Belonging to Heaven, page 35
He felt light. His face and arms and legs, so heavy with the leprosy, felt weightless as he floated in the cool waters of the Waikolu stream. The leaves of the kukui trees rustled in the slight breeze—the sound like the ti leaf skirts of the hula dancers.
“My son?”
He slowly turned his swollen face in the direction of the voice and saw his mother sitting cross-legged on a stack of hala mats. She smiled at him.
“Aloha nui, my son.”
He smiled back at her. Aloha nui.
“Remember your wedding day when you and your beautiful Keliikuaaina came to receive my love and counsel?”
I do.
“The ancestors spoke to me that day. They gave me words about your life. They wanted me to tell you of the steep paths that you would have to climb, to warn you of the rough seas.” Her graceful hands began to tell the story of her words. “But I would not tell you. That was a day of joy when you and your bride could see only the blue of the sky.”
He returned to that day with the sun on his face and the sweet smell of ginger surrounding. He saw his bride in her white holoku, and her hair cascading down to her waist.
“This life must be lived one day and then another. The sun rises over Haleakala and sets into the arms of the ocean. The paddle is put into the water at the beginning of the journey and set aside when the next island is reached.”
He nodded.
“Who shall make the sun to shine, the moon to walk its silvery path? Did we put the fish into the ocean or the birds into the sky? Did we make the red blossoms of the sacred ohi‘a lehua tree?” She stood and came to the water’s edge. “There is poi and fish waiting.” She turned to walk up the trail.
Mother?
She did not stop.
“Mother?”
A hand was placed on his arm, and Jonathan felt the heaviness of his body. He groaned.
“Jonathan?”
Slowly he opened his eyes. He sat in his rocker on the porch. Kitty was beside him in her own rocker, her hand on his arm.
“Do not leave me.”
He could not turn his head to look at her. He tried to say that fish and poi were waiting, but all that came from his mouth were unintelligible growls. He closed his eyes. He liked her hand on his arm and the sound of her voice.
“The steamship Kinau is coming to the landing at Kalaupapa tomorrow. Perhaps there will be a letter from Panana, or from Brother George. Perhaps Panana will send another photograph. Six children now. How is that possible?” Her hand patted his arm. “Am I tiring you with my much talking?”
A slight shake of his head. The sound of water falling onto rocks filled his ears. The smell again of ginger flowers.
“Jonathan?”
He grunted.
“We have walked together over many different paths. Will you leave me on this path by myself?”
He walked again in the sacred valley and saw the Rainbow Maiden dancing in the mist.
“I love you.”
He heard the sweet trill of the o‘o bird.
“I will always love you.”
Tears.
“You came as my kokua, knowing that this might be your fate. If you must go then I will follow you soon.”
A silver sheet of rain moved across the ocean leaving behind a double rainbow. He heard the tapping of the kapa beaters and the low tremble of the conch shells. His breath mingled with the breezes blowing down from the valley—out across the water to the edge of the rainbow.
“Jonathan? Please try and stay with me.”
But he had stepped forward into the brilliant colors.
***
On the afternoon of August 7, 1879, as the steamship Kinau brought ten new patients to the shores of Moloka‘i, hundreds of people walked behind the wagon that carried the body of Jonathan Hawaii Napela to its final resting place. The mourners wore their Sunday best—women in their brightly colored dresses and men in their calico shirts. They wore leis on their hats and around their necks. Long ropes of maile leaves draped the coffin, along with dozens of exquisite leis crafted by leprous fingers.
Kepola drove the wagon, and Mr. Williamson and Father Damien walked beside. As they passed Napela’s house they took their hats off to Kitty Keliikuaaina Napela, who sat in her rocker on the porch.
She will follow him soon, Kepola thought. And then I will mail her letter.
The sound of conch shells drifted over the procession, announcing that a royal chief was approaching the spirit world.
Kepola turned the wagon north off the road that led to Kalaupapa and led the followers toward the Kauhako crater. Napela’s body would not be placed in the cemetery at Kalawao or Kalaupapa, but would rest in one of the many caves within the walls of the crater, as befitting a son of the great Maui chiefs.
At a designated spot, Kepola stopped the wagon, put on the brake, and jumped down from the buckboard. Mr. Williamson approached him.
“Well done, Kepola.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mr. Williamson noted the newly acquired stillness of the thirteen-year-old. He stood quietly as Father Damien said words of parting to his friend and as the congregants sang their songs of love. Only when the kahuna, and a selected few, came forward to take over the body, did the young man falter. As the burial helper climbed onto the buckboard and took up the reins, Kepola stumbled to the wagon and laid his hand on the coffin. No one heard his whispered words.
“Mahalo, Luna Napela. Mahalo. I promise to take care of Sister Napela until it is her time. I do not think it will be long.” He wiped the tears away with his shirtsleeve. “Can I ask you for something? Will you please come to meet me when I set my feet upon the rainbow? I do not think I will be frightened as long as I can see your face.”
Kepola took a deep breath and stepped back, joining himself with the people of Kalawao, who sang and watched until the wagon passed over a rise and disappeared from their sight.
Chapter 53
Salt Lake City, Utah
September 1879
Elder George Cannon sat staring at the letter in his hands. He’d read it over several times, but now he could only see one word—rainbow.
Dear Mikanele Cannon,
My Makua kane walked the rainbow August 6, and I cannot stop my weeping. Please tell me that his words about eternal families are true. Ohana Iesu. One family of Christ Jesus. I had a dream that my grandmother, Chiefess Wiwiokalani, walked upon the rainbow to greet him, and when I looked at their faces, they were young, and they were smiling.
My head knows that it is better for my dear one to go, but my heart misses him every minute. Can we not go back to the days in Wailuku when you two were translating the sacred book, and I was being a little pest?
I have six children now. I guess I must keep going forward.
May the gospel help you dry your tears, Mikanele Cannon.
Aloha nui,
Your weeping Panana Napela Parker
George stood and dazedly crumpled the letter into his pocket. He opened his door and moved out into the entry office. His secretary glanced up, a look of confusion flickering across his face.
“President? Can I . . .”
George kept walking. He walked down the hallway and out the doors of the office building into the blazing summer day. People who saw him on the street, and knew him, were bewildered by his odd appearance. One never saw the counselor to Brigham Young in the public eye without his suit coat and hat. Several people gave him a tentative greeting, to which they received no reply.
George kept walking. He walked north toward City Creek Canyon. He walked away from the voices and the sounds of the city. He walked until he was alone. He walked on the narrow shadowed trail of the Iao Valley. He looked ahead and saw his friend in his casual pants and shirt, barefooted, and singing. Brother Jonathan’s rich Hawaiian voice sang of waterfalls cascading down the face of the pali, of rivers and rainbows. George could see the Rainbow Maiden dancing in the mists of the valley. He could smell the ginger flowers, and hear the small piping call of the o-o bird. He stopped walking. He was standing in the shade of a koa tree. He looked up. No, it was a simple cottonwood tree, its pale leaves twitching in a breath of dry wind.
George hit his chest with the flat of his hand, hoping to pound out some of the pain and grief. The strength in his legs gave out, and he slumped to the ground.
“Auwe! Auwe! Auwe!” The emotion of the ancients poured from his body.
George kept pounding his chest as the lament continued and slowly the pain eased and the tears ceased. Hawaiian words flooded into his brain. He staggered to his feet and continued his pilgrimage into the solitude of the canyon. Nature alone heard the words Brother George chanted for his friend—for his brother.
Na Au makua mai ka la hiki a ka la kau!
Ye ancestral deities from the rising to the setting of the sun!
Mai ka hoo kui a ka halawai!
From the zenith to the horizon!
Na Au makua ia ka hina kua, ia ka hina alo!
Ye ancestral deities who stand at our back and at our front!
Ia kaa akau i ka lani!
Ye gods who stand at our right hand!
O kiha i ka lani,
A breathing in the heavens,
Owe i ka lani,
An utterance in the heavens,
Nunulu i ka lani,
A clear, ringing voice in the heavens,
Kaholo i ka lani!
A voice reverberating in the heavens!
Eia ka pulapula a oukou, o Napela.
Here comes your child, Napela.
E malama oukou iaia!
Safeguard him!
George took out his handkerchief and dried his eyes. “Father, take him home to you. He is your good son. He has fought a good fight. Take my brother home.” George managed a slight smile. “Knowing you, Brother Jonathan, you are already sharing stories and preaching the gospel to the kama‘aina in heaven.”
George went to the creek and splashed water onto his face and head. As he walked slowly back to his office he reflected on the life of his friend Jonathan, and their first meeting in Wailuku. E ka haole! Oh, the white man! George chuckled and wiped a final tear from the corner of his eye. “Thank you, Father for sending me to preach in paradise, and for preparing such an amazing man to hear the words. You are truly aware of every son and daughter. And, how blessed I feel to have such a brother through the eternities.”
As President Cannon moved through the city in his shirtsleeves, he received several sideways glances, and many wondered what worry of church or government was weighing so heavily on the leader’s mind that he would forget his suit coat and hat. The speculators would have been surprised if the president’s thoughts had been opened to them, for they would have seen the vision of two men, one Hawaiian, one haole, rowing an outrigger canoe in rough seas, each with his head thrown back and laughing with the joy of the adventure.
Epilogue
Waimea, Hawaii
November 1879
Hattie Panana Napela put down her pen and stretched her fingers. The letter to Mikanele Cannon was many pages, but there was much news to share. Panana blew on the final page to dry the ink, becoming aware of the smell of Tomi’s bread coming from the kitchen, and the sound of her children’s voices as they played in the nursery.
It was a cold afternoon with a dense fog wrapping everything in mystery. Panana walked to the window to look out at the large pine tree by the front fence. She could only see it because of the lighted lantern secured to the top of a tall pole that stood nearby. An hour before she had instructed one of the ranch hands to place the beacon for the expected travelers.
“He ‘ohu ke aloha, ‘a ‘ohe kuahiwi kau ‘ole.” Love is like the mist; there is no mountaintop that it does not settle upon. She heard creeping footsteps in the hallway, and whispered children’s voices at the doorway. Panana spoke without turning. “Do I hear mice creeping about again? I will need to call Tomi to bring in the cat.”
There were squeals and giggles as the children ran forward. “No! No! It’s us, Mommy! It’s just us!”
Eva, Helen, and John surrounded their mother with pleas and protests.
Panana laughed. “All right! All right! I guess I don’t need to bring in the cat, but please be quiet or you will wake Samuel.” She gave the three a narrow look. “Where are Harriet and Palmer?”
Seven-year-old Eva answered immediately. “In their high chairs in the kitchen. Tomi is teaching them how to make bread.”
“The dear man,” Panana said.
“When will they be here, Mommy?” Helen asked, moving to the window and staring out.
“Do you think they’re lost in the fog?” John followed on.
“They are not lost in the fog,” Panana answered in an assured tone. She had no concern for Kamuela’s ability to find his way home in the fog. He’d been navigating the track from Waimea to his mountain home all his life. What did surface with the children’s questions was nervous anticipation. She had alleviated it by writing a long letter to Mikanele Cannon, but now it was back to trouble her and make her stomach hurt. Panana folded her arms across her chest and took a deep breath.
Mary was coming home.
Panana’s emotions wandered through the events that brought them to this day. Two weeks after her Makua kane walked the rainbow, her mother followed. Panana knew that there would not be a long separation. Now that her heart was tied to Kamuela, she could imagine with perfect compassion the bitter loneliness. When word came of her mother’s passing, Panana combined the new grief with the missing of her father. She busied herself with her family, the running of the house, and accommodating guests. Tears were kept for her pillow.
Then, as the mantle of sorrow was lifting a letter arrived—a letter from her mother’s cousin in Kauai. Two other children had come into their family, and they thought it might be a good time for Mary to join her family in Waimea. Since Kamuela and Panana had visited the child several times in the years of separation, the ties of love would easily be rewoven.
Panana felt a small hand slide into hers.
“Mommy,” came Eva’s voice. “Do you think she will like us?”
“I think she will.”
“What does she look like?” John asked.
“Well, she’s . . .”
“Mommy!” Helen yelled. “I see horses near the pine tree!”
The other three watchers were startled by the loud announcement. Panana ran to the doorway and called out. “Tomi! Bring the children! They’re here!” She threw a blanket around John and shawls around her and the girls as they scrambled as a group out into the garden.
The blurred edges of horses and riders became clearer as the travelers drew closer.
Panana spoke in a whisper to the children. “Remember not to be too noisy. Mary is quite timid.”
“Yes, Mommy,” they chorused.
Tomi brought out the two bread makers. He’d put a coat on Harriet and a quilt around Palmer to ward off the foggy chill. He stomped his feet several times. “Oh, much warmer in kitchen.”
Panana smiled at him as she took Palmer into her arms. “But much more exciting here.”
“It’s Daddy!” Harriet called when she recognized the rider on the big horse. She frowned at the rider on the petite horse riding next to him. “Who is that?”
“Shh,” Eva said, taking her little sister’s hand.
Emotion caught in Panana’s throat as she stared at the young girl sitting regally on her little steed. She did not know if it was a trick of the fog, or her own longing, but she was looking at her mother in miniature. It was then she realized a truth. Her makua kane and her mother were near; they lived in Mary’s face, in Eva’s kindness, and in John’s playful laughter.
Mahalo, my parents, she thought. Mahalo for my life. E lei no au i ko aloha. I will wear your love as a wreath. Mahalo, Makua kane. We will pass your name from generation to generation. A peace filled her heart. Lele ka hoaka. The spirit has flown away, but the rainbow surrounds us.
Panana drew her eyes away from her firstborn to smile at Kamuela as he slid from his mount. He walked calmly to the side of Mary’s horse.
“Are you ready to get down and meet everyone?”
“Yes, sir.”
He put his hands gently around her waist and lifted her down.
Mary stood quietly, looking from face to face. When her glance reached Panana’s face, she smiled.
Panana smiled back. “Aloha, Mary. We are glad you’re here.” Her voice shook only slightly.
Eva stepped forward. “I like your coat. I have a coat with a fur collar too. It’s warm, isn’t it?”
Mary nodded.
Eva stepped closer. “I’m almost eight. How old are you?”
“Almost nine.”
“We have a dollhouse in our playroom,” Helen said, moving to stand next to Mary. “Would you like to see it?”
Mary looked at Kamuela and Panana. “May I?”
They both nodded and Panana found her voice. “Yes, of course.”
Eva took Mary by the hand and led her off.
“And on the ranch we have sheep, and chickens, and cows . . . lots and lots of cows. I’ll show them to you tomorrow,” John said as he followed behind.
Tomi took the baby and headed back to take bread from the oven.
Kamuela and Panana stood in the quiet, misty garden staring at each other. Neither could find words rich enough to express their feelings. Finally laughter was their language as Kamuela hugged his sweetheart and led her into the warm house.
Author’s Note
Nine children would eventually come to bless the lives of Hattie and Kamuela Parker—several of whom would live to maturity and whose posterity would continue the royal line of Jonathan and Kitty Napela. Records of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints show that on May 4, 1897, temple ordinances were completed in the Salt Lake Temple for four of the deceased Parker children: Mary Kihalaninui, John Palmer, Harriet Kaonohilani, and Palmer Kuihelani. Their mother, Hattie Panana, was living at the time, and one can only speculate that it may have been she who requested the work done. One of Hattie and Kamuela’s children, James Kekooalii Parker, joined the LDS church in 1917 at the age of thirty-one.
“My son?”
He slowly turned his swollen face in the direction of the voice and saw his mother sitting cross-legged on a stack of hala mats. She smiled at him.
“Aloha nui, my son.”
He smiled back at her. Aloha nui.
“Remember your wedding day when you and your beautiful Keliikuaaina came to receive my love and counsel?”
I do.
“The ancestors spoke to me that day. They gave me words about your life. They wanted me to tell you of the steep paths that you would have to climb, to warn you of the rough seas.” Her graceful hands began to tell the story of her words. “But I would not tell you. That was a day of joy when you and your bride could see only the blue of the sky.”
He returned to that day with the sun on his face and the sweet smell of ginger surrounding. He saw his bride in her white holoku, and her hair cascading down to her waist.
“This life must be lived one day and then another. The sun rises over Haleakala and sets into the arms of the ocean. The paddle is put into the water at the beginning of the journey and set aside when the next island is reached.”
He nodded.
“Who shall make the sun to shine, the moon to walk its silvery path? Did we put the fish into the ocean or the birds into the sky? Did we make the red blossoms of the sacred ohi‘a lehua tree?” She stood and came to the water’s edge. “There is poi and fish waiting.” She turned to walk up the trail.
Mother?
She did not stop.
“Mother?”
A hand was placed on his arm, and Jonathan felt the heaviness of his body. He groaned.
“Jonathan?”
Slowly he opened his eyes. He sat in his rocker on the porch. Kitty was beside him in her own rocker, her hand on his arm.
“Do not leave me.”
He could not turn his head to look at her. He tried to say that fish and poi were waiting, but all that came from his mouth were unintelligible growls. He closed his eyes. He liked her hand on his arm and the sound of her voice.
“The steamship Kinau is coming to the landing at Kalaupapa tomorrow. Perhaps there will be a letter from Panana, or from Brother George. Perhaps Panana will send another photograph. Six children now. How is that possible?” Her hand patted his arm. “Am I tiring you with my much talking?”
A slight shake of his head. The sound of water falling onto rocks filled his ears. The smell again of ginger flowers.
“Jonathan?”
He grunted.
“We have walked together over many different paths. Will you leave me on this path by myself?”
He walked again in the sacred valley and saw the Rainbow Maiden dancing in the mist.
“I love you.”
He heard the sweet trill of the o‘o bird.
“I will always love you.”
Tears.
“You came as my kokua, knowing that this might be your fate. If you must go then I will follow you soon.”
A silver sheet of rain moved across the ocean leaving behind a double rainbow. He heard the tapping of the kapa beaters and the low tremble of the conch shells. His breath mingled with the breezes blowing down from the valley—out across the water to the edge of the rainbow.
“Jonathan? Please try and stay with me.”
But he had stepped forward into the brilliant colors.
***
On the afternoon of August 7, 1879, as the steamship Kinau brought ten new patients to the shores of Moloka‘i, hundreds of people walked behind the wagon that carried the body of Jonathan Hawaii Napela to its final resting place. The mourners wore their Sunday best—women in their brightly colored dresses and men in their calico shirts. They wore leis on their hats and around their necks. Long ropes of maile leaves draped the coffin, along with dozens of exquisite leis crafted by leprous fingers.
Kepola drove the wagon, and Mr. Williamson and Father Damien walked beside. As they passed Napela’s house they took their hats off to Kitty Keliikuaaina Napela, who sat in her rocker on the porch.
She will follow him soon, Kepola thought. And then I will mail her letter.
The sound of conch shells drifted over the procession, announcing that a royal chief was approaching the spirit world.
Kepola turned the wagon north off the road that led to Kalaupapa and led the followers toward the Kauhako crater. Napela’s body would not be placed in the cemetery at Kalawao or Kalaupapa, but would rest in one of the many caves within the walls of the crater, as befitting a son of the great Maui chiefs.
At a designated spot, Kepola stopped the wagon, put on the brake, and jumped down from the buckboard. Mr. Williamson approached him.
“Well done, Kepola.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mr. Williamson noted the newly acquired stillness of the thirteen-year-old. He stood quietly as Father Damien said words of parting to his friend and as the congregants sang their songs of love. Only when the kahuna, and a selected few, came forward to take over the body, did the young man falter. As the burial helper climbed onto the buckboard and took up the reins, Kepola stumbled to the wagon and laid his hand on the coffin. No one heard his whispered words.
“Mahalo, Luna Napela. Mahalo. I promise to take care of Sister Napela until it is her time. I do not think it will be long.” He wiped the tears away with his shirtsleeve. “Can I ask you for something? Will you please come to meet me when I set my feet upon the rainbow? I do not think I will be frightened as long as I can see your face.”
Kepola took a deep breath and stepped back, joining himself with the people of Kalawao, who sang and watched until the wagon passed over a rise and disappeared from their sight.
Chapter 53
Salt Lake City, Utah
September 1879
Elder George Cannon sat staring at the letter in his hands. He’d read it over several times, but now he could only see one word—rainbow.
Dear Mikanele Cannon,
My Makua kane walked the rainbow August 6, and I cannot stop my weeping. Please tell me that his words about eternal families are true. Ohana Iesu. One family of Christ Jesus. I had a dream that my grandmother, Chiefess Wiwiokalani, walked upon the rainbow to greet him, and when I looked at their faces, they were young, and they were smiling.
My head knows that it is better for my dear one to go, but my heart misses him every minute. Can we not go back to the days in Wailuku when you two were translating the sacred book, and I was being a little pest?
I have six children now. I guess I must keep going forward.
May the gospel help you dry your tears, Mikanele Cannon.
Aloha nui,
Your weeping Panana Napela Parker
George stood and dazedly crumpled the letter into his pocket. He opened his door and moved out into the entry office. His secretary glanced up, a look of confusion flickering across his face.
“President? Can I . . .”
George kept walking. He walked down the hallway and out the doors of the office building into the blazing summer day. People who saw him on the street, and knew him, were bewildered by his odd appearance. One never saw the counselor to Brigham Young in the public eye without his suit coat and hat. Several people gave him a tentative greeting, to which they received no reply.
George kept walking. He walked north toward City Creek Canyon. He walked away from the voices and the sounds of the city. He walked until he was alone. He walked on the narrow shadowed trail of the Iao Valley. He looked ahead and saw his friend in his casual pants and shirt, barefooted, and singing. Brother Jonathan’s rich Hawaiian voice sang of waterfalls cascading down the face of the pali, of rivers and rainbows. George could see the Rainbow Maiden dancing in the mists of the valley. He could smell the ginger flowers, and hear the small piping call of the o-o bird. He stopped walking. He was standing in the shade of a koa tree. He looked up. No, it was a simple cottonwood tree, its pale leaves twitching in a breath of dry wind.
George hit his chest with the flat of his hand, hoping to pound out some of the pain and grief. The strength in his legs gave out, and he slumped to the ground.
“Auwe! Auwe! Auwe!” The emotion of the ancients poured from his body.
George kept pounding his chest as the lament continued and slowly the pain eased and the tears ceased. Hawaiian words flooded into his brain. He staggered to his feet and continued his pilgrimage into the solitude of the canyon. Nature alone heard the words Brother George chanted for his friend—for his brother.
Na Au makua mai ka la hiki a ka la kau!
Ye ancestral deities from the rising to the setting of the sun!
Mai ka hoo kui a ka halawai!
From the zenith to the horizon!
Na Au makua ia ka hina kua, ia ka hina alo!
Ye ancestral deities who stand at our back and at our front!
Ia kaa akau i ka lani!
Ye gods who stand at our right hand!
O kiha i ka lani,
A breathing in the heavens,
Owe i ka lani,
An utterance in the heavens,
Nunulu i ka lani,
A clear, ringing voice in the heavens,
Kaholo i ka lani!
A voice reverberating in the heavens!
Eia ka pulapula a oukou, o Napela.
Here comes your child, Napela.
E malama oukou iaia!
Safeguard him!
George took out his handkerchief and dried his eyes. “Father, take him home to you. He is your good son. He has fought a good fight. Take my brother home.” George managed a slight smile. “Knowing you, Brother Jonathan, you are already sharing stories and preaching the gospel to the kama‘aina in heaven.”
George went to the creek and splashed water onto his face and head. As he walked slowly back to his office he reflected on the life of his friend Jonathan, and their first meeting in Wailuku. E ka haole! Oh, the white man! George chuckled and wiped a final tear from the corner of his eye. “Thank you, Father for sending me to preach in paradise, and for preparing such an amazing man to hear the words. You are truly aware of every son and daughter. And, how blessed I feel to have such a brother through the eternities.”
As President Cannon moved through the city in his shirtsleeves, he received several sideways glances, and many wondered what worry of church or government was weighing so heavily on the leader’s mind that he would forget his suit coat and hat. The speculators would have been surprised if the president’s thoughts had been opened to them, for they would have seen the vision of two men, one Hawaiian, one haole, rowing an outrigger canoe in rough seas, each with his head thrown back and laughing with the joy of the adventure.
Epilogue
Waimea, Hawaii
November 1879
Hattie Panana Napela put down her pen and stretched her fingers. The letter to Mikanele Cannon was many pages, but there was much news to share. Panana blew on the final page to dry the ink, becoming aware of the smell of Tomi’s bread coming from the kitchen, and the sound of her children’s voices as they played in the nursery.
It was a cold afternoon with a dense fog wrapping everything in mystery. Panana walked to the window to look out at the large pine tree by the front fence. She could only see it because of the lighted lantern secured to the top of a tall pole that stood nearby. An hour before she had instructed one of the ranch hands to place the beacon for the expected travelers.
“He ‘ohu ke aloha, ‘a ‘ohe kuahiwi kau ‘ole.” Love is like the mist; there is no mountaintop that it does not settle upon. She heard creeping footsteps in the hallway, and whispered children’s voices at the doorway. Panana spoke without turning. “Do I hear mice creeping about again? I will need to call Tomi to bring in the cat.”
There were squeals and giggles as the children ran forward. “No! No! It’s us, Mommy! It’s just us!”
Eva, Helen, and John surrounded their mother with pleas and protests.
Panana laughed. “All right! All right! I guess I don’t need to bring in the cat, but please be quiet or you will wake Samuel.” She gave the three a narrow look. “Where are Harriet and Palmer?”
Seven-year-old Eva answered immediately. “In their high chairs in the kitchen. Tomi is teaching them how to make bread.”
“The dear man,” Panana said.
“When will they be here, Mommy?” Helen asked, moving to the window and staring out.
“Do you think they’re lost in the fog?” John followed on.
“They are not lost in the fog,” Panana answered in an assured tone. She had no concern for Kamuela’s ability to find his way home in the fog. He’d been navigating the track from Waimea to his mountain home all his life. What did surface with the children’s questions was nervous anticipation. She had alleviated it by writing a long letter to Mikanele Cannon, but now it was back to trouble her and make her stomach hurt. Panana folded her arms across her chest and took a deep breath.
Mary was coming home.
Panana’s emotions wandered through the events that brought them to this day. Two weeks after her Makua kane walked the rainbow, her mother followed. Panana knew that there would not be a long separation. Now that her heart was tied to Kamuela, she could imagine with perfect compassion the bitter loneliness. When word came of her mother’s passing, Panana combined the new grief with the missing of her father. She busied herself with her family, the running of the house, and accommodating guests. Tears were kept for her pillow.
Then, as the mantle of sorrow was lifting a letter arrived—a letter from her mother’s cousin in Kauai. Two other children had come into their family, and they thought it might be a good time for Mary to join her family in Waimea. Since Kamuela and Panana had visited the child several times in the years of separation, the ties of love would easily be rewoven.
Panana felt a small hand slide into hers.
“Mommy,” came Eva’s voice. “Do you think she will like us?”
“I think she will.”
“What does she look like?” John asked.
“Well, she’s . . .”
“Mommy!” Helen yelled. “I see horses near the pine tree!”
The other three watchers were startled by the loud announcement. Panana ran to the doorway and called out. “Tomi! Bring the children! They’re here!” She threw a blanket around John and shawls around her and the girls as they scrambled as a group out into the garden.
The blurred edges of horses and riders became clearer as the travelers drew closer.
Panana spoke in a whisper to the children. “Remember not to be too noisy. Mary is quite timid.”
“Yes, Mommy,” they chorused.
Tomi brought out the two bread makers. He’d put a coat on Harriet and a quilt around Palmer to ward off the foggy chill. He stomped his feet several times. “Oh, much warmer in kitchen.”
Panana smiled at him as she took Palmer into her arms. “But much more exciting here.”
“It’s Daddy!” Harriet called when she recognized the rider on the big horse. She frowned at the rider on the petite horse riding next to him. “Who is that?”
“Shh,” Eva said, taking her little sister’s hand.
Emotion caught in Panana’s throat as she stared at the young girl sitting regally on her little steed. She did not know if it was a trick of the fog, or her own longing, but she was looking at her mother in miniature. It was then she realized a truth. Her makua kane and her mother were near; they lived in Mary’s face, in Eva’s kindness, and in John’s playful laughter.
Mahalo, my parents, she thought. Mahalo for my life. E lei no au i ko aloha. I will wear your love as a wreath. Mahalo, Makua kane. We will pass your name from generation to generation. A peace filled her heart. Lele ka hoaka. The spirit has flown away, but the rainbow surrounds us.
Panana drew her eyes away from her firstborn to smile at Kamuela as he slid from his mount. He walked calmly to the side of Mary’s horse.
“Are you ready to get down and meet everyone?”
“Yes, sir.”
He put his hands gently around her waist and lifted her down.
Mary stood quietly, looking from face to face. When her glance reached Panana’s face, she smiled.
Panana smiled back. “Aloha, Mary. We are glad you’re here.” Her voice shook only slightly.
Eva stepped forward. “I like your coat. I have a coat with a fur collar too. It’s warm, isn’t it?”
Mary nodded.
Eva stepped closer. “I’m almost eight. How old are you?”
“Almost nine.”
“We have a dollhouse in our playroom,” Helen said, moving to stand next to Mary. “Would you like to see it?”
Mary looked at Kamuela and Panana. “May I?”
They both nodded and Panana found her voice. “Yes, of course.”
Eva took Mary by the hand and led her off.
“And on the ranch we have sheep, and chickens, and cows . . . lots and lots of cows. I’ll show them to you tomorrow,” John said as he followed behind.
Tomi took the baby and headed back to take bread from the oven.
Kamuela and Panana stood in the quiet, misty garden staring at each other. Neither could find words rich enough to express their feelings. Finally laughter was their language as Kamuela hugged his sweetheart and led her into the warm house.
Author’s Note
Nine children would eventually come to bless the lives of Hattie and Kamuela Parker—several of whom would live to maturity and whose posterity would continue the royal line of Jonathan and Kitty Napela. Records of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints show that on May 4, 1897, temple ordinances were completed in the Salt Lake Temple for four of the deceased Parker children: Mary Kihalaninui, John Palmer, Harriet Kaonohilani, and Palmer Kuihelani. Their mother, Hattie Panana, was living at the time, and one can only speculate that it may have been she who requested the work done. One of Hattie and Kamuela’s children, James Kekooalii Parker, joined the LDS church in 1917 at the age of thirty-one.
