Spoils of Eden

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “It is indeed Dr. Chen’s journal. And I’ve worked hand in hand with him on many of these same techniques for the last five years. Because this journal is mostly Chen’s research, it gives reason for the Board to fund its printing. Was Chen not correct about chaulmoogra oil before one of our own colleagues incorporated its usage?”

  Eden had studied the findings from the chaulmoogra, an East Indian tree, which gave a brownish-yellow oil, or “soft fat,” that was taken from the seeds of the tree and used in the treatment of leprosy and skin diseases. She’d even heard of certain cases of leprosy where the patient had actually experienced a reversal of symptoms.

  “That is true, Jerome. No complaint is intended toward you or the deceased. Nevertheless, we cannot rush this matter through, just to have you open a clinic next month. This matter will take time, effort, and money.”

  “We’ll do what is possible,” one of the leading physicians said calmly. “We’ll hold another meeting next Monday. Liliuokalani will have returned by then. Isn’t that so, Dr. Bolton?”

  “I believe so. I’ll contact members of her cabinet first thing tomorrow morning.”

  The meeting ended in a dull thud as the prized journal slipped from her father’s hand and dropped to the floor. Eden scooped it up and handed it to him. His hand shook as he took hold of it and placed it inside his satchel.

  Lana spoke to her privately, later in the afternoon as the working day drew toward its close, and buggies and carriages were gathering out front to bring the leading staff to their homes in Honolulu. “Matters don’t look promising, Eden.”

  Eden agreed, troubled and disappointed. “At least Dr. Bolton agrees with him on the need for the research clinic.”

  It was out of friendship with Jerome that Dr. Bolton was trying to make a case to the members of the Board to sign the recommendation and send it on to the Legislature and ultimately to Queen Liliuokalani.

  “Clifford’s a missionary doctor at heart,” Lana said. “He always was. I think he’d be a more contented man serving under an American mission board than the Hawaiian government. He has great compassion for lepers.” Her eyes sparkled with life as she spoke of the man she had once almost married. Then the lines on the bridge of her nose tightened. “Oh, Eden, sometimes I worry so about all of this. I think Clifford takes too many risks.”

  “You mean by supporting Dr. Jerome?”

  “No, not that. I, too, support Jerome’s efforts. But this morning I found Clifford in one of the leper wards having coffee with one of the newer patients. He has the tendency of ‘touching and comforting,’ which reminds me of the errors made by Priest Damien. It scares me.”

  When Eden returned to Kea Lani it wasn’t lepers she had on her mind, but Ling Li. She hadn’t seen him around the hospital or Kea Lani recently. She tried to remember when she had see him last. Perhaps it had been around the time of the Rat Alley alert.

  It troubled her that Ling was nowhere to be found on Kea Lani. Shed even gone to the new bungalow where Ling’s family lived, and she had spoken to his wife, Hui. Strangely, Hui too, had not seen him.

  “Ling not come home,” Hui had told her tensely. “Have not seen him since after fire. He go to find Mister Easton. I worry. You help find where Ling is?”

  Where could Ling be? Was this related to the fire?

  “I tell you Ling in trouble. Fire bad luck. Plenny bad fortune. Should have stay in Shanghai running rickshaw. Better than fires everywhere. Dead son. Bad fortune. Stars say much trouble.”

  Eden had stood with Hui outside the grass hut located near the cane fields. She put a consoling hand on her arm. “Remember what we talked about in the Bible class, Hui? Don’t trust the stars for guidance and blessing. Trust the Maker of the stars. You’ll come again this Sunday?”

  “Yes, I come. Much worried.”

  That next Sunday, after Eden attended worship service at the mission church, she took the horse and buggy and her Bible over to the Hawaiiana pineapple plantation. The promise she’d made to teach the wives of the Christian Chinese cane workers was well into its third Sunday, and thus far the meetings were progressing. Her lessons were of necessity quite simple because the ladies and children knew only what was called “pidgin English.”

  Eden discovered that if she taught simple Bible stories, the children could understand; the women, too, responded with full attention. She brought drawings with her in a large portfolio, some made by the artistry of Great-aunt Nora when she was younger and before she’d turned from painting to writing history. Eden used these drawings to clarify stories from the four Gospels, such as when Jesus raised the young daughter of Jairus, the son of the widow of Nain, and Lazarus. These profound acts of Christ raising the dead held them spellbound. Over several months she would ultimately teach up to the crucifixion of Jesus on the cross and His bodily resurrection from the rock-sealed tomb. Then, she would emphasize God’s forgiveness of sin through Jesus’ sacrificial death. “The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin,” she would have them memorize.

  It was a warm and breezy morning with a topaz sky, green foliage, and a green-blue sea. Eden secretly hoped she might “accidentally” run into Rafe Easton, but he was nowhere around Hawaiiana. Keno, too, she hoped to meet. The questions she wanted to ask him about Kip were ever in her heart. But she didn’t see Keno near the bungalow for the men’s class. There was a young Hawaiian teaching from a Bible, a relative of Noelani. Keno is undoubtedly with Rafe on the Big Island, thought Eden.

  After the class, Eden was putting her materials back into the buggy when a horseman appeared from the trees alongside the road. Eden paused and shielded her eyes from the glare. Uncle Townsend. Had he come to see Celestine at the plantation house?

  Townsend rode up, a muscled form in white clothes and hat, a whip fastened to the side of his saddle. Eden hated the whip. What he did with it, she didn’t know. She suspected it was decoration that harmonized with his personality.

  “Good afternoon, Uncle.”

  “Eden, do you know if Rafe is anywhere about?”

  “I haven’t seen him since Rat Alley. I believe he’s on Hanalei.”

  He gave a nod, his cool blue eyes busily taking in the huts and pineapples growing in the warm sunshine, as far back toward the hills as the eye could see.

  “Most likely. Is Celestine with him?”

  The question surprised her. Where was Rafe’s mother? It dawned on her that she hadn’t seen Celestine in weeks either. She’d taken it for granted that Celestine might be deliberately staying out of sight because of Townsend. Was she well? Could the bruises on her face have anything to do with her keeping out of view?

  “Why, I thought she was up at the plantation house,” Eden said, hiding her unease. “She hasn’t been well. She wasn’t at church this morning.” Or for a number of weeks, come to think of it, but she kept that quiet. “Noelani comes up nearly every day.”

  “I just came from there. Noelani claims she hasn’t seen her.”

  We seem to have a lot of missing people recently. Do they have anything in common?

  “If she’s up at the plantation, she won’t answer the door or return my messages,” Townsend complained.

  “Then she must be on the Big Island with Rafe.”

  “Then maybe I’ll need to go there.” His face hardened. “Rafe would like that. He’d like to show me around his new plantation and boast of his father’s enterprise of planting Kona coffee.”

  Eden kept silent. Why shouldn’t Rafe take pleasure in his father’s accomplishments? It hadn’t been all that long ago when Townsend himself had boasted of Hanalei, having contributed nothing to its establishment.

  “The nurse in me must ask how your injury is coming,” she said, gaining the boldness necessary to ask the question that had troubled her since the fire at Ling’s hut.

  His broad brow furrowed, as though at first he didn’t understand her question. Then, she saw the corner of his mouth drag. His steady gaze held her to the spot
. “That was a terrible accident, Eden. Thank God you and the others got out safely. I swear I didn’t know you were inside. I hope you believe your uncle wouldn’t go burning the roof down over your head!”

  “Of course not, Uncle.”

  “I admit I got carried away. That’s one of my problems, you know. Anger. Can’t control myself sometimes. Well, you know about that. But that filthy plague was a threat, and it was Ling’s son who died. I was keyed up to get rid of anything that might threaten us at Kea Lani.”

  “Yes, of course, Uncle. Was it your knee you injured when the horse bucked you?” His injury had been the reason why he couldn’t come to help them get out of the hut. It had been Silas who’d come at the right moment.

  “My back and shoulder. They’re improving now. I can ride comfortably again. If you do see Celestine, tell her to respond to my messages. It’s important I talk to her.”

  He turned his horse and rode back toward the road in the direction of Kea Lani. Eden watched him ride away. Now there, she thought sadly, is a deeply troubled man.

  When Townsend was gone, Eden walked around and climbed into the buggy, still in thought, when Zachary walked toward her from out of the trees and growth. “Wait up, Eden. I’ve got a letter for you from Candace.”

  She waited, seated in the buggy, holding the leather reins in her gloved hands. “Where did you come from?” she asked.

  “The trees, where I was concealed. I was coming up from the mission church when I saw my father. I thought it best not to be seen.”

  “You still haven’t made amends with Townsend?”

  “He’s not in an agreeable mood, as you should have been able to tell. He rides around with that whip like he’d enjoy using it—probably on me.”

  “Most likely on anyone who stands in his way.”

  “So you noticed. What did he want by the way?”

  Eden looked off toward the plantation house of Hawaiiana, white and wonderful in the sunlight, thinking again that this might have been hers if she’d married Rafe. A sadness rode the rustle of wind in the palms. Everything was so silent. And Rafe, gone.

  “He was asking about Celestine. She doesn’t answer his messages.”

  “I don’t blame her,” Zachary said.

  “Have you seen her recently?” she asked curiously.

  He shook his golden head. “Not since the dinner two months ago. But then, I never did see much of her after she came here to be under Rafe’s protection. She must be at Hanalei.”

  “Townsend is going there,” Eden said uneasily. “This could mean trouble.”

  “Townsend usually means trouble. But Rafe can take care of himself and Celestine. I’ve been thinking about the fire at Ling’s shack,” he said. “Strange how Silas came on the scene not a moment too soon.”

  “The Lord was gracious,” she said.

  “Yes, it was by God’s providence, and it might also mean Silas knows more than he’s telling. He may have been suspicious of Townsend setting it on purpose, and kept out of sight to see what happened. When it did happen, well, then … ” He jerked a shoulder and frowned. “Strange, all of it.”

  Was he actually suggesting his father had deliberately tried to harm them? She kept silent, troubled by the direction of his thoughts.

  He looked at her soberly. “I talked to Rafe. He’s doing well in the Legislature. He has a natural gift for leadership. He’s already getting things moving on several issues he’s interested in. By the way, he knows about the fire, and he too thinks it’s strange how Silas got you out of the hut.”

  “I hope you didn’t mention it was Townsend that lit the fire.”

  “He already had guessed that.”

  She studied him, alert. “Why?”

  Zach shrugged, began to say something, then stopped. “Here comes Ambrose, walking.”

  Eden turned in the seat to look over her shoulder, feeling a jab of guilt, for she’d taken Ambrose’s buggy and horse.

  “Something’s up,” Zachary said. “Let’s hope it’s good news. Oh—here’s the letter from Candace. She’s gone over to Tamarind to stay with Great-aunt Nora. Ol’ Oliver is getting more serious about his courting, so Candace ran off. Don’t blame her.” He walked to meet Ambrose.

  Eden took Candace’s letter and put it aside while she turned her attention to Ambrose, whose silvery hair glinted in the sunlight. Ambrose was notorious for forgetting his hat. A large-boned man and tall, his stride kept pace with Zachary’s.

  He greeted Eden and pretended to be out of sorts that she’d run off with his buggy and horse. “Don’t you know this is my calling day? Why, I’ve got a dozen families to see before we hold service again tonight. And you ran off with my nag and buggy.”

  “Sorry, but I expected to be back before you missed your nag and buggy,” she teased back. “Uncle Townsend delayed me, asking about Celestine. Then Zachary brought me a letter from Candace. She’s at Tamarind.”

  “Hiding from Hunnewell,” Zachary said. “Great-aunt Nora’s asking you to go see her, Eden.”

  “Is she ill?” Eden asked worriedly.

  “Something’s bothering her. Maybe more than her health.”

  “Then I’ll go. But I’ll need to meet my father at Iolani Palace when Dr. Bolton arranges a meeting with members of the Legislature.” She wondered whether one of those in the Legislature would be Rafe. “I’ll drive you back to the church, Ambrose,” she said cheerfully. “I left some things at the bungalow.”

  “Don’t listen to her excuse, Ambrose,” Zachary said with equal good cheer. “Eden just knows Noelani’s got Sunday chicken and pineapple cake with coconut waiting.”

  “Then you’ll need to get there first before she eats it all,” Ambrose told him, climbing up into the buggy and taking the reins from Eden.

  Zachary ran toward his horse, and Eden laughed. For a little while at least, it seemed that happier times had returned.

  Ambrose drove the buggy back toward the mission church. Eden tied her hat in place and relaxed in the refreshing afternoon breezes, looking out at the expanse of sea. “Ambrose, how much do you actually know about Kip’s background? Do you know who his mother was?”

  Ambrose was quiet for too long. “Rafe’s my nephew. He’s more like a son. But he’s also my spiritual son in the faith. I’d betray the trust between us if I spoke of matters I’ve no right to discuss without permission.” He looked at her, his dark eyes earnest. “Rafe’s the one to ask about Kip.”

  “I intend to ask him,” she said firmly. “I have several questions that should be answered.”

  “I agree. You can tell him I said so. I’ve some other news to discuss,” Ambrose told her as they rode along. “I’ve been in touch with Rebecca and her kokua. There was a young Hawaiian fellow recently sent to Kalawao with beginning leprosy. His name is Kelolo. I’ve known him since he was a boy. He has leprosy in one ear. Maybe you recall him?”

  Eden thought hard but in the end couldn’t place the name or the young man.

  “He may have many years of independence left at the camp,” Ambrose said. “He’s a Christian lad, with a habit of reading adventure books, though I’d rather he read books like Pilgrim’s Progress. I wrote Rebecca about him and asked her to keep an eye on him for a few weeks until he adjusted. He was naturally depressed when he left. Her kokua found him and introduced him to Rebecca. Rebecca’s been kind, as she always was, and rather mothering in nature. She’s suggested Kelolo become useful to the Lord during his better times there. Since he’s interested in books and writing, Rebecca wants to start a little newspaper for the colony, with Kelolo running it and writing up stories. But we need a printing press. Now, if we can get a printing press, I can teach Kelolo how to set up the running of it and the typesetting. If you remember, I used to help Nora with the Gazette early on, till I took over the mission church.”

  Eden, excited, smiled. “That’s a splendid idea, Ambrose! Why, think of the encouragement a news journal could be to the colony. And Kelolo could print Bi
ble messages, too.”

  “So we thought. Maybe some children’s stories and other helpful materials as well. The problem is the cost of the printing press and then delivering the machine to Kalawao. No easy task, as you well know. It would take some real skillful handling of ship and men to get the press delivered dry.”

  Eden frowned. “With the money we Derringtons and Eastons have, it shouldn’t be a problem to buy a printing press.”

  “They are very expensive, Eden. The problem is, the Derringtons and Eastons may have money, but unless Ainsworth or Nora is willing to put it out, it won’t do us much good.”

  “I know Nora is already having financial troubles. She needs a loan for the Gazette. All her wealth is in land, houses, and such like. Grandfather Ainsworth could afford a printing press, but he’s not likely to be much enthused about it. He takes scant interest in the doings at Molokai.”

  “Well, we will begin a printing press fund,” Ambrose said. “We’ll spread the word around and see what may turn up. The Lord is our provision. We’ll make it a matter of prayer. Prayer will involve the hearts of the Hawaiian Christians, and that is good. They can have a part in something that brings Christ to Molokai.”

  Eden didn’t know how much inheritance she would receive from Grandfather Ainsworth—maybe little or nothing once he discovered her willfulness in not marrying Rafe. “I’ll mention the printing press to Jerome, too,” she said. “If Rebecca wants it for Kelolo to have a cause worth living for, I’m sure my father will take an active role in helping make it a reality.” Eden, too, wanted to get the printing press to Molokai in honor of her mother. “But how to deliver it once we have one?” she asked.

  Ambrose rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking of Rafe’s ship, the Minoa. If anyone could deliver a printing press and see it delivered dry, my vote would be on Rafe and Keno.”

  Eden remained tactfully silent. Yes, she’d place her vote of confidence in Rafe as well. But would he be willing to involve himself with Kalawao? Still, could the printing press be a legitimate reason to visit Hanalei where she could also talk to Rafe about Kip and Ling?