The Promise

by Jane Peart

  Arriving at the high pasture, they saw that the wide corral had been turned into a rodeo ring. The rustic fencing was now festooned with bright banners. Multicolored streamers tied from each fence post blew in the wind.

  Most of the bleachers were filled by townspeople who had ridden up from Waimea for the show. Colonel Preston had a box of seats in the front for his guests. Edith met them and immediately linked arms with Greg and Tom, and they took their places in the front row. Joel and Jana followed. Bayard seemed to have disappeared for the moment, and Jana wondered if he had decided to ride after all. She noticed that Edith seemed to be concentrating on Tom. For effect, she was also waving and greeting people she knew who were sitting around them. Was she trying to impress Greg? If so, he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to her. In fact, he looked rather bored.

  As they settled in, Jana saw groups of men on horseback assembling at the far end of the field. Those were the riders who would be competing. She pointed out some of the events on the program to Greg and Joel—neither of whom had ever been to a rodeo before—explaining what they could expect. She had decided not to be put off by Greg’s aloof attitude. It was a kind of challenge to get him actually interested. The excited expectation that was tangible in the air would be contagious.

  “It’s really fun,” she told him. “You’ll find yourself yelling your head off!”

  “Me?” he protested. “I doubt it.”

  “Wait and see!”

  Colonel Preston, mounted on his handsome white horse, circled the center of the ring, waving his arm and shouting instructions to the rodeo riders lining up at the starting gate. Then he cantered up in front of the bleachers, took off his wide-brimmed, white felt Stetson, and bowed—as did his horse—to a burst of applause and cheers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, our rodeo riders will now promenade so that you can pick your favorites,” he announced dramatically. “Then the games will begin!”

  Loud applause mixed with “yahoos” greeted this pronouncement. Jana heard Greg Amory murmur to no one in particular, “What a ham!” Jana bristled. Such a rude comment to make about his host, she thought. For all his so-called background, she was beginning to think Greg Amory was a boor. Accepting the Prestons’ generous hospitality obligated him to be at least respectful. She gave him a withering glance to let him know that his remark had been overheard. But he wasn’t looking, for at that moment the thundering of dozens of horses’ hooves pounded over the dusty ground as the festively attired paniolos galloped into the ring one after the other. The spectators rose, cheering and screaming.

  The paniolos wore sombreros of woven palm, leis of fresh flowers, red sashes around their waists, high leather leggings over white duck pants. Braided leather lariats wound in circles hung from their saddles, and spurs jangled from their boots.

  As they passed by the grandstand, each horseman slowed his horse, whipped off his hat, bowed in his saddle, and then, touching his mount’s foreleg with his sombrero, made the horse also do a semblance of a bow. One gleaming black horse cantering up to take its turn particularly caught Jana’s eye. With a flourish, the rider removed his hat and revealed what the shadow of the brim had hidden. Jana gasped. It was Kimo! Spontaneously she jumped up, clapping her hands. He breasted his hat, shook back the thick, dark waves from his forehead. His eyes held laughter, his smile was broad. He was enjoying his surprise. Had he planned to be in the rodeo all along? Or was this a last-minute decision? Either way, Kimo was here and would compete with the best the Preston Ranch could offer. Her heart thrummed excitedly. She knew him to be a superb rider. She had seen him on horseback many times. No question—he was her favorite paniolo for today’s competition. He gave his sombrero a cavalier twirl, then whirled his horse around and was gone in a clatter of hooves, a cloud of dust.

  After that the rodeo took on a much more personal interest to her. In every event, she eagerly awaited to see if Kimo was going to participate in it.

  One by one the events of cutting, barrel racing, calf roping, and steer throwing were called. Waiting to see if Kimo was entering, she sat on the edge of her seat. She remembered that the Heritage Academy maintained a livestock ranch to partially support itself. Most probably, Kimo had worked there to earn the tuition and fees not included in his scholarship.

  The only event in which he didn’t compete was the bucking bronco contest. This always brought the audience to its feet, screaming, yelling, and rooting for the daring ones who entered the event. Hardly any survived longer than a few minutes. The crowd shouted and cheered for their favorite, groaned when one “bit the dust.” Buckled on, the riders bounced, flipped, and circled as the horse tried to get the burden off its back and everyone roared encouragement.

  Jana was glad Kimo was not entered in this one. She had already gripped her hands into fists as he did the cutting, the relay, and the barrel racing. Her nails bit into her palms, which now were burning and stinging. Her throat was raw, her voice hoarse, from all her shouts.

  “You really go in for all this, don’t you?” a sarcastic voice beside her asked. She turned and saw Greg Amory’s cynical smile.

  “Yes, I guess I do. You’d have to be dead and embalmed not to!” she retorted. Then she turned around, feeling suddenly foolish. She shouldn’t have lost her temper. Greg wasn’t worth it. Had she made a spectacle of herself with her show of enthusiasm? No! Everyone else was doing the same thing, shouting, cheering, yelling. It was Greg who was out of step. He was the one.

  It took Joel to really call him on his attitude. “What’s wrong with you, Greg? Come on, show a little life. Remember the saying ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do’?”

  “I guess so. It just seems—well, I can’t believe this is taking place in Hawaii. You’d think it was some one-horse town in Montana or Wyoming. To think Bayard comes from all this—it seems odd somehow.”

  “Didn’t he tell you he lived on a ranch?” Jana asked coolly.

  “Oh, I suppose he did. But it was never—well…“ Greg shrugged, not finishing whatever he was going to say.

  “If you’d ever seen him ride, you wouldn’t think it so odd!” she flashed back, wondering why was she defending Bayard against his friend.

  Just then Colonel Preston’s voice came through the megaphone he was holding. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the grand finale. Each paniolo will ride by and give his talisman to the lady of his choice.”

  Jana watched eagerly as the parade of colorfully dressed paniolos in full regalia began. Keeping their horses beautifully in control, the mounted men trotted into the ring. Moving with precision and pacing the high-stepping horses, each approached the grandstand.

  One by one they came, waving their hats as the crowd applauded, cheered. In front of the reviewing stand, as a mark of special gallantry, each paniolo halted his mount, bowed, and tipped his hat. Then, unfastening the broad ribbon he wore across his chest, he handed it to his special “fair lady” among the spectators. At each presentation, there was more applause and cheering as each lady rose to receive her talisman. Sometimes a bold paniolo would lean from his saddle and plant a kiss on her cheek.

  When Kimo came riding up, Jana’s heart almost stopped beating. He drew his horse to a stop in front of her, swept off his sombrero and bowed to her, then held up his yellow satin ribbon with its cluster of ribbons for her. Joel nudged her. “Jana, he means you,” he prompted. “Go on. He intends for you to accept it.”

  Hoping that in her excitement she wouldn’t stumble, Jana got up and made her way to the edge of the box, held up her hand to receive the honor. Kimo smiled. Using her Hawaiian name, he handed her the talisman. “Aloha, Koana.”

  “Mahalo,” she said huskily.

  He tipped his hat, replaced it, then flicked the brim with his hand and rode off while she stared after him.

  Her heart was pumping. Her breath caught in her throat. Kimo, her knight in shining armor. It was as if all the old fairy tales, all the romantic legends, all the poetry and music, a
ll the dreams she had ever dreamed, had suddenly come together in this magic moment.

  Chapter Eight

  The New Year’s Eve ball was to be a gala event. Edith was wildly excited at the prospect of her first “really grown-up party.” For Jana the best part of the house party was Kimo’s surprise appearance at the rodeo. Whatever she had felt in their meeting outside church before Christmas, all that strangeness had melted in the warmth of his smile as he handed her his trophy. Nothing could match that moment. Jana packed the ribbon carefully into her suitcase to take it home with her. She was already looking forward to when Kimo would come to see her.

  New Year’s Eve at the Preston Ranch was always widely attended, and talked about for weeks afterward. Detailed descriptions of the music, the food, the gowns, the decorations, and the flowers would usually take up columns in the society section of the local paper.

  In the past, Jana and Edith were relegated to the balcony overlooking the entrance hall, and would peer through the koa balustrade, watching the guests arrive. Meipala called it okolehaeo, a good-time kind of party. Of course, in the days when Edith’s mother was alive, she told the girls, there had been many of those types of parties.

  Tonight’s affair was special not only because they were going to attend it, but because it would also be the send-off for Bayard and his guests. The next day, they would leave on the steamer to Honolulu, then take the ship back to the mainland.

  The ball would not begin until ten, but Edith and Jana started their preparations much earlier.

  When she had returned from the rodeo late that afternoon, Jana took out the party dress her mother had made, examining it critically. It was one of the prettiest and fanciest she had ever owned, a blue voile with faceted lace seams, a bowed sash, and a ruffled skirt. At home it had looked fine, but here it somehow didn’t look right. After observing the elegant gowns the other guests had worn to the rodeo, Jana could only imagine what their ball gowns would be like.

  She knew that Edith’s Aunt Ruthie in San Francisco had sent her a dress from some exclusive shop there. Jana felt guilty finding fault with something her mother had spent hours making. Yet it just wasn’t right for a grand ball.

  Well, there was nothing to be done about it. She would have to make the best of it.

  Just then she heard Edith call her. “Jana, come here for a minute, please. I want to show you what I’m going to wear.”

  Trying to hide her dissatisfaction about her own dress, Jana called back, “Coming.”

  When she walked into the adjoining bedroom, to her complete surprise she saw Edith standing in front of the full-length mirror wearing a turquoise blue holoku, a long, one-piece gown styled after the type the missionaries had first made for the native women, but now fitted, with a yoke and a train.

  “What do you think?” Edith half turned for her friend’s reaction.

  “It’s gorgeous! But where did you get it? Surely that’s not what your aunt sent from the mainland, is it?”

  “No, it belonged to my mother! Meipala has kept all Mama’s Hawaiian dresses. It fits me perfectly. And I’m going to wear it tonight!”

  Jana had never seen her friend look so lovely. “Oh Kiki, you look beautiful!” The dress itself was breathtaking. The color perfectly set off her apricot tan skin, her dark, shining eyes, and her golden hair.

  Still viewing herself critically in the mirror, Edith pointed to two gowns spread on top of the quilt on her bed. One was a scarlet velvet, the other a blue green silk. Jana tentatively touched the material. It felt luscious.

  “Those are the gowns my aunt sent. But I’ve decided to be my Hawaiian self tonight. Why don’t you wear one of them? Either one should fit.”

  “Oh Kiki, I couldn’t. Not possibly. Your aunt meant them for you—”

  “Of course you can. Go ahead, pick the one you like best!” ordered Edith. “You are going to wear it.”

  Jana stared at her friend incredulously. She shook her head.

  “You must, Jana. Think of it as a dress-up occasion. Playing pretend, the way we used to. Going to our first ball. It will be only this once. The blue would be perfect for you. Do take it and try it on, Jana!” Edith gathered it up and thrust it at her. “Here!” She took Jana by the shoulders, turned her toward the full-length mirror.

  Jana held the dress up to herself and looked at her reflection.

  “See for yourself! It could have been made for you,” Edith declared triumphantly.

  Jana did see. It was very becoming.

  “There are slippers to match.” Edith brought out a shoe box. “And I know we wear the same size.” She rustled back tissue paper and brought out narrow blue satin pumps with French heels and rhinestone-sprinkled bows. She held them out for Jana to admire. “Now, I won’t take no for an answer. You must, Jana.”

  Jana had come up against Edith’s indomitable will before. Once Edith had made up her mind about something, it was useless to protest. This time Jana didn’t really want to. She had never wanted anything so much in her life as to wear this beautiful dress. “Well,” she said slowly, “if you insist.”

  “I do! So it’s settled. Go ahead, put it on,” Edith commanded.

  Back in her room, Jana placed her own dress back into the armoire with a brief pang of guilt. But, she told herself, this was after all a very special occasion. She felt like Cinderella, whose fairy godmother had provided her with an undreamed-of chance to go to the ball in a beautiful gown. Besides, her mother would never know.

  Meipala came to see them before they went downstairs. Her dark eyes misted as she regarded Edith. “So like your mama,” she murmured. She had brought a wreath of fresh flowers that Edith wanted to wear on her hair, which she had brushed out to hang in shimmering waves to her waist.

  Jana needed some help with the fasteners and tiny buttons on her borrowed dress, a designer creation. She had never seen a dress constructed such as this. Lined in satin, the skirt was gathered to the back in a modified bustle falling into graceful folds. The bodice was separate, tapering to a point at the waist. There were huge, puffed sleeves and a portrait neckline. The blue dress deepened the color of Jana’s eyes. Edith was right: the dress could have been made for her.

  At last it was time to go downstairs.

  The lower part of the house had been transformed into a fairyland of flowers and light. Ferns were everywhere—giant tree ferns stood against the wall, lehua in natural green were wired with red flowers, baskets of kupukupu fern hung from the ceiling, garlands of fern crisscrossed against the ceiling, pillars were woven with palapalai, wawaeiole, and uluhe ferns accented with spikes of ieie, a form of pandanus. In the wide entrance hall, long tables were set with red cloths, huge platters of fresh fruit, and bowls of punch. Outside, the wide veranda was festooned with lit paper lanterns, and lehua sprayed with white and bright with red blossoms framed the entrance.

  As the girls came down the stairway, Colonel Preston was in the center hall, giving directions to one of the manservants. When he looked up and saw his daughter, he stopped midsentence. For a moment he seemed stunned. He shook his head as if in disbelief. Then slowly a smile broke across his craggy face. He came to the foot of the steps and held out his hand. As she reached the last step, Edith took it and he spun her around a couple of times, declaring, “Darling girl, you are a vision to behold.”

  Jana halted a step or two behind Edith, saw the Colonel’s eyes moisten. She knew he must be thinking of the young wife he had loved so much and had lost when Edith was a baby. An interesting reversal; the Hawaiian lady in a Paris gown and her daughter, a hapa-haole, who longed to claim her Hawaiian heritage.

  Colonel Preston quickly controlled his momentary emotion and turned to Jana to graciously compliment her as well. “You two will have the young gentlemen battling to be your dance partners,” he teased. “Jana, you’ll have to excuse Edith for a while. She must do her duty in the receiving line with Bayard and me. I’m sure you won’t find yourself alone for long. Bayard’s gue
sts have been impatiently waiting for you to appear.” Jana watched as Edith gracefully picked up her train, took her father’s arm, and went with him to greet the guests, who were arriving in a steady stream. Bayard was already standing at the door. His eyes swept over his sister. An enigmatic expression passed over his face. One Jana couldn’t read. Disapproval? Amusement? Before she could interpret his gaze, he turned to her. He gave a nod and smiled. Again it was hard to know what his look meant.

  Nor did she want to try. Bayard was someone she would never understand. Where had he been throughout the rodeo? She had seen him later with his father in what appeared to be a heated argument. Had Colonel Preston expected his son to ride and been disappointed he hadn’t? It was hard to tell. Whatever it was, their discussion had ended abruptly, with both men walking away from each other, shoulders stiff.

  Jana walked toward the drawing room, which had been transformed into a ballroom. Most of the formal furniture had disappeared mysteriously, the rugs had been rolled up, and the floor had been highly polished for dancing. The women guests were beautifully dressed. The parade of jewels and finery was overwhelming. There were enough ruffles, flounces, bows, bustles, ostrich feathers, fine laces, ivory fans, and ornamental combs to tax the vocabularies of the island’s society page editors.

  The sounds of the party swirled around Jana: the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, the small bursts of laughter. It was a dizzying montage of movement and color. Menservants in bright, flowered shirts and white pants circulated with trays of iced tea or poured sparkling wine into crystal glasses never allowed to empty. A band of Hawaiian musicians in floral shirts and wearing maile—a fragrant, leafy vine—and leis were seated at one end of the large room. Their mellow guitars, backed by muted drums and the plink of ukuleles, provided a background of soft, melodic sound.