by Jane Peart
Tears came and streamed unabashedly down Jana’s cheeks as she hugged Tutu.
Later as she carried the quilt, which was swathed in protective tissue paper, back along the road home, Jana’s heart was full of tenderness. She knew that every stitch of the quilt had been an act of love. She had never appreciated Tutu’s caring and wisdom as much. In the space of the afternoon, she had eased Jana’s heartache, made her more fully understand that life sometimes requires sacrifice, effort, and time to make something beautiful of it, just as much as is required in the making of a quilt.
Jana knew she would cherish Tutu’s gift all the time she was away, daily learning the lessons it taught. Then one day she would bring it back to the island—one day it would have a place of honor in the home Jana was sure she would share with Kimo.
When she got home, she did not show the quilt to her mother. She was afraid, somehow, that it might hurt her. After all, her mother had also made two quilts for Jana to take with her.
Her mother’s quilts were beautiful. But they spoke of her home, her land—of the mountain laurel and pines of North Carolina, of the golden poppies and purple lupine of California, where she had lived before she came to Hawaii. It was Tutu’s quilts that spoke to Jana’s heart.
Carefully putting Tutu’s quilt at the bottom of her trunk, Jana said to herself, On the surface, I am doing what my parents want me to do, but I am my own person. My destiny is my own. They will always be haoles, not of this island. I was born here, belong here—this is my heart’s home, to which I shall always return.
The evening before she was to leave for Honolulu, Jana went in to say a private good-bye to her father, since he would not be there to see her off. She knocked softly at his study door, waited for his answer before turning the knob and entering.
He was at his desk, a pile of school reports spread out on its surface. He turned toward her, smiling. “Come in, my dear,” he greeted her, holding out one hand. “Come, sit down,” he invited. “Well, Jana, so it’s tomorrow then and you’re off—into the great world, is it? It’s all come soon, so much sooner than I—” He broke off. Still holding her hand, he drew her closer. “Sit down, let me have a good, long look at you.” She sat and her throat tightened as her father’s tender gaze lingered upon her. “You’re very talented, Jana, and I hope you realize it is a gift that you should cherish and develop—I think you will. I feel confident that although we may not have been able to prepare you for all you’re going to be facing in the future, at least we have given you a foundation that will stand you in good stead, whatever happens. Your mother and I count on you, Jana, to make the most of this opportunity.” He looked at her for a long moment before going on. “This is hard for you, I know, but hardships and sacrifices and separations from those you love are all part of life. They are all part of what we each have to learn.”
“Yes, Papa, I know.” Quite suddenly Jana saw him as through a stranger’s eyes. Her beloved father looked worn, suddenly older than she remembered noticing before. Everything, now that she was leaving, seemed to have added significance. She had never given much thought to how wearing his job must be, the constant interisland traveling, staff, committees, school board, student-teacher meetings, problems, complaints. Not wanting to cry, she got up and leaned down and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you, Papa, for everything.”
“We’ll miss you, dear, but it’s the right thing, and the time will pass more quickly than you think it will now.”
“Yes, Papa,” she whispered. For his sake, Jana did not let him see the tears just under the surface, the heartache she was hiding. She would spare him that.
At the door she turned and looked back. His head was already bent over the papers on his desk. Quietly she tiptoed out. Kimo was coming and this last good-bye would be the hardest.
They held hands, fingers locked, palms together, and walked down the path to the deserted evening beach. A palm tree, uprooted by a recent storm, lay on its side. Its scattered dry fronds crackled under their feet as they picked their way among large pieces of bleached driftwood until they found one to sit upon.
Kimo was unusually quiet. Jana’s departure was the dark cloud that had hung over them these past weeks. They had avoided facing it until now. Jana realized that he, more than anyone else, understood what her going away meant. He’d had the same kind of opportunity, and it had meant two years in Germany, away from Hawaii. Exile!
She knew Kimo was struggling against his own natural desire to keep her with him, so he could give her the courage she would need to say good-bye. A year, twelve long months—and then the future loomed uncertainly. The fear that lurked in both of their minds was that even then something might prevent their being together. Perhaps one of them might change—although Jana could not believe that would happen. Still, it lay heavily on both their minds, unspoken.
The clouds were turning pink, orange. For a few minutes the sky turned brilliant. Then the sun began its descent. Once, Kimo had told her that watching a sunset was to him almost a spiritual experience, so she was silent now beside him. The awe both felt was tinged with sadness. It would be a long time before they would share another sunset together.
If only, Jana thought wistfully, it could always be like this, never change, remain this beautiful moment, caught in an eternity. She put her head on Kimo’s shoulder. His arm went around her waist, drawing her close, and his chin rested on her hair. She could smell the scent of wood, the faint fragrance of sandalwood and koa that sometimes clung to him.
Kimo began to speak to her in a low tone, in both English and Hawaiian, so that the words sounded almost like poetry.
“Someday we will build our home on the top of the bluff, overlooking the beach, where the wind blows the palm fronds, making enchanted music for only us to hear…“
As Jana listened to his deep voice, melodic and soft in her ears, she was filled with happiness, knowing deep within her that this was the language of their love, the combination of two cultures, two minds, hearts, spirits, so closely joined that no translation was necessary. How many people in the world were lucky enough to have this kind of perfect understanding? In spite of her pain at parting, she was convinced that this was the person with whom she was destined to spend the rest of her life in this special place. They had pledged their love, just as her parents had, years ago, in the face of a long, dreadful separation, and it would last, whatever lay ahead.
Kimo put his fingers under her chin and turned her face toward him, then kissed her with infinite tenderness. “Aloha, Mau loa, kau a kau,” he said gently.
“Aloha, Kimo,” she replied.
Chapter Twenty-Five
May 1889
Once aboard the steamer to Honolulu, the fact that she was actually leaving Hawaii and on her way to the mainland became real to her.
Things had moved so quickly. Her father had business in Kona that morning and so had said his good-bye, giving her a new Bible as a going-away present. Then, accompanied by her mother and Nathan and surrounded by her luggage, she went by wagon to the dock, where Akela and Kimo were waiting to see her off. Of course, she and Kimo had already said their private good-bye. Now the unspoken things lay too deep to share, but they understood their mutual silence. The things they had spoken, the promises exchanged, they both considered as sacred as though they had been said before an altar.
At last the small boat’s whistle sounded. Eyes brimming with tears, Jana hugged Nathan, embraced her mother, and said her final alohas. Akela and Kimo both had leis for her. Akela’s was of carnations and plumeria blossoms, Kimo’s of yellow hibiscus. Knowing how far she was going and how long it would be before her return, it took every ounce of Jana’s will to give Kimo the traditional kiss, whisper, “Aloha,” turn away, and board the boat.
As the boat pulled out of the harbor, gradually her tears stopped. By the time she arrived in Honolulu, Jana had regained her composure. She realized that for the first time in her life, she was entirely on her own. Ne
rvous but excited, she asked directions to the information office. There she was told that the ship SS Umatilla was already loading passengers, and she was directed to its moored place at the dock.
Clutching her ticket, heart thumping, Jana went up the gangplank. At the top she was greeted by the ship’s officer, who then turned her over to a uniformed stewardess who led her through the passageway to the cabin.
“You’ll be sharing it, dear. With one of the missionary wives going home on furlough. She hasn’t arrived yet, so you can have your pick of bunk and chest,” the woman said briskly. “When you’ve settled in a bit, you’ll want to go back up on deck. The farewell is always interesting, band playing and all.” She smiled, then leaned forward and said in a stage whisper, “You’re going to have royalty for fellow passengers this trip.” She gave Jana a wink and then went out the door.
Royalty? Jana thought. Who could she mean? It was all very mysterious and exciting. She would be sure to take the stewardess’ advice and go back up on deck and see what was going to happen.
Jana explored the small, narrow cabin, then opened her suitcase and hung up the things she would need for the week’s journey. Most of her clothes were packed in her trunk. She unpacked her toilet articles, put them away. Then she lifted out the lovely quilt Tutu had given her, from the bottom of the larger of her two suitcases. Before placing it at the foot of her narrow bunk, she smoothed its delicate design tenderly. It would always remind her of the loving acceptance Kimo’s family had given her. It symbolized ohana, the Hawaiian word meaning family in the fullest sense of the word. Ohana, a beautiful reality. Because Kimo loved her, all the Kipolas loved her.
She shoved both suitcases under her bunk, then went out of the cabin, down the passageway, and up the steps. As she stepped out onto the deck, she noticed an audible stir among the passengers, a murmur that grew into a buzz circulating throughout the groups of people on deck. Aware that she was about to witness something unusual and exciting, Jana found a place at the railing just in time to see that it was the royal entourage coming up the gangplank. Jana could hardly believe her eyes. Princess Kaiulani!
Of course, she had often seen many pictures of the child who would one day be Hawaii’s queen, but she had never dreamed she would ever see her in person. She recognized her immediately. At fourteen, the princess was exquisite with her satiny golden skin, her thick, curling black hair, her rounded nose, her sweet, vulnerable mouth. She held the promise of even greater beauty as she grew into womanhood.
The princess was accompanied by the tall, splendid-looking gentleman who was her father, the Scotsman Archibald Cleghorn, husband of the Hawaiian princess Like-like, the younger sister of King Kalakaua.
As they came on board, for a moment Jana found herself close enough to look into the small, beautiful face of the princess. There was an instant of eye contact. Their gaze locked. In that moment, Jana saw something she recognized within the velvety depths of the dark brown eyes. Something for which she felt immediate empathy. Poor little girl! I know exactly how you feel. My heart aches, too. To leave this beloved land, to go to something strange, new, unknown. My heart aches for you.
All around Jana another rippling murmur swirled. Following the princess and her father came a tall, lanky, spectrally thin gentleman, a haole whom Jana also recognized. She had seen him photographed with the king. It was the famous writer-poet, Robert Louis Stevenson! He was a good friend of the king and of the royal family and was often a guest at the palace. Hollow-cheeked, long of nose, the man nevertheless had eyes that twinkled, and his mouth, under a drooping mustache, had a humorous tilt. He seemed to enjoy the celebrity he had among the people clustered on deck.
He was escorting an elderly woman. His mother? She looked like an aristocratic Scotswoman. Her dark, austere clothing oddly contrasted with the rest of the colorfully dressed company and the lei of brilliant flowers she was wearing.
Loud whispers ran from one passenger to the other, all crowding to see what they could see yet keeping a respectful distance from the group, to whom the ship’s crew were now showing decided deference.
Jana was thrilled to see, in person, the creator of some of her favorite stories. As the group passed out of view on their way to their suite of cabins, the other passengers thronged again to the railing to watch as the huge ship moved slowly out of the harbor. People leaned forward to get their last glimpse of Honolulu.
Jana felt the painful lump rise into her throat again as she looked down at the wake of cerulean blue waves taking them further out to sea. The scent of the plumerias and carnations in her leis rose fragrantly—she hated to part with them, and yet she was determined to carry out the tradition. According to the old legend, if a lei thrown from a departing ship floated out to sea, you would not return, but if it went instead toward the shore, that meant you would come back to Hawaii.
Gently she lifted the leis over her head and, one by one, tossed them over the railing as far as she could throw. Then she leaned forward, anxiously watching the direction in which they floated.
She held her breath, trying to keep her eyes on the strands of white, yellow, and lavender flowers riding on the surface of the water. First they bobbed this way and that. Oh no! she thought, as they seemed almost directionless. Then suddenly the yellow hibiscus lei seemed caught in a whirling wave and, like a skilled surfer, drifted shoreward.
The relief she felt brought tears to her eyes. The scene blurred and she blinked, trying to keep the lei in sight as it moved inland toward the beach.
Immediately the Scripture Matthew 6:21 came into her mind: “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
“Yes, yes, I will come back,” Jana promised herself. “Back to the land of my birth, of my heart, of my love.
“I will return…Aloha nui loa…”
How to Make a Hawaiian Quilt
In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Christian missionaries first brought the basic quilt-making techniques to the Hawaiian islands, and before long, a local tradition sprang up that diverged widely from that found in the continental United States. The nature of the Hawaiian quilt makes it nearly impossible to outline a simple method of making one, but those readers who are experienced in basic quilting will be aided in making a Hawaiian quilt by observing the following principles.
First of all, Hawaiian quilts do not rely on the building up of smaller repetitive square-and-diamond patterns in the way that many traditional quilts do. Rather, they display one large, overall design that can even look at times to the uneducated eye like a folded-paper cutting of a Christmas snowflake. Usually, a floral, vine, or other decorative pattern radiates from the center of the quilt, covering the entire surface with its pattern. The pattern repeats, in a sense, like a pie cut into four, six, or eight pieces, all radiating from the center. To get a sense of the traditional designs, we recommend that you study the designs in one of the books listed below.
Second, the Hawaiian use of color is different than in other quilt traditions. White is usually used for the background color, and the main pattern, which is frequently a silhouette motif, is usually rendered in a single bold color. This gives the quilt a brightly toned and high-contrast look, which is a reflection of the sunlit islands themselves. Sometimes other colors are added with smaller decorative pieces to the main pattern if more detail is desired.
Third, unlike most American quilts, every Hawaiian quilt is quite different. A Hawaiian quilt maker varies her design from quilt to quilt, developing a distinctive and recognizable style, but seldom repeating a pattern or element. This is different from Appalachian quilts, for instance, in which common forms and patterns are widely shared among quilt makers and repeated often from community to community. In a sense, the Hawaiians have a very strong tradition of individual expression in their quilt making, which makes this form especially appealing.
Aside from these differences, the techniques largely remain the same, from the designs being cut and appliquéd onto the layer
ed white fabric to their final stitching together. For details of the actual stitching techniques and sample designs, you might want to refer to the following books, which can be ordered from your local bookstore: Elizabeth Root, Hawaiian Quilting (New York: Dover, 1989); Milly Singletary, Hawaiian Quilting Made Easy (Singletary Publications, 1992); and Reiko M. Brandon, The Hawaiian Quilt (Honolulu: Honolulu Arts, 1989).
Acknowledgments
The author would like to acknowledge and thank the authors and publishers of the following books, which proved invaluable in the research and writing of The Promise.
Joseph Brennan, The Parker Ranch of Hawaii
Albertine Loomis, Grapes of Canaan: Hawaii 1820
Ruth Eleanor McKee, The Lord’s Anointed
Margaret G. Martin, Nattie Hammond Lyman, Kathryn Lyman Bond, and Ethel M. Damon, editors, The Lymans of Hilo
James Michener, Hawaii
Robert Louis Stevenson, Travels in Hawaii
A. Grove Day and Carl Stroven, editors, A Hawaiian Reader
Armine von Tempski, Born in Paradise
About the Publisher
Founded in 1931, Grand Rapids, Michigan-based Zondervan, a division of HarperCollins Publishers, is the leading international Christian communications company, producing best-selling Bibles, books, new media products, a growing line of gift products and award-winning children’s products. The world’s largest Bible publisher, Zondervan (www.zondervan.com) holds exclusive publishing rights to the New International Version of the Bible and has distributed more than 150 million copies worldwide. It is also one of the top Christian publishers in the world, selling its award-winning books through Christian retailers, general market bookstores, mass merchandisers, specialty retailers, and the Internet. Zondervan has received a total of 68 Gold Medallion awards for its books, more than any other publisher.