Belonging to Heaven, page 26
“And I don’t know where he got the money,” his Uncle John broke in. “I only sent him twenty-five cents a week pocket money.”
The guests laughed, and Kamuela gave his auntie a wink. She had been known to sew a ten-dollar gold piece into the lining of the linen suits she sewed for him.
“I also had a horse that I would let people ride, if they wanted. One girl who liked to ride into Manoa Valley was my friend, Mary Ellen Richardson.” He looked over to where Hattie’s cousin was sitting. The girl blushed furiously as a smile jumped to her mouth. Her relatives teased her good-naturedly. “One day Mary Ellen showed me a picture of her cousin from Maui who would soon be arriving to attend school at Oahu College.”
“That was a mistake!” William Uaua called out.
Everyone laughed, and Mary Ellen received another round of teasing. Kamuela smiled at her kindly. “Yes, I was fascinated with the picture, and I said to myself that this girl would one day be my wife.” He took Hattie’s hand, and she gave him a look of unadulterated affection. “When she arrived at the school it was love at first sight . . . for me anyway.” Many people chuckled at that admission. “But she was so popular and so kind to everyone that I figured there was no chance for me. At times I would follow her and try to talk to her.”
“He even tried to give me candy,” Hattie stated.
“Which she would not take,” Kamuela returned.
The two smiled at each other, and Jonathan felt another lifting of his heart.
“Little fish in the big Moloka‘i fish ponds,” Kamuela said quietly, and Hattie nodded. He worked to control his emotions, as he turned back to address the gathering. “Panana Napela became everything to me, and I wanted to be a better person, hoping that someday she might care for me. And one day, she did care for me. And now she is my bride.” He picked up his calabash cup. “In the style of Europe I will raise my cup to my beautiful Panana.”
Everyone lifted their calabash cups to the beaming bride. Kamuela leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and said softly, “E lei kau, e lei ho‘oilo i ke aloha.” Love is worn like a wreath through the summers and the winters. Love is everlasting.
Jonathan was near enough to hear the tender sentiment, and emotion caught in his throat. He remembered his mother speaking those same words to him and Kitty on their wedding day, and now it seemed her voice whispered a blessing over his daughter’s marriage. “Mahalo, mother,” he said quietly.
Servers began depositing huge platters of food on the tables, and people began to eat and talk. The music started, and the mellow voices of the singers sent out the beautiful mele to the ears and hearts of the assembly.
Kitty stood. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to my room.”
Jonathan and Kamuela stood together. Kamuela spoke first. “I am sorry that you are not well. Is there something I can do for you?”
Kitty looked at him and shook her head. “No . . . thank you. I am just tired.” She moved to Hattie, who stood slowly. Kitty took her daughter’s hands. “I wish you peace. Loa‘a ke ola i Halau-a-ola.” Be happy again. Healing and contentment after the struggle.
Hattie’s grip tightened on her mother’s hands, but strong emotion had taken away her voice. She looked into her mother’s beautiful face and nodded. Kitty Keliikuaaina Napela withdrew her hands and left the hale. Hattie turned and went into the arms of her new husband.
Note
Hanai is the Hawaiian custom of adoption. Hanai is a deep tradition in the Hawaiian culture, where a child is taken in and raised by a relative or friend. It is also common to take in needy children who are of no relation.
Chapter 39
Salt Lake City, Utah
November 18, 1871
Dear Mikanele Cannon,
Mr. Parker and I wish to thank you for the beautiful crystal glasses you sent to us for our wedding. They made the journey over land and ocean with no breakage, and we have them now at our home, Mana Hale, on the island of Hawaii. As we have many visitors, they are much used and appreciated. I think you would like my house, Mikanele Cannon. Kamuela’s grandfather built it after the style of New England and inside it is all koa wood. I feel like I am living inside a tree. It is higher up the mountainside, and it gets very cold in the winter. Does it seem strange to you that it can be cold here in the islands? You should come for a visit and see for yourself. You and your family would be welcome to come any time. Kamuela and I love to entertain people and we would surely make room for such a dear friend of my father.
George Cannon lowered the letter and chuckled. He wondered what the accommodating Parkers would do with the abundant Cannon family, numbering now past thirty. The tired man closed his eyes, and for a moment the work and demands fell away as his imagination and heart returned to the islands: the soft feel of the air, the smell of ginger flowers, and the taste of poi. He hiked again into the sacred valley with his friend Napela, watching the rainbows dance on the sides of the pali. He heard the sweet voices of the Hawaiian Saints singing the songs of Zion. Tears pressed at the back of his throat, and George opened his eyes to stop the emotion. He did not know if he would ever return to his beloved Hawaii. For now, service to his family and the Church took every moment of his life, and it was rumored that next year might see him a delegate to the United States Congress. He pinched the bridge of his nose to squeeze away the tiredness and went back to reading his letter.
My father is back in Laie now, taking care of the sugar and going on his missionary trips. Mother spends her time between the house in Wailuku and the small house at the Laie settlement. I am perfectly content with my life here on the ranch. It is a little remote, but like I said, we have many visitors. I have two Japanese servants who work for me. They are not the paniolo cowboys who work on the ranch, but are here only to help me around the house. Tomi is my cook and he can cook anything we want. He also bakes bread that disappears the moment it comes out of the oven. Toko is the steward and he does many of the tasks around the house. He has helped me to plant a beautiful garden.
It is interesting, Mikanele Cannon, that even though I have not seen you since I was a child, I have always felt near to you and cherish the letters we exchange. I want to thank you for your words of comfort when I shared my feelings about our Mary. As you tenderly shared about the loss of your five little ones, you reminded me that the Lord is aware of all our sorrows and that we do not always comprehend His ways. I must trust, as you counseled, that all things will work out well. And I must share with you that life is becoming sweet again, Mikanele Cannon. I have found that another child is coming to join our family, and my heart is filled with the voices of many birds. I will write you when the child is born and tell you all about it.
I must end my writing as I hear Kamuela coming to fetch me in the wagon. We are going to town for supplies. Normally he goes with one of the paniolo, but I want to buy a new hat. I hope you will think about coming to visit us. You could go hunting with my dear Kamuela, and you could sing to me again.
Thinking of you fondly,
Hattie Panana Napela Parker
George Cannon carefully folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope. He looked out his office window at the gathering clouds that threatened snow. You could sing to me again. Where had all the years gone since he was a young man walking the trails to Makawao and Hana, the years that took him from a boy in England to a man of business and responsibility, the years that took Hattie Panana from a baby to a woman in her own home?
Apostle Cannon sighed. For a brief moment he would like to stand in the ocean at Lahaina, feel the warm sun on his back, and once again have Nalimanui pat his face and call him keiki, but he knew that change was the constant and that the river of life was moving them all forward into unknown destinies.
Chapter 40
Wailuku, Maui
December 1871
The teacup fell.
Jonathan stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, halted by the sight of the falling cup, and the shaking in his wife’s graceful hand. “Have the seizures come again?”
Kitty slowly shook her head—her eyes fixed on the broken pieces of the cup. “I am being punished.”
Jonathan shook himself from his confused thoughts. “What?”
“God is punishing me.”
Jonathan moved into the kitchen and Kitty stepped back, pressing herself against the dish cupboard. Jonathan stopped. “Kitty, God does not . . .”
She cut him off. “Don’t! Don’t tell me what God does and does not do. He is punishing my pride and conceit.”
Jonathan looked stricken. “Kitty, stop. Stop. You don’t know what you’re saying.” He walked to her and took her hands.
She snatched them away. “Do not touch me!”
“What is it? Why are you so upset? Tell me.”
Her expression showed defiance and dread. “I am sick.”
“Are you having seizures again?”
“I told you, no,” she snapped.
Jonathan’s heart pounded in his chest, but he forced gentleness and love into his voice. “Tell me.”
Kitty glared at him a moment, then stooped down, and picked up a broken shard of the teacup. With one deft stroke she drew the sharp edge across the fingers of her opposite hand.
Jonathan cried out in shock and pain. “No!” He ran to her and grabbed her bleeding hand, pressing it against his chest without thinking. Blood blossomed on his white shirt. “Why? Why did you do that?” Fear clamped itself around his heart. Mad. Has she gone mad? He dragged her to the sink, pumping water into the basin and forcing her hand under the cool water. Water and blood swirled together in the sink as Jonathan’s mind slid sideways with panic. He grabbed a white dish cloth and bound it around Kitty’s fingers. This will help. This will help. His mind echoed. This nice white dish cloth from Sister Winston—this will fix things. Good Sister Winston has given us many dishcloths. Good Sister Winston and her old dog. Jonathan shook his head to throw out the incoherent thoughts and forced himself to focus. He looked into his wife’s face and saw desolation. Tears jumped into his eyes as he cradled her hand. “My love, why . . . why did you do this?”
“Do not fret so much, Jonathan. I did not feel a thing,” came the cold answer.
“How could you not feel that?”
Kitty tried to wrench her hand away. “Would you like me to show you again?”
Jonathan held her wrist firmly. “No.”
“I have the sickness,” she said flatly. “He ma‘i makamaka ‘ole.” The disease that deprives one of relatives and friends.
Leprosy.
“Impossible,” Jonathan whispered.
Kitty stared at him with a blank look. “I know the signs.” She pulled back the sleeve of her blouse to expose the flesh of her arm. Smooth, discolored patches of skin were clearly evident. “These are the marks,” she said harshly. “Now do you see?”
Jonathan stepped back. Terror scraped at his mind with sharp claws. “Auwe! Auwe! Auwe!” he cried.
Kitty’s eyes flew open in shock. The fierce lament ripped away her refuge of anger and defiance. She slumped to the ground sobbing.
“Auwe! Auwe!” Jonathan continued. He could not stop the grief that flooded from his body, the grief that found expression in the ancient Hawaiian cry of pain. He knelt on the floor rocking back and forth. He was not a judge, elder, or ali‘i. He was not a man, or a father, or a husband. He was a child who had been shoved into a dark pit. He could not breathe. Darkness was smothering him. He had to escape from the dark place. He had to fly to the height of Haleakala—to the place where the sun lived. When the sun came streaming onto his face, he remembered innocent scenes from his childhood: racing along the beach with his friends, learning his letters at Lahainaluna school, fishing for opakapaka from his small canoe. “Father Hawaii Waaole, come and guide me. Mother Wiwiokalani, come and give me wisdom. Send my spirit ancestors to take me into the mists of the Iao Valley. Come and show me the way to walk the rainbow.”
“Husband.”
The word bound him to the earth. He sat up and looked at his wife. Her eyes were filled with loss and terror.
“Will you leave me?”
Jonathan’s heart broke at the question. “I will never leave you.”
“Even when Kalawao calls my name?”
Jonathan thought of the leper colony established on the island of Moloka‘i, and tears washed his face. “Even then.” He took a deep breath and sat flat down on the floor. Kitty crawled into his arms. He stroked her hair. “And perhaps we can keep Kalawao from ever calling your name.”
“How can we do that?”
“I will build us a lovely grass hale close to the feet of the mountains in Laie. I will be your kokua, helper, and I will care for your every need. When it becomes necessary, we will keep you hidden from the world.”
“Laie—a place of refuge,” Kitty said quietly, a note of hope coloring her words.
“Yes. And just like in the ancient days, you will be safe there.”
Kitty was still for a long while. “And you do not think God is punishing me?”
“No. This is a sickness, my dear one.” Jonathan grieved at the death that had come to his people through the coming of foreigners to the shores. And now his Kitty was suffering the fate of so many of the kama‘aina. His words caught in his throat. “The . . . the Hawaiian people are like children to these sicknesses.” Jonathan closed his eyes and saw again the light shining on the top of Haleakala. “We will find a way through this. I know that God loves His children.”
“Even his wicked children?”
“You are not wicked, my Keliikuaaina.”
She pressed herself closer to him. After a long silence she spoke. “My prideful heart does not understand your faith. Even after you have voyaged through a rough sea, you still believe?”
Jonathan pondered the question as he thought about Brother George’s words from long ago. “Do you think it was easy for the Savior to carry his cross to Calvary?” He felt the Spirit move through his body, and commitment settled into his heart. The voyage through the rough sea had made his faith stronger. He would never go back. He would never choose a different path. His answer to his dear Keliikuaaina was simple. “I do believe.”
Note
King Kamehameha V issued a decree January 3, 1865, that called for the segregation of leprosy patients (even children) from their families and communities. When family members hid the diseased instead of relinquishing them to authorities, the government took more drastic measures. The isolated peninsula on the north shore of Moloka‘i was chosen as the area for forced internment. Kalawao sat on the eastern edge of the peninsula, and Kalaupapa on the west. Both names evoked terrifying images of separation and loneliness.
Chapter 41
Laie, Oahu
September 1872
Jonathan lay on the hu ‘oli mats and listened to the wind and rain beating against the thatch of their simple hale. He moved from the side of his wife, who slept the sleep of exhaustion, and went quietly out the door to stand on the covered lanai, and watch the fierceness of the storm. The house’s position faced the verdant mountains, and as Jonathan emerged into the dark night, a streak of lightning cut across the pinnacle of the rugged pali, illuminating the deep ravines and the ghostly sheets of rain. Ho iku mai ke lani. The light that cuts the sky. A crack of thunder followed and the air vibrated. The tempest thrashed the tops of the coconut trees, sending many large palm fronds crashing to the ground. The buffeting rain found its way onto the lanai, soaking Jonathan within minutes, yet he did not move, but stood like a stone image, chanting out words of defiance.
For many months Jonathan had kept his wife safe and secluded from the settlement and well-meaning inquiries. When the idea of building an isolated hale had first come to him, Jonathan had thought long about the reasons he would present to President Nebeker. The mission leader was a man of sense and would certainly inquire why the Napelas wanted to change their dwelling place from the center of the settlement to a remote location closer to the mountain.
“I want to spend time working on the water supply system.”
President Nebeker’s brow furrowed as he looked across his desk at his sugar plantation foreman. “Well, it’s a needed project, Brother Napela, but what of the sugarcane and the milling?”
“I will continue with those tasks, President. The new hale would not be far from the cane field and the mill. I could ride to the fields every day, and in the evening I would work on the water system.”
In the end the president agreed and even had some of the field workers help Brother Napela build his new hale. Jonathan did not confide to his leader the main reason for the move, which bothered his conscience, but for Kitty’s sake, he would not take any chances. The board of health was mandating stricter orders about the detainment of persons with leprosy and their separation from loved ones. The thought of such an occurrence brought Jonathan nightmares in the darkness.
For the past nine months he and Kitty had lived in their remote paradise, enjoying walks and working together in a small garden. They read the Bible and rode horses into the beautiful valley. Kitty even helped him with ideas for the water system. The peaceful surroundings seemed to bring a remission of the disease, and the swelling in Kitty’s face and legs diminished. She took on reflections of her former beauty, and Jonathan saw a welcomed lessening of her anxiety. Most days he would supervise work at the sugar mill, go over business with President Nebeker, and pick up items from the company store. When friends asked about Kitty, Jonathan would say that, after their daughter’s wedding, she was in need of a bit of solitude, and those who knew Kitty Napela’s high-strung personality did not question the truth of it.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the underbellies of the dark swirling clouds, and Jonathan lifted his face to the sky and chanted. His chant spoke of ancient days when the great seafarers of his people navigated the open ocean. It spoke of their bravery against the storm—of their fierce strength that carried them over the dark water. As his mouth sang the words, his heart prayed for the Lord Jesus to ease his worry, and, if it were possible, to heal his dear wife. Jonathan believed in miracles. He had seen them many times when the Utah missionaries had been in the islands, when the Hawaiian Saints expected answers to their simple prayers, and at those times when a miracle of healing had happened directly beneath his hands.
