The Promise

by Jane Peart

  He looked around, hesitated a second, then nodded, waved his hand, and was swallowed up in the crowd of congenial people still gathered in front of the church.

  Slowly Jana walked home. All her happiness at seeing Kimo again drained away, leaving her feeling let down.

  The change in him had taken place when she mentioned Bayard Preston’s name. Suddenly she wished she weren’t going to the Prestons’ house party. Now she would miss Kimo when he came to pay his duty call on her parents. She wouldn’t be there to walk with him down to the beach or down to the valley of the twin waterfalls. Somehow she had managed to ruin their meeting, the one she had looked forward to all these months.

  When she reached home, she let herself in quietly, still feeling subdued by the puzzling encounter with Kimo. As she made her way down the hall to her own bedroom, she passed her little brother’s room and paused.

  She could hear her mother’s voice with its southern accent, talking to Nathan as she got him ready for bed.

  “And when I was a little girl, just about your age, on Christmas Eve we would hope and hope for it to snow.”

  “And did it?” Nathan’s eager question came.

  “Sometimes, but not often. Even if it didn’t snow in town where we lived, we could see it up on the mountains—”

  “Like on Mauna Kea?”

  “Well yes, sort of like that. Except that for us the mountains weren’t away far in the distance but were all around the town, like encircling arms.” A tinge of nostalgia now crept into her mother’s tone. “But the air was as crisp and cold as you can imagine. So much so that our noses and cheeks would be as red as cherries. Best of all, if it did snow, Uncle Myles would get out the sleigh and it would be getting dark and all the stars would come out, twinkling, and we would go skimming along the icy roads over to Holly Grove…“

  Holly Grove. The very name seemed to have a certain magic. Jana remembered her mother telling her the same Christmas memories when she was Nathan’s age.

  “The house would be all decorated, with candles in every window and a fire roaring in the fireplace…“

  Jana could imagine Nathan’s eyes getting big with wonder by now. He had not the slightest idea what a fireplace was. It was all like a fairy tale to him.

  Jana realized, perhaps for the first time, that talking about Christmases back in North Carolina was important to her mother. Jana suspected there was still a longing in her mother’s heart for the place she had left long ago, the people she would never see again. The place that was her “heart home,” even now that her home was with all of them here in Hawaii.

  Jana could sense that her mother longed to see the pine trees and the dogwoods on the distant mountains that surrounded her North Carolina home, longed to enjoy the autumn colors that blazed scarlet, bronze, gold, and longed to hear the soft cadence of southern voices. Now especially, at Christmas time, those yearnings took form and shape in the telling of the stories to her children. That was the reason, Jana thought, that her mother tried to bring to life for them what was still real for her. Her “tell story” was exactly like what Hawaiians did to keep the old times, the traditions, the customs, alive for the next generation.

  Jana smiled. Her mother was not that far removed from Tutu or the other Hawaiian mothers.

  For Jana, Christmas was not the sound of sleigh bells ringing out in the frosty evening air, or snow-clad fields, or frozen ponds on which steel blades made their sharp clink against the ice. It was the brilliant red of anthuriums blooming by the roadside, the clusters of poinsettias growing wild, the whisper of palm fronds in the soft sigh of the wind, the singing of the surf, and the music of the ukulele and guitar strings.

  Jana knew she had a “heart home,” too. But it would always be Hawaii. She was sure that if she were ever away, she would be soul-sick for the seamless blending of blue sky and sea. In her deepest being, she would never be quite happy away from the Big Island.

  Chapter Three

  The Rutherfords’ Christmas was full of traditions, ones JoBeth had brought to Hawaii from her childhood in North Carolina. Stockings were hung up the night before and magically filled in the morning. The Quaker background of Jana’s father precluded too much emphasis on Santa Claus. But her mother’s persuasive plea—“After all, Nathan is still only a baby”—had won over his mild objections. So everyone agreed to perpetuate the myth for his sake.

  Of course, the religious significance of the day was reverently observed. After the gaiety and laughter of emptying the stockings and exchanging small gifts, the family went to the morning church service.

  Entering the sanctuary, Jana looked around hopefully to see if Kimo by some chance had not gone to Kona. But there were other people sitting in the pew usually occupied by the Kipolas. With a resigned sigh, she seated herself and opened her Bible to Luke 2:1: “And it came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Caesar…“

  She tried to concentrate on the sermon. The minister drew some parallels between that long-ago event in Bethlehem and life on the island. “Although pictures sometimes portray the scene of a snow-shrouded stable,” he said, “in truth the weather in Bethlehem the night Jesus was born was probably more like that of the Big Island.” He suggested, “We Hawaiians should feel particularly close to the Savior in this beautiful place so abundantly blessed with God’s creation.”

  Jana responded to that and felt momentarily uplifted by it. However, her mind wandered. How was Kimo spending Christmas? Had he gone to one of the other small frame churches whose twins dotted the whole island? Then, as she joined in the singing of the familiar ancient melodies in Hawaiian—“Hark the herald angels sing, glory to the newborn King, Ha-mau e na ka-na-ka, mele mai na a-ne-la”—it struck her that all over the world, in some places at this very same moment, voices were raised in songs of praise. To God, she thought, the world must seem like one gigantic patchwork quilt with all sorts of colors, textures, patterns—but all one as they sing of his glorious birth, of the new birth possible for all those who believe. Jana’s heart was all at once full, bursting with happiness, as she sang the chorus: “Joyful all ye nations rise, Malu no ko la-lo-nei.”

  On the way home, she swung Nathan’s hand as they hurried along the road, singing the merry secular holiday song she had taught him—“Jingle Bells”—until they were both breathless and laughing.

  The rest of the day was spent quietly and happily. She helped Nathan build with the block set he’d received, helped her mother set out the punch, and decorated cookies for the open house they usually held for friends in the afternoon. But all the time she half hoped that maybe Kimo had come back early from Kona and still might drop by to see her.

  By late afternoon she had given up. By evening, after a sleepy Nathan had been put to bed clutching his new toy boat, she kissed her parents good night and, taking the book they had given her, went to her bedroom. However, her eyes merely skimmed the pages, and she found herself reading the same paragraph over and over. Finally she put it aside. It was no use. She kept thinking of Kimo, of that brief encounter, wishing she had it to do again, wishing she hadn’t told him about the house party, wishing even that she wasn’t going.

  No, that was silly. What difference would it make whether she went or stayed home? Kimo had never been a special friend of the Prestons. Why should he feel hurt that he had not been included in the invitation? No, she knew it wasn’t that. Had he expected her to just sit around and wait for him to come by? She thought of all the letters she had written him when he was at the academy in Honolulu. From him there had been only a few postcards, pictures of the lolani Palace, the gardens, a few lines scribbled, nothing personal. What had he thought of some of the things she had enclosed in her letters? The quotations, the bits of poetry, the small sketches or paintings she had done?

  But after all, hadn’t he written on the sand the same words she had written in her letters? Of course, the ocean had washed up on the beach, erasing those words. Had Kimo also wiped them out of hi
s mind, his heart?

  Hawaiian men were stubborn, proud, reluctant to express emotions, Tutu had told her. They were afraid to seem weak or womanlike. But there was exquisite expression in the songs they composed or in their beautiful crafts. Jana took out the koa wood box Kimo had made for her, let her fingers move across its smooth surface. Giving it to her had meant something to him then. Did it still?

  She put it back in her drawer again. Her mouth pressed into a straight line. Well, she wasn’t going to let worries about Kimo spoil the rest of the holidays. She was going to the house party at the Prestons’ and would have a good time, in spite of Kimo.

  Chapter Four

  Jana could hardly contain her excitement as her father drove their small buggy up the winding driveway hedged with hibiscus and oleander bushes ablaze with blossoms, past groves of coconut palms. Beyond the gates and the arched sign that read “PRESTON RANCH,” at the top of the hill stood a sprawling, white frame ranch house. Its architecture was a mixture of traditional Hawaiian plantation and New England-style farmhouse.

  Mr. Rutherford had just pulled to a stop in front of the wraparound veranda, when almost immediately one of the Prestons’ Chinese menservants came running out of the house. Dressed in a uniform of immaculate white duck coat and trousers, he smilingly greeted them. He took Jana’s suitcase and valise and motioned them to precede him up the porch steps while he followed, carrying her bags.

  Through the screen door, they saw a large woman coming down the center hall, seeming even larger because of the ballooning of her mumu—the Hawaiian “at home” dress—made of flowing, lavishly flowered pink, yellow, and green material.

  Jana recognized her at once as Meipala, the housekeeper. She had been Edith’s nurse when she was a baby and a little girl, then had stayed on to run the household.

  “Aloha!” the woman called to them as she approached. Meipala was handsome, with polished mahogany skin and a halo of crystal-sparkled silver hair. “Aloha! Welcome, Mr. Rutherford, Jana.” She pulled the screen door wide for them to enter. “Come in and have some refreshment,” she invited. “The Colonel and Edith are out riding, showing Bayard’s friends around the ranch. But they should be back soon.”

  “Mahalo, thank you, but I cannot stay.” Mr. Rutherford made his refusal of the offered hospitality—a Hawaiian ritual—gracious yet firm. “Duties, you know. Please give my kind regards to the Colonel, though, and thank him for having my daughter as his guest.”

  “Oh, this one!” Meipala gave Jana a hug. “She’s like part of the family.”

  “Good enough. Then, I’ll be on my way. Jana, have a nice time and be a good guest.”

  “I will, Papa.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Rutherford,” Meipala told him. “I’ll keep my eye on both young ladies. And it’s Edith, not Jana, who has to be reminded of manners!”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He smiled, then leaned down, kissed Jana’s cheek. “Good-bye, dear. Have a good time.”

  After the Rutherfords’ buggy disappeared around the bend of the driveway, Meipala put her arm around Jana’s shoulders. “Well, now, kaikamahine,” she said, using the affectionate word for “girl-child,” “I have to tell Cook something, and then I’ll be right back and we’ll go upstairs and I’ll show you which room you’re to have.”

  “I won’t be in Edith’s room with her?” Jana asked, surprised.

  “No, not this time. You’ll be in one of the guest rooms—that way you two won’t stay up and gossip half the night.” Meipala pretended to look stern—an impossible feat, since any movement of her generous mouth showed deep dimples. “But it’s right next to Edith’s room, so you two will manage!” she chuckled. Then she said, “I’ll be back wikiwiki,” and she waddled off to the back of the house.

  Left alone in the wide front hall, Jana gazed about her in awe. No matter how many times she visited the ranch, entering the house always seemed like walking into a palace. Overhead was a huge rock-crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It might have looked out of place in most ranch houses, yet here it belonged. The Prestons’ house was filled with such contrasts. Chinese rugs on polished floors of native wood, teakwood furniture, and carved screens mingled with ornately carved Victorian chairs and settees upholstered in red flocked damask.

  Through open louvered doors, Jana could see into the drawing room that opened onto the lanai. A huge painting framed in heavily sculptured gold took up most of one wall. Edith had once pointed it out to Jana, telling her that at one time it had hung in a French museum. Her father had seen it on one of his trips abroad, wanted it, bought it, and brought it home. Imagine!

  Along the other wall were glass shelves displaying artifacts of Old Hawaii. Above a wide, handsome, native stone fireplace, an antique Austrian mirror reflected the rest of the room’s splendor. In the center of the room stood a round koa wood table with intricately carved legs, holding a glass bowl of pink, red anthuriums.

  The sound of Meipala’s heavy tread on the polished floor signaled the housekeeper’s return. “Everything fine in the kitchen. Getting ready for pa’ina, dinner party, tonight. Bayard’s pals here.” She rolled her dark, merry eyes. “Big doin’s.” She picked up Jana’s suitcase and motioned with the other plump hand. “Come along, I’ll take you upstairs.”

  Jana followed with her valise. “Where are Bayard’s guests staying?”

  “Colonel put ‘em out in one of the cottages.” There were three guest cottages located under the kukui trees behind the house. They were self-sufficient, complete, small units—consisting of two bedrooms, a sitting room, a bath, and a lanai—where Colonel Preston’s guests could stay for months at a time, and often did. “I think Colonel figured that out there, away from the main house, those boys could make much kulikuli, high jinks, and not disturb anyone else.” Meipala laughed, a deep laugh that shook her whole body, as if she thought that young men having a loud good time was a great joke.

  At the top of the stairs, Jana caught up with Meipala and walked alongside her down the long hall. “Here you are,” Meipala announced, opening the door into a large, airy room. “I got plenty to do,” she told Jana, “but you can settle yourself until Edith gets here, pono?”

  “Right. Yes, I’ll be fine,” Jana assured her.

  After Meipala hurried off, Jana looked around with delight at the luxurious room she was to occupy. Sheer curtains billowed at the floor-length windows, which opened up to a second-story circling porch overlooking the lawns and gardens. Dominating the room was an enormous bed with turned railings and carved pineapple posts. It was covered with a beautiful Hawaiian quilt, a design of pale green breadfruit leaves appliquéd onto a creamy background.

  Compared to her simply furnished room at home, this was ultimate luxury. I feel like a princess! Jana thought as she began unpacking her suitcase, hanging up her clothes in the armoire.

  She heard Edith before she saw her. There was no mistaking that gay, laughing voice calling her name, the sound of bare feet running down the hall.

  “Jana!”

  In the next minute, Edith burst into the room. Grabbing Jana by the arms, she whirled her around a couple of times.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you could come! We are going to have a glorious time. Just wait till you see. And just wait until you meet Bayard’s friends!” Edith stopped breathlessly and looked around her. “Let me see what you’ve brought!” She dashed over to the armoire, where Jana had just hung up some of her dresses. Edith held out the skirt of one of the dresses. “Oh, your mother is so clever. You are so lucky, Jana. All my things are store-bought. Aunt Ruthie did send me some dresses from San Francisco. I’ll show you later.”

  As if she had suddenly lost interest in clothes, Edith tossed her hat carelessly off, not noticing that it landed on the floor. Then, shaking out her tangle of golden curls, she plopped down on the bed.

  “Bayard’s friends are incredible, Jana. One is the captain of the debating team, the other of the tennis club, and the other one—oh, I f
orget, but something interesting. We are going to have such a good time. We shall be included in everything. I made that crystal-clear to Bayard.” Her tone turned severe. “He promised. We are not to be sent upstairs or pushed out of sight like babies, as we used to be—this time, we are in the party!” She laughed gaily. “In fact, we are the party. At least until some of Bayard’s Honolulu crowd gets here. They’ve taken practically a whole deck of the steamer from Oahu. But,” she declared, “by the time they get here, we will have them all eating out of our hands! Now all we have to do is plan our strategy.”

  Amid peals of laughter, Edith outlined for Jana their plan of action. Since she had met the three young men, she gave Jana a brief description of each one. “I’ve only had a chance to look them over after they first arrived, because of course Bayard was in his usual form. In total control. But they are all attractive. I’ve already picked out mine. Greg Amory.” She giggled. “But he’ll not have any idea of it. Instead, I shall act indifferent to him and interested in someone else—Tom Markham. Really a quiet, serious type—I can’t think why Bayard would be friends with him. Maybe he coaches Bayard on economics or math!” She picked up one of the pillows, bunched it up, flipped over onto her stomach, and hugged it, laughing.

  Amazed, Jana looked at her friend. “Where on earth did you learn all this?” she demanded.

  “Oh, I’ve been doing my homework!” Edith reached under the bed and brought out two glossy magazines and held them up so Jana could read the titles—Metropolitan Ladies. “These are full of all kinds of articles, from the latest hairstyles to how to use ‘complexion enhancements’ subtly, to examples of witty dinner table conversation, to the latest dance steps, to rules of flirtation!”

  “You mean, they have rules for such things?” gasped Jana.

  Edith rolled her eyes. “We have been living in kiddieland, Jana. Girls our age on the mainland go to tea dances and evening parties all the time. To college proms! Bayard and his friends are used to girls who know their way around—not only how to dance, but how to flirt and how to tease and talk to men. It’s all a sort of game, you see. Not at all like we’re used to—but we can learn.” She flipped open one of the magazines, then handed it to Jana. “Just look at that.”