Blackwell's Homecoming (Blackwell's Adventures Book 3)

by V. E. Ulett

  Aloka squeezed her hand. “What do you make of this house party of Lord Cochrane’s?”

  “I would really rather drink bilge water than spend a week in the country with those two. But why do you ask me now, after you promoted the plan so to Mama and Papa?”

  She let go Aloka’s hand.

  “You put me in mind of dear Ed just now.” Aloka grinned at her. “I have a particular reason for wishing to travel out to this plantation. And it ain’t for the company of his lordship and his lady—”

  “You were very charming to her tonight.”

  “I know better than to bring the quarterdeck to the supper table. I am already cried out against enough as a goddamn savage.”

  Emma smiled, and gave Aloka an arch look.

  “Admiral Cochrane says it is a two days journey by mule to the property,” Aloka said. “If we contrive to travel separately, with one of the country people to guide us, we shall have two days and a night to ourselves.”

  Emma sat considering. Certainly Mercedes would not choose to go. She was delighted with the house, the only one sufficiently grateful for her efforts in Emma’s opinion. There were flower, herb, and vegetable gardens for her to walk in, and her own and her neighbors’ orchards. Local women had been hired to cook and clean for them, and Mercedes was content. Valparaiso was much like her native Monterey, she’d said. As for Captain Blackwell, he might put up with an English nag but he would never countenance a foreign mule.

  “You are a clever savage,” she said.

  Aloka lunged at her. Somehow in the sequence that followed Emma ended up in his lap, kissing him.

  Kapihe’s operation was to take place in the Hawaiian’s Valparaiso abode. Chilean houses of the middling sort had only one window, and that was in the main room. His surgery would be done on the estrada, a raised wooden platform that ran along one side of the long room, where the ladies were accustomed to sit and visit. The medical men were already there, methodically arranging their instruments; lancets, retractors, gags, graduated collecting bowls.

  Captain Blackwell and Aloka and the ladies were present, though Captain Blackwell hoped to miss the operation itself. His little group had been particularly summoned by Kapihe, and could not absent themselves.

  Kapihe came in and stretched obligingly out on the estrada, with his head in Li‘liah’s lap. He was clad only in a loincloth. Captain Blackwell believed this was for the sake of the sensitive Europeans, for Kapihe would otherwise have been naked for such an important event.

  “Come closer Ali‘i Blackwell, and Aloka, my son.” Kapihe looked at them with an anxious gaze.

  “How do you do, Kapihe? Are you ready to trust yourself to the white doctors?” Captain Blackwell asked in the native tongue. He very much hoped the doctors might give relief.

  “My life is in your hands,” Kapihe said with perfect trust, nodding and smiling at the medical men. “Should I go over the rainbow this day, I wish Aloka Blackwell to take my place as Hawaii’s admiral. He may in the course of years, even if I do not. That is my wish.”

  The group of Hawaiians collected round to view the operation nodded approvingly, all saving Kuanoa, who wore a froward, grave expression. Kapihe made known more of his wishes, in the same fashion as their sovereign King Kamehameha II had done; except Kapihe’s last will and testament was not written down. The Hawaiians, every man and woman listening, could most probably have repeated the old chief’s words exactly, using even the same tone and inflection.

  The doctors moved forward when Kapihe had said his peace. Captain Blackwell and his ladies, Aloka, and some of the Hawaiian contingent retreated to the entry hallway. After some hushed general conversation, Captain Blackwell took Aloka’s arm and urged him outside. When Emma began to follow them, Captain Blackwell gave her a stern look that made her blush and turn back to Mercedes.

  A good road passed in front of the Hawaiians’ cottage, bordered with brick made locally, and dropping in height on either side to the cultivated ground surrounding it. Captain Blackwell and Aloka walked along with pleasant views of fig, lemon, pomegranate, peach, pear, and apple trees; and the well tended chacras, or garden plots, of the landholders thereabouts. Valparaiso Bay could be seen from many vantage points.

  “God preserve Kapihe, sir,” Aloka said. “Can he have been serious about this admiral of Hawaii business? Could I be installed over other men’s heads, having never been in their Service?”

  Captain Blackwell considered. His son seemed to believe, as was perhaps common in the young, that he had all the answers. Matters of late had become more complicated than Captain Blackwell could have wished, with his children and in his professional life. Yet he had set himself up for a diplomat, and he supposed he must begin at once. He had a strong suspicion the Sandwich Islanders weren’t the only ones with an eye on Aloka for military service.

  “Very serious indeed, I should say.” Captain Blackwell gave Aloka a long stare. “Though I know little enough of the size of their fleet, or its’ organization, I do know that the ali‘i are much like feudal kings in their powers. Each a state unto his own, prior to Kamehameha the First at least.”

  They halted on a rise for a moment before a sweeping view of the bay. Below bread was baking in many earthen ovens, and the homely smell drifted up to them. Aloka looked pale, not yet up to his former weight. Captain Verson did right to put him ashore for a fortnight to rest and recuperate.

  “This is a most gracious land,” Aloka said, studying the richly planted sloping ground reaching down to the sea.

  “Do you remember Kauai at all?”

  Aloka smiled. “Bits and pieces. I...I saw my mother’s face when I was ill. It frightened me somehow.”

  “It was only the fever, son.”

  “I rather remember the house on O‘ahu, with you and the dear ma’am, and Edward. And those odd old white people, and black Saunders.”

  Captain Blackwell bowed his head, trying to hide his grin. He felt obliged to correct him. “The old missionary couple Mr. and Mrs. Bing, and Saunders. A prime hand, for all she is a woman. I hope for Mercedes’ sake she lives yet. They had a peculiar friendship.” He paused. “So you are to visit Lord Cochrane at Quintero.”

  “Aye, sir, provided all goes well with Kapihe. Lord Cochrane is sending a man to act as guide. He has arranged for us to spend the one evening in route at the hacienda of a family by the name of Carrera. Emma shall not have to sleep out of doors.”

  Captain Blackwell grunted, he knew all this from Mercedes. He supposed Aloka had much on his mind, much to consider, but he gave him a lecture anyway on keeping a private log of the distances and directions they travelled. He advised him not to trust to the native guide. In case of accident or exigency, Aloka must be able to navigate back on his own.

  Aloka listened and nodded respectfully.

  Captain Blackwell took a deep breath. “It is Mercedes who gives leave for Emma to travel with you to Quintero. I have tried not to interfere with how she’s brought up her children, for one thing she don’t like it. For my part I can’t fathom why either of you should cherish the company of Lord and Lady Cochrane.” He took Aloka’s arm momentarily, as they turned their steps back toward the Hawaiian’s cottage. “However it might be, I would not interfere in your affairs, now you are a grown man, but that Mercedes has asked me to speak to you. This love, honor, and obey business runs both ways, do you see?”

  Back at the cottage a tremendous quantity of fluid had been drained from Kapihe, and though he’d suffered much during the procedure, the relief he felt was great. The doctors finished and asked him how he did. “Maika‘i, ho‘o maika‘i” he exclaimed, which was translated to them as “Fine, bless you.” Li‘liah, much affected, kissed the old chief’s forehead with tears streaming down her cheeks. The last thing any of the Hawaiian contingent wanted was to lose one more of their own.

  The native guide Lord Cochrane commissioned, Pedro Gregorio, was a man much like Mr. Martinez; short of stature, lean, with a lined, leathe
ry, and tanned face. His humble attire belied the fact Don Pedro was a substantial land holder. He wore a linen shirt and cloth breeches, piped in colored listing at the seams and open at the knee over cloth gaiters and homemade shoes, the whole topped with a great pancho. He and his sons managed their own estates, and that of Quintero, gifted to Chile’s new admiral.

  He spoke in respectful and formal Spanish to Mercedes and Emma, while Captain Blackwell and Aloka stood by uncomprehending. He was invited to take maté tea and cake. Out of compassion Don Pedro made a short repast, the young people clearly anxious to begin the journey. The pleasantries concluded, he lead them to the stables belonging to the Blackwell’s landlord, where he’d left his animals under the care of an adolescent boy.

  It was not after all to be mules, and Aloka was glad of it. He was no horseman, and he feared he should be even more ridiculous mounted upon a mule. Emma on the other hand could command anything upon four legs. She immediately bonded with her rangy beast, the best of the three animals. What they lacked in beauty; being short, thin, and hairy; the little native horses made up for in wit.

  “He says they are much like dogs,” Emma told Aloka, turning in her saddle from chatting with Don Pedro.

  Aloka listened to their Spanish conversation as they passed along the Almendral and then through the outlying regions of Valparaiso. This land was all under cultivation. Melons, pumpkins, cabbages, beans and potatoes and maize. Fruit trees of every variety: apples, pears, almonds, peaches, oranges, olives and quince. One of the words Aloka managed to distinguish in Emma and Don Pedro’s discourse was esposo, husband, when Emma threw a significant glance in his direction. She was apparently telling Don Pedro a tale.

  It was just as well, they were traveling together and meant to be bed-fellows. If Aloka had his way, husband would be no tale. He began to ponder on the possibility of convincing one of the local priests to marry them. From the reputation the English gave Catholic priests, it should only be a matter of price.

  Aloka was shaken out of these ignoble thoughts when Emma called to him. They had entered upon the track that would take them to their resting place for the evening, at Viña a la Mar. He asked her to inquire of Don Pedro if they might make a halt, and he took out his pocket book and pencil. They stopped beside a high outcropping of rock, stretching out before and below them was a wide plain. Aloka made a quick sketch of the place and noted the time and their heading. He turned his book for Emma to see.

  She narrowed her eyes regarding it. “How Edward would laugh.”

  “To be sure, I’m no great fist. None of us are compared to him. How I miss dear Ed, there is no one like him.”

  “Don’t remind me, it will make me low, and I had much rather enjoy the ride. I should love a good gallop.”

  But for the first part of the journey there were none of those larks, for the way was through steep and rocky hills, and along precipices. The horses and a solitary mule carrying their dunnage and provisions and acting as madrina—a sort of godmother guide—showed their worth in sure-footedness rather than speed. They were always in sight of the sea, and with the towering Andes on one hand and the ocean on the other, the track seemed easy enough to keep. Aloka was a dutiful being, however. As he’d agreed to his father’s council he periodically made notations of their course.

  The countryside around Viña a la Mar was a pleasant contrast to the rocky rugged shore. A vast plain opened up to them, extensively planted in grapes. Beyond the vineyards the hills were covered in fine grass, upon which sheep and cattle grazed.

  “Much like Devonshire,” Emma said.

  “Except for those great mountains.”

  At ninety miles distance from the sea-shore the Andean cordillera loomed up, piercing the ever present cloud layer near the summits.

  “Oh no, nothing like that in England.”

  Shortly before dusk they arrived at the country estate of the Carrera family, a modest house, slightly larger but much in the style of their Valparaiso shore residence. They were cordially received, and at once Emma was offered milk flavored with cinnamon to brace her up after the fatigue of the journey.

  Aloka thought at first they were a household made up solely of women. A venerable mother and three daughters, the loveliest among them was recently made a widow by Chile’s war for independence. Aloka and Emma were given an excellent supper after the local fashion, and afterwards a brother of the family came in. Seventeen year old Jose Antonio had not yet become involved in politics, as had the rest of the men of his family. He had come in for the dancing, and to practice his English upon Aloka.

  Aloka was only too happy to oblige, Emma being wholly taken up with the ladies. It gave him an odd feeling to sit so long mum and dumb. He had an interesting talk with Jose Antonio, who spoke to him of the surrounding countryside, and the distance yet to be travelled to Lord Cochrane’s estate. It was from Jose Antonio that Aloka learned, much to his relief, that he and Emma were to pass the night in a little stone cottage high up in the vineyard.

  Before they proceeded to this earthly paradise, like any well mannered guests, Emma and Aloka had to participate in the evening’s entertainment planned by their hosts. This consisted in a dance called the cuando, which was first performed by Jose Antonio and one of his sisters, while another sister played the guitar and sang.

  “It represents a sort of loving quarrel between those who are meant to be together,” Jose Antonio explained.

  Aloka and Emma were made to partner in an attempt at the dance. Aloka, holding himself very upright and stamping his feet in imitation of the zapatear, sang the words of the song Jose Antonio had translated for him.

  When, when,

  when, my love, when,

  when will the day come,

  that joyful morn,

  when they bring the two of us

  hot chocolate in bed.

  Aloka thought Emma so graceful, so full of spirit, beauty, and strength, but it was his powers of imitation of the favorite song and dance that earned the most vocal praise. Aloka glanced quickly at Emma, afraid she might resent the caressing ways of the Chilean ladies. Still it was Emma to whom Aloka gave his arm when they were at last allowed to take their leave.

  They went out into the soft night carrying two lanterns, and escorted by Jose Antonio, Don Pedro having gone to pass the night at the rancho of nearby relatives. On the way to the stone cottage in the vineyard, fifteen minutes’ walking brought them to it, Jose Antonio explained to Aloka the track to take to a charming waterfall and pool. Aloka wished to visit the spot next morning, before proceeding on their journey.

  Jose Antonio watched with a look of envy as the couple entered the little dwelling and closed the door behind them. His was not the only gaze in the vineyard following Aloka and Emma into the stone cottage.

  The cottage was of one room only, which served as a combined dining, sleeping, and sitting area. Their canvas bags with their clothing and other possessions had been brought in earlier. Aloka was hanging a blanket from the rafters to screen off an area for washing and to place the chamber pot. With shaking hands Emma pulled linens and another blanket from her satchel to make up the bed. Four stakes were driven into the earthen floor, with leather thongs tied across them, and a thinly stuffed mattress rested atop.

  “The water is ready for you,” Aloka said.

  Emma straightened from making the bed. She gave him an awkward smile, pulled a dressing gown from among her clothing, and slipped into the washing space. Until now, as she washed the dirt of the journey from her skin, she had not felt tired. But she’d been under various strains throughout the day, not the least of which had been the rather tortuous evening they’d just spent with their hosts. Emma’s emotions before the Carrera sisters’ envy, and their admiration of Aloka, were complicated. He was a fine figure of a man, with a character and personal attributes to match. They believed him all hers, but at that moment she doubted she was woman enough to make and keep him so. For courage, Emma repeated to herself what
Mercedes had told her: “All men really want is what is different to themselves.”

  Aloka met her with a brilliant smile, rising from where he’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing only trousers. He led her to the bed, squeezed her hands, and disappeared round the partition where he made a quick wash. He told her that long ago, when he was a little boy and had bathed in the Pacific ocean and rivers of the Hawaiian Islands, he’d resented extremely this business of washing from a bucket.

  “You have the advantage of me,” Aloka said, emerging round the blanket. “You’ve seen me without clothes, I never have you.”

  “You may look now, if you wish.” She’d taken off her dressing gown, and lain down under the bedclothes nude. She might be green, but she wasn’t stupid.

  With a seaman’s care Aloka placed the lantern on an overturned barrel that served as a bedside table and lowered the flame of the oil lamp. He raised the bedclothes, and eased in beside her.

  “Lord, my love, you are the most...”

  Aloka pushed the bedclothes from her then, raised himself over her, gazing down at her body as he moved his hands underneath her and brought her up against him. In the next moments he covered her with kisses. Emma sighed and gave herself over to him, she felt his hands, his mouth, touching and caressing and kissing and suckling. She opened her legs to him when he put one hand between her thighs, and stroked her in the most tender, intimate way.

  Emma opened her eyes and looked at him, feeling moist and melted at her core, and longing for him to do...she did not know quite what.

  Aloka’s face was serious, and his voice low and husky. “If it hurts too much, tell me and I shall stop.”

  He heaved himself over her, Emma opened her legs around him. Aloka began kissing her again, and at the same time she felt his hard flesh nuzzling her. She’d seen him naked before, but certain parts of him had never looked then as they did now. Emma was a little horrified; she could not imagine how it would fit.