiulani.”

  “I know you did, Clive. And I don’t agree. I’ll never agree. I don’t love you as a woman must love a husband… . I won’t. I will not, not ever.”

  “You ought to think about what you’re saying, Vicky.” Clive’s use of her informal British name was a jarring slap. “It’s possible you may lose your kingdom…and all public favor as well. Who will take care of you if they call you an ignorant savage in a colonial backwater territory?” Clive cringed the moment he said the words. “I meant, ‘When other people think—’ ” He tried to correct himself.

  Kaiulani’s eyes narrowed as a righteous anger filled her breast. The cold around them seemed to dissipate as she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “Now I know the truth of how you see me, Mister Davies. Well, know this: it is far preferable to be an ignorant backwater savage who knows, at least, the love of God, than to be the mere son of a rich man. Your father’s greatness does not make you so, and I’m quite sure that a devil can quote the Good Book as well as any Christian, when it suits his purpose. So leave me be, Clive. I’ve wanted a friend, not a husband, but it’s now clear that you will make neither.”

  “Kaiulani,” he protested, “I didn’t mean—”

  Without another word, Kaiulani extended her left arm with a snap and pointed for Clive to leave the gardens.

  “Please,” he tried again, but she spun on her heel and marched away toward the stables.

  * * * *

  Dressed in the black of mourning for the king, Kaiulani, Hannah, and Annie rode in the closed carriage to the telegraph office on Front Street. Annie, her eyes red from a night of weeping, stared out at the bleak midwinter landscape. “To think that Southport here in faraway England has a street named Front Street just like our own little Lahaina Town. Do you think a homesick British whaler longing for his Southport named the streets of Lahaina? Do you think it could be, Kaiulani? That those sailors missed England as much as we miss Hawaii?”

  Kaiulani nodded and squeezed her eyes tight against the sting of tears. She could not imagine any longing for home stronger than what she felt right now. “What I would give to grieve with our own people. To walk down Front Street in Lahaina.”

  Hannah turned her head toward the busy Southport sidewalk. “Mister Davies says the news of the king’s death will not reach Hawaii until the ship arrives with his body. It is as if we know the future. No one in Honolulu knows he is dead. And look: people here come and go, never knowing or caring that in a few days the heart of Hawaii will be broken!” She wiped her eyes and shook her head slowly from side to side.

  Kaiulani laid her head on Hannah’s shoulder. “He is done with dying. In heaven now. I will fix my heart on the homecoming.” The thoughts of all three young women were fixed on home. Never had the weight of exile seemed so heavy.

  Kaiulani whispered hoarsely, “I would not have ever left if I had known. Never to see Papa Moi again. To think he’s gone. With my mother in heaven. Now the only ones left of my mother’s family are me and my aunt Liliuokalani. She will be queen, and I…I am next in line to the throne. I want only to return home. To run across the lawn of Ainahau and climb the banyan with you.”

  Fear of the future raced through her mind, yet the fear remained unspoken.

  Hannah squeezed Kaiulani’s fingertips. “The king, your uncle, sent you to England for a reason. You know it now as surely as we know. It isn’t safe for a royal to be in Hawaii; for the last of the Alii to be too close to those who wish to destroy our Constitution and steal our nation. It isn’t safe for you, Kaiulani. You understand what I am saying.”

  The sinister thought none had dared express seemed an almost physical oppression. Had King Kalakaua been murdered in San Francisco?

  The carriage pulled up in front of the telegraph office. Suggins opened the door and set the step for them to descend.

  Kaiulani arranged for a funeral wreath to accompany Papa Moi’s casket from San Francisco to Honolulu. The princess filled out the order and paid the enormous sum for the trans-Atlantic telegram.

  “And do you have a message to put on the wreath, miss?” the bespectacled clerk asked.

  Kaiulani’s pen hovered above the slip of paper. Aloha me ka paumake, she wrote. My love is with the one who is done with dying.

  * * * *

  1973

  It was the dead of night. All of Lahaina was asleep. Metal rigging rang against masts in the harbor like the sound of wind chimes.

  On her bed, Sandi closed her eyes and pictured John with his guitar on the front porch.

  Across from the Pioneer, beneath the banyan tree, someone played a guitar in a familiar melody. Sandi smiled and remembered John’s face as snatches of the Beatles’ “Blackbird” song drifted on the sweet night air.

  1968. The Beatles’ White Album was released. John had practiced the chords for hours until he could pluck the notes in exact duplication of McCartney’s style. Happy. Hopeful. John had signed his last letter to her from Nam: Remember the Blackbird, singing in the dead of night.

  On the day word came that John was missing in action the tune had come on the rad
io. She had run to the bedroom and thrown open his guitar case. Touching the strings, she remembered his fingers moving across the frets; almost felt him strumming her skin. Gazing at his guitar, the first discordant note of five years of uncertainty had sounded: “Broken wings…broken wings…” She would not start her life again until she knew, one way or the other, if John was alive. She could not sing; she could not fly; she could not rise. Sandi banished the hopeful song of the “Blackbird,” switching off the radio whenever McCartney began his plucky tune. Five long years waiting for her husband to return had driven the familiar lyrics from her memory.

  Why did she want to sing tonight?

  She tried to sing along, “…broken wings…learn to fly.”

  How did it go? She couldn’t remember, so she hummed the tune instead. The voices beneath the banyan faded into distant laughter, then moved on to melancholy folk songs. Sandi stood on the lanai and tried to remember what life had been like before John disappeared and everything in her shut down.