Belonging to Heaven, page 18
I know this letter is long, but since I have not written for a time I thought it would be all right. I know I will be amazed when I see all of you again and there will be much to share and discuss. You will probably be amazed when you see me. I hope I can find a new pair of pants before returning, or you will think me the most ragged of fellows.
You are always in my prayers.
Your loving brother,
George
Note
On the return trip from looking at property on Lanai, the sea was very rough and there was no wind. They attempted to row, but to little avail. Brother Cannon and the other missionaries became deathly ill. Finally Brother Cannon called upon Napela to pray. He did, and within a few minutes a pleasant breeze picked up, which carried them into Lahaina.
Chapter 29
Wailuku, Maui
April 9, 1854
Jonathan Napela stood in the doorway watching Brother George as he slept in the large chair on the lanai. It was near midnight, but Jonathan did not have the heart to wake his friend. With his head laid back against the cushion, his hand peacefully sprawled on his open journal, he looked again like the vulnerable child.
“Ki ‘ia ka hele a ka na ‘au ha ‘aha ‘a.” Hesitant walks the humble hearted.
In the years of their friendship, Jonathan had never seen boastful actions or heard bragging words come from Elder George Cannon. Yet, surely the man had reason to boast. From the time when he and his missionary companions first arrived in the islands, the work had come far. Upon their arrival, not one native had been taught the doctrines of the Church. The missionaries did not have literature written in Hawaiian to explain the doctrine nor one word of the language to tell the story of Joseph Smith or the Book of Mormon. And now there were over three thousand native members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, representing all the major islands. The Book of Mormon had been translated into the language of the land and would soon be published as a book, native men held the priesthood and served as local missionaries, and several meetinghouses were built or under construction.
Jonathan looked out into the darkened garden and listened to the rain—a soft rain. “Ku ua ho ‘opala ‘ohi ‘a.” The rain that ripens the mountain apples. He was about to turn into the house when mumbled words came from his sleeping friend.
“Plum pudding.”
Jonathan let out a bark of laughter, and George stirred. A light breeze lifted the pages of George’s journal, and he opened his eyes. When he looked over, Jonathan gave him a sheepish grin.
“Sorry, Brother George, I did not mean to wake you.”
George slowly focused on his surroundings and sat straighter in his chair. “Was I snoring?”
Jonathan chuckled. “Yes, like a wild boar.” George looked embarrassed. “No! No! You were not snoring, but you were talking.”
“Talking? What did I say?”
“Plum pudding.”
George laughed. “I was dreaming of the plum pudding I had at the Robinson’s house this evening. It was the best plum pudding I’ve ever eaten.” He looked out into the dark yard. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
George shivered. “How long have I been asleep?”
Jonathan secured a quilt from the back of a chair in the house, moved out onto the porch, and handed it to George. “I am not sure, my friend.”
George placed his journal on the side table and accepted the quilt. His look became nostalgic as he ran his hand over the soft cotton fabric.
“What is it?” Jonathan asked as he sat down.
“The night before I met you, a kind woman placed a quilt like this over me.” He spread the quilt over his legs. “That was over three years ago.”
Jonathan studied his friend’s face. “You are sad tonight, George Cannon.”
“A little.”
“And a little tired?”
George sagged back into the chair. “Yes.”
“You have every right to be tired. We have just finished with a conference for the Church with over a thousand members attending. And for the past several months you have been all over these islands. You have seen more places than I have seen in a lifetime: Oahu, Kauai, Moloka‘i! It makes me tired just to think of it.”
“And next month I will go to the big island of Hawaii.”
Jonathan looked over at George. “You are trying to bring all the little chicks safely under the wings before you leave us.”
George laid his head back against the cushion as a tear slid from the corner of his eye. “Yes.”
“And you will leave us soon?”
It took George several moments to answer. “Yes.” He brushed the tear away but more followed. “Yes. Word has come that we five original missionaries are to begin searching for the means to return to the Valley.”
Jonathan put his head in his hands and wept. After a time, he took a handkerchief from his pocket, and dried his face. “I knew . . . I knew this day would come, but perhaps I was hoping it would not.” He took a deep breath. “Perhaps I can be like the trickster, Maui. I will stand up on Haleakala, and hold time in its place.”
George gave him an understanding smile. “Or perhaps we could see time the way the Lord sees it, the way it is in heaven—which is, that there is no time. No partings, no comings and goings.”
“That is why heaven is heaven,” Jonathan said softly.
For several minutes, the two sat silently, listening to the patter of rain on the leaves of the garden.
Jonathan sat forward in his chair. “Are you worried for us, Brother George?”
“What do you mean?”
“Worried that after you and Brother Bigler and the others leave us that we will go back to our old ways?”
“There is always a temptation for people to go back to their old ways.”
“But you see us differently. You see us as the children of Abraham, and you have taught us to honor this great heritage—to keep the commandments of God. To keep the Words of Wisdom. To be morally and physically clean.” He started laughing. “I remember the sermon you gave the one time about bathing and keeping ourselves free from lice and ticks like the ali‘i do—about putting the dogs, chickens, and pigs out of our houses. You said to build the livestock their own houses outside.” The two laughed together.
“We lost some of the poorer Saints after that sermon,” George quipped.
“Yes. They thought it was an extravagance to give an animal its own house!”
The two worked to control their laughter. They did not want to disturb those sleeping in the house, but the gaiety and remembrance was a tonic for the melancholy of separation, and each wanted to stretch this time of lightness and aloha hoa hanau, brotherhood.
“There have been many good memories, Brother George. Even with all the work and struggle—many good memories.”
George laid his hand on his journal. “Yes, and I have written most of them here.”
“Would you read some memories to me?”
George hesitated and then picked up the journal. He languidly turned pages and looked at dates. “Remember the time we went strawberry picking in Kula?”
“I do. I remember very well. What did you write?”
George read. “Friday, 11 June 1852. We arose this morning very early with the intention of going to Kula on a strawberry frolic. Brother Gaston took a cart in which the sisters rode. Picking strawberries. We had a very pleasant time and enjoyed ourselves much. Brother Keeler was over from Kaupo, Brother Napela from Wailuku.” He looked over at Jonathan, who was nodding his head.
“Didn’t we have what you call a pick nick?”
George laughed. “We did, and we had strawberries every way we could think of: strawberry sauce, strawberry milk, strawberry pudding.”
“That was a good day. Read something else.”
George leafed through the book. “This was my first trip to Moloka‘i—almost two years ago. It doesn’t seem possible.” He read. “Friday, 18 June 1852. We started early this morning in a whaleboat and had rowed to the point of the island before the breeze struck us. We then hoisted the sail and ceased rowing. Brother Perkins and I were very seasick.”
“You and the ocean have never been friends,” Jonathan said, a great deal of pity coloring his words.
George looked up from the journal and smiled. “Oh, I love the ocean, Brother Jonathan. Boats on the ocean are my enemy.” Jonathan laughed as George found his place in the journal. “We met with Brother and Sister Woodbury and were very glad to see each other. This part of this island does not afford many facilities for cultivation, but sufficient to raise enough for the inhabitants—the mountains come almost close down to the water’s edge—leaving but a narrow strip of land for cultivation with occasionally a small valley entering into the mountains. The water is not very good, not so good as the water in Wailuku. There are a great numbers of fish ponds along the shore that produce great quantities of fish for which this Island is noted. It is quite a pretty Island and no doubt very healthy as there is a constant breeze blowing.”
“Were you not amazed by those fish ponds, Brother George?”
“I was. The amount of fish they hold is remarkable.”
“And they were built in ancient times.”
“Which proves the brilliance of your people.”
“Thank you for that,” Jonathan said. He studied George’s face. “Are you too tired to read something else?’
“I’m not tired at all anymore,” George answered. He turned pages and paused at a few before stopping. He ran his finger along the words. “This is from Tuesday 17 May, 1853, but I won’t read you the entire thing because much of it talks about receiving letters from home.”
Jonathan gave him a crooked smile. “Letters from Elizabeth Hoagland, the teacher you often speak of?”
“Do I . . . speak of . . . really?”
For the sake of his friend’s feelings, Jonathan contained his mirth. “It is only natural to speak often of those we love.”
George blushed and took a detached stance. “Well, from several reports, I hear she is turning into a fine young woman.” He narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Now, if you’ll let me continue, I think you’ll find this interesting as it concerns your friends.” Before Jonathan could come back with a teasing reply, George read. “I also was much rejoiced to read some letters from Honolulu containing cheering news of the progress of the work there; the whole city was all excitement, they had baptized about 148 and there had been from 1,000 to 1,500 spectators to witness the baptisms; they had baptized as many as fifty-six one Sunday. They had ordained Brothers Uaua and J. W. H. Kauwahi elders and I. W. Kahumoku and Toma Paku priests, and several teachers and deacons. They speak in high terms of Elders Kauwahi and Uaua and of their speaking. Brother Johnson calls them sons of thunder, and says if I have any more children like Brother Uaua, to send them along and they would find employment for them.”
Jonathan nodded. “Those two are powerful Saints.”
“Indeed. When I was on Kauai, Brother Kauwahi helped Brother Farrer read over our translation of the Book of Mormon. Did I tell you that?”
“Yes, you told me. They were perfect for that job. Brother Farrer speaks the Hawaiian very well now, and Kauwahi is a brilliant son of the land.”
George turned pages. “Yes, a famous lawyer known from one end of the islands to the other.”
Jonathan smiled. “And known not only for his smartness but for his wildness and tricks—his drinking and rowdy ways.”
“To put it kindly,” George said candidly. “But since he joined the Church and obtained the priesthood, his course has been exactly opposite. His voice is always raised to warn his brothers and sisters.”
Jonathan sobered. “The gospel has a way of changing people—in spirit and body. It is powerful.” He looked straight into George’s face. “It changed me. How grateful I am that it changed me. When I think of all the things I have seen, Brother George, and all the miracles of healing—the woman who could not stand straight, the young boy with the broken arm, Uaua’s wife coming back from the dead. I know that these are sure evidences of the power of the priesthood.”
George nodded.
Jonathan leaned over and placed his hand on George’s arm. “So, do not worry for us, Brother George. We will keep the gospel in our hearts. We will honor the great gift that you have brought us.”
George brushed a tear from the corner of his eye and closed his journal.
Thoughts of sleep were forgotten as Jonathan Napela and George Cannon sat up far into the night telling each other stories, talking about doctrine, and evaluating the branches of the Church. They were just two men sitting on the lanai of a house in Wailuku—two men, two Saints, two brothers.
Chapter 30
Wailuku, Maui
June 26, 1854
Hawaii nei lived in his blood; it spoke in the sun and ocean, it sang in the splash of streams from the pali, and it whispered in the pink of sunrises and the ginger of sunsets. He was the son of chiefs and a thousand years of mana tied him to the land, yet when Jonathan Napela looked into the eyes of George Cannon, he saw the blue waters of the sea, the dark wood of the koa trees, and the red dirt of Honokahau. This keiki who had learned to love poi and speak the native tongue as though his ear had heard it from his birth was dear to him. Jonathan thought back to the day, over three years ago, when the young man in the light suit passed his home. He was rumpled and retiring, but he carried in his mouth the words of hope and in his heart the testimony of God’s authority brought back to earth. The man and the message were dear to him.
As they walked the yard together, Jonathan knew it would be the last quiet time he would have with his friend. At the feast he would be surrounded by hundreds of members, and on the road to Lahaina there would be the other departing missionaries as well as the Hawaiian elders. Never one to miss a teaching opportunity, Brother Cannon had suggested the Hawaiian elders should ride along and he would give them final instructions and answer questions.
“I like your new pants and vest,” Jonathan said.
“And shoes,” George added, showing them off.
“How are they?”
“Good. Better than the ones I had before.”
Jonathan scoffed. “The ones you had before were tattered bits of leather.”
George looked up and grinned. “Ah, but they were comfortable.”
The two men laughed together.
“Yes, we are grateful for the new missionaries coming to our islands to preach, but perhaps you are more grateful for the ones who bring their wives who cook and sew.”
George nodded. “Truer words were never spoken. If Sister Hammond hadn’t sewn me new pants I would have been heading home in rags.”
The words “heading home” cast a cool shadow on the bright day, and the two friends continued their amble in silence.
Finally George spoke, keeping the conversation in the realm of Church business. “I hear there’s a man offering his land on the island of Lanai as a gathering place for the Saints.”
“Yes, a high chief, Levi Haalelea.”
“And he is offering it at no charge?”
“Yes, for four years he says we can go and try it. Then if it works, a price can be negotiated.”
“I think we need to be careful.”
“I agree. I hear that Haalelea is a very good businessman, and that there is not much water on Lanai.” Jonathan picked a ginger flower and breathed in its fragrance. “If only the king would let us gather to the Great Salt Lake Valley.”
George shook his head. “I think the king is wise to keep his people together. Your numbers are few and you are susceptible to outside diseases. Think how many died with the smallpox.”
Jonathan nodded and shuddered at the memory. “Yes, but the Hawaiian Saints need to be together in a place where we can strengthen each other in the gospel.”
“And escape persecution.”
“And escape persecution.”
“This is President Young’s vision: bring the faithful from the four corners of the earth to live united in faith, industry, and righteousness.”
“I have not met President Young, yet I know that he is a prophet and a great man.”
“I can testify of that, Brother Jonathan.”
“Perhaps I will meet him someday.”
George smiled at him. “Perhaps you will.”
Hattie Napela came tottering around the side of the house. Seeing the two men, she squealed, and stumbled forward, holding out her arms, not to her father, but to Brother Cannon.
“She knows her favorite,” Jonathan said as George picked her up.
Hattie patted his face. “Mele! Mele, mikanele!” Song! Song, missionary!
Jonathan chuckled. “You captured her with your singing when she was sick, and now you must pay the price.”
George smiled and laid his forehead on Hattie’s. “I will miss you when I go.”
Jonathan felt a wave of melancholy flood his body. He excused himself and walked quickly toward the house.
“Where are you going?”
“To the house. Kitty and I have a gift for you. Do you think Brother and Sister Hammond are the only ones who can give you gifts?”
“Kohuole makuakane,” silly father, George said in exaggerated tones. He made a funny face that sent Hattie into a fit of giggles.
Hattie pulled his ears. “Mele! Mele!”
“Ow! You are one determined little girl, aren’t you?”
“Mele, kohuole mikanele!” Song, silly missionary.
“And smart.”
As the afternoon withdrew, Elder George Cannon danced Hattie Napela around the yard, singing the hymns of Zion in soft, flowing Hawaiian.
Jonathan and Kitty watched the two from the front window, their faces filled with loss.
***
In the evening when the sun hovered over the island of Lanai and the sweet scent of flowers filled the air, more than a hundred people crowded into the open-sided hale, and said aloha to the Mormon missionaries. The Saints wore their best clothing—the women in their brightly colored holoku dresses, and the men in their European shirts with maile leis around their necks. The women wore strands of flower leis and crowns of flowers on their heads. Napela was proud of how beautiful they looked, and he greeted each member of the company with tenderness, and encouraged them to find a place at one of the tables. Four low tables were covered with ti leaves and spread with food: calabashes of poi, roasted kalo and potatoes, and packages of beef, fish, pork, and fowls done up in banana leaves that came hot from the imu. There were steamed crabs, grilled eel, and seaweed. There were bananas, mountain apples, and watermelons, as well as coconut pudding. It was indeed a feast of honor.
