In the morning, not even sure if she had slept, she climbed out of her bed, wrapped herself in the blanket and went out to the porch. A wide-open sky was there to greet her, baby blue and cloudless. She rubbed her eyes to make sure she was seeing clearly.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She brewed a pot of coffee, then sat on the one corner of the porch with sun. It was a new world, achingly beautiful in its sharp edges of greens pressed against the sky. The geese were up, waddling through the dewy grass, searching for bugs, and the honeycreepers were out in force. The forest sounded like one big concert of chirps. She waited for the rest of the house to get up, but no one stirred. Worried about Mochi, she poked her head into their room. Benji was sitting up, bleary-eyed, and Mochi was still lying down, scrunched into a ball.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Mochi couldn’t get warm last night. I’m going to light a fire right now,” Benji said, standing up and heading out.
“You should have come and gotten me,” she said.
“I was asleep, and when I woke up, I found him shivering like this,” he said as he passed.
“I half thought it was going to snow,” she said.
Lana came in and bent down next to Mochi, feeling his forehead, which was hot and clammy.
“I’ll be fine,” Mochi said, turning to look up at her. His lips were the color of blueberries and his face pale.
She placed her blanket over him. “I’ll fix you some tea, and once we get the fire going, you are to stay next to it all day. And that’s an order.”
“No fussing over me.”
There was a commotion in the hallway, and Coco and Marie appeared in the doorway, wearing knitted hats and scarves and gloves. Sailor had a scarf wrapped around her neck, too, and did not look pleased. They might have been in the Swiss Alps for all anyone knew, with their pink noses and rosy cheeks.
“Good morning, ladies,” Lana said.
Coco held Hoot in one arm and a small torn blanket in the other. Her big blue eyes were rimmed in red. “I’m ready to go home now,” she whimpered.
“No offense, Mrs. Hitchcock, but maybe we ought to reconsider. I’ve never been so cold in my life,” Marie said.
“I take it you two have never been to Germany?”
Both shook their heads vigorously. In truth, Lana had never been so cold in Hawaii, even up here at the volcano. Without a thermometer it was hard to tell, but she wouldn’t have been surprised if it was in the high thirties.
Coco blew out. “Look, there’s smoke coming out of my mouth.”
“It’s just your warm breath mixing with the cold air,” Lana said.
“I wanna go home.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she turned and buried her face in Marie’s side, her little fingers gripping Marie’s sweater.
Just when Lana had come to terms with making this plan work, the world was throwing in another wrench.
“Listen, let’s get some hot cocoa and light a fire and we can talk about it.” Again. She rubbed Mochi’s back, feeling his protruding spine. “Mochi, I’ll bring you tea and honey—this honey here is healing—and grab you when the fire’s going.”
In the kitchen she sat the girls down. “I know this is hard on all of us, but right now we need to make sure that Mochi is okay and get the fire going for him. He’s not well. Marie, can you and Benji drag the mattress out from the bedroom and set it in front of the fireplace? I can make some hot cocoa. Once that’s handled, we can go make some phone calls,” she said.
“Is Mochi going to die?” Coco asked.
“Why do you always think everyone’s going to die?” Marie replied.
“I heard people talking last night about it. And he looks dead.”
Marie held her finger up. “Shh, don’t say that so loud.”
Heard people?
“There was a man and a lady arguing about bringing him over. The woman wanted to and the man kept saying not yet,” Coco said, as though this was perfectly normal.
“Sounds like a vivid dream,” Lana said.
“It wasn’t a dream.”
Marie stood up. “I’ll go grab the mattress,” she said, leaving Lana alone with Coco.
Lana knew about the extra senses from her father. His favorite book on the subject was The Call of the Soul, full of the unexplained and psychic phenomena. She was intrigued by these so-called voices. “Have you always heard things that other people can’t?”
Coco shrugged. She was chewing on her lip again, which had developed a small raw patch. She looked ready to burst into tears again and stared into her lap.
Lana got up and stirred the warm milk, giving the girl some space. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, honey. I’m just curious. There have been times over the years when I had that sense, too. Just not as strong.”
That faint buzzing before tragedies, and how the air changed color. These were things she spoke about only to Jack, who believed the human mind was largely uncharted territory. As a girl, she loved to sneak her father’s books when he was out and read about life’s mysteries—the transference of thought, memories of past lives, and quantum mechanics, among others. The questions had always been there.
“It seems ordinary to me,” Coco said, in a small voice.
“I’m sure it does, but since not everyone can see or hear what you can, it’s truly extraordinary. Think of it as a gift, something special.”
“My dad never believed me.”
“Some people only believe in what they can see. Say, would you like some cinnamon in your hot cocoa?”
Here she was talking to Coco as if she were some kind of expert, when the truth was she was unsure herself. Maybe having kids around forced you to straighten out your beliefs. Above anything, Coco deserved to feel safe here. And Lana wanted to keep an open mind. Lord knew that Jack would have.
“Yes, please.”
Lana placed a hand on her small shoulder. “I believe you. Whenever you hear something or see something, you can tell me, okay?”
Coco nodded.
Once they got Mochi out by the fire and onto the mattress full of blankets, his lips returned to a normal color and he finally stopped shivering. The sun was also high enough to cut through the window and send tendrils of warmth through the room. Eventually Mochi sat up for his tea and managed to take small sips. Benji looked more frightened than Mochi throughout the ordeal, and once Mochi was resting again, Lana pulled Benji outside.
“How long has he been like this?” she asked.
“A couple of months ago he got skinny, and then he’d wake up all sweaty. The cough has been at least six months.”
“Has he seen a doctor?”
“I tried to make him go, but he refuses.”
Men and their stubbornness. Or maybe it was just older people. Or maybe it was just people in general who held on to their notions and beliefs with the grip of an angry two-year-old, herself included. Why was it so hard to just let go?
“We have to finish up this wall today,” she said.
“I’m on it, Mrs. Hitchcock.”
“You’re a lot like him, you know.”
Unassuming, efficient and dependable.
He wiped a tear with the back of his hand. “Thanks.”
THE VOLCANO HOUSE
Coco put up a huge fuss and was ready to stow away in the truck, but Lana swore on a stack of Bibles she would come back and get the girls if their parents answered the phone.
“At this point, the less attention on us, the better. And plus, you two can keep an eye on Mochi. He could use the company,” Lana said.
Along the drive she caught herself holding her breath on several occasions, fretting over her phone call going unanswered or finding Kano Store deserted. Wondering how long they could stay out here without anyone noticing, or without Mochi dying. O
nce she reached the paved section, she checked herself in the mirror. What a wreck—ugly blue bruise on her forehead, shadows under her eyes and cracked lips. Not that any of that mattered.
With the sun dazzling, it was easy to forget there was a war going on around them. The birds went about their business fluttering through the forest canopy, the ‘ohi‘a blossoms kept right on blooming, and a mother and three baby spotted pigs were rooting up a patch of ginger.
She slowly rolled past the Japanese schoolhouse, where there was no sign of life, and a few minutes later pulled up to Kano Store. The door was open and someone had set out bunches of anthuriums. Lana let out a small sob of relief. She rushed up the steps to find Mrs. Kano sitting behind the counter in the exact same spot as yesterday, plucking stems from ‘o¯helo berries.
“Mrs. Kano, thank heavens you’re here,” she said.
“I told you.”
Iris walked in from out back carrying a bucket. “Beautiful morning. Would you like some plums?”
Lana couldn’t care less about the plums. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did it go yesterday?”
Iris set down the bucket on the counter, her pretty face looking tired.
“They already had my father there. They’d picked him up in the fields and took him to the military camp. We each went in separately, and two men in suits searched us and asked us every question in the book. Wanting to know every detail about where my grandparents came from. If my grandmother sends things back to Japan. If my father attends secret meetings and if we’ve been in communication with Japanese spies. They kept pushing for answers that we didn’t have.”
“What did they say when they let you go?” Lana asked.
“They assigned us to Mr. Dunn, who will be dropping in to check on us regularly. And Baba was right—I think they would have held on to my father if they didn’t need him to grow their food. They kept Mr. Shigetani from the school.”
“What a fiasco. Did you see where they had the prisoners?”
“No, but a crew of workers was busy putting up a fence around the barracks, so I’m guessing there.”
“What do you think they’re planning on doing with them?” Lana said.
“Gladys Tatsui has been sneaking around saying they’re going to be executed and that we need to break them out. Her husband was head of the judo group and is now being held.”
Lana gasped. “Surely they won’t be executed.”
Talk like that wasn’t going to help anyone. But Lana felt for the woman and tried to imagine herself in her shoes. How many of these men were guilty of spying or aiding the homeland, and how many were just going about their lives trying to survive? Like Mochi.
“You never know.”
The weight of it all settled like a lead ball in her stomach. “Did you see any Germans?”
“Germans?”
“German prisoners. My dad’s neighbors.”
“I was told to look straight ahead while we were walking,” Iris said.
Lana glanced at Mrs. Kano. “Did you?”
“I could only see the big back of that army man. He dropped off your bike this morning, by the way,” the old woman said.
Lana had been half expecting the bike not to be there, since it sounded like Major Bailey had his hands full. Iris led her out back, with Mrs. Kano shuffling after them. The bike was propped up against the wall, in top shape. It almost looked as if he’d polished it. She was ashamed to admit it, but a small part of her had been hoping to run into him here.
“He must not be all bad,” Mrs. Kano said.
Lana felt herself blush slightly and hoped they didn’t notice. “Thoughtful of him, certainly.”
“He left a note taped to the seat.”
She waved it off. “Probably just being polite.”
“The man isn’t blind.”
Iris jumped. “She’s married, Baba.”
“Look, I’m just happy that my bike and I are okay, and, more important, that you two weren’t kept. I also came to ask if I could buy some nails and use your telephone.”
The phone was behind the counter, and Lana squeezed in next to Mrs. Kano, who busied herself with the ‘o¯helo berries again. Lana hoped and prayed that Ingrid or Fred would answer. If Iris and Mrs. Kano had been released, there was a chance the Wagners had been, too. But she still had a sense that their case was different. She dialed. The phone rang and rang, and she was about to hang up when someone answered.
“Wagner residence,” a man’s voice said.
Caught off guard, Lana lowered her voice and said, “Is this Mr. Wagner?”
“Who’s calling, please?”
Dutch London.
“This is Dottie Laird, a friend from Kona. Are they in?”
“I’m afraid they aren’t. Mr. and Mrs. Wagner were taken in by the FBI and have not returned.”
His voice boomed through the phone, hurting her ears, and she had to hold the receiver several inches away from her head.
“Oh, my! Is there any word when they’ll be released? And what about the girls?”
“Your guess is as good as mine on that. The girls are another story. They were kidnapped by a neighbor,” he said.
The back of her knees felt hot. “Kidnapped, you say? How dreadful.”
“They’re on my watch and they were taken without my permission. Where I’m from, that amounts to kidnapping. But I’ll find ’em, rest assured, ma’am.”
“Perhaps the neighbor has only good intentions, like keeping them safe,” she couldn’t help but say.
There was a pause on the other end, and she could hear him breathing. “Where did you say you are, Mrs....”
“Laird. I’m in Kona. Well, thank you for the update. I must go now.”
She hung up the phone. Would he be able to determine where she’d been calling from? Had she given herself away? Even though it was called the Big Island, it really was a small island. With so few people compared to O‘ahu, a person in Hilo could easily find out information about someone in Kona. All it took was a phone call. Up here at Volcano was different, though; most of the new population was military, with a few old-timers hidden away in the rain forest.
Mrs. Kano didn’t look up but said, “Mrs. Laird, in Kona? And who was kidnapped?”
Lies did not come naturally to Lana, and here were people she felt she could trust. “Oh, Mrs. Kano, it’s a long story. The man I was talking to is not a good man. I promise I will explain soon, but I need to get over to the Volcano House as soon as I can.”
“I have plenty of time.”
Lana had a sudden thought. “I don’t, not right now, but can you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Will you keep an eye on police cars coming by? See if there’s any haole in the back, would you? Mr. Wagner has light brown hair, and Ingrid has shoulder-length wavy blond hair.”
Iris said from across the room, “We’re not always up front, but we can try.”
They said their goodbyes, and Iris helped her load the bicycle into the back of the truck. She pulled the note off at the last minute and shoved it into her pocket. She wanted to know what it said, and yet she was more afraid of what it might not say. Her heart sped up. The paper burned against her thigh as she drove.
Volcano House was only a few miles up the road from Kano Store. As she neared, the smell of sulfur wafted through the windows. At the front gate two sentries stopped her.
“Ma’am?” said one, leaning down to get a better look.
She handed over her driver’s license. “Hello, gentlemen. I’m here to see Theo Karavitis.”
“Business or personal?”
She was about to say personal, but thought the better of it. “Business. Major Bailey has sent me on a mission.”
The guard handed back her license, stepped aside and waved her in without a
nother word. Since her last visit, roads had been improved and there was a new stone Volcano Observatory and Naturalist Building, almost completed. As she came around the corner to the Volcano House, a wave of nostalgia rose up. Memories of the big stone hearth and the fire that had by all accounts been burning there since 1877. Of moonlit walks along the crater floor and being scared silly but too afraid to walk back alone.
The new structure was a red two-story, no-nonsense affair with an even grander stone chimney than the last, and the most spectacular view in the world. Perched on the rim of the caldera, one could have a front-row seat to whatever was happening in Halema‘uma‘u—the smaller crater within the caldera—at the time. Halema‘uma‘u was where the lava lakes formed. Had she been here yesterday, the fog would have blocked everything, but today she could see the whole outline of Mauna Loa and alternating landscape of lava and forest.
Lana had expected the place to feel like a ghost town, but there were a handful of employees and a few uniformed men riding on horseback. She waved as she walked past. No one was at the front desk, so she walked out to the vast lobby. The old fire burned hot. Walls were lined with framed photographs of spewing fountains of molten lava. She walked over to a glass table, which held green olivine crystals, lava bombs, and Pele’s hair and tears—strands and pieces of volcanic glass.
“Can I help you?” said a booming voice behind her.
She jumped. “I’m looking—”
Recognition dawned in the old man’s eyes when he saw her. “Miss Spalding? Can it be you?”
“Uncle Theo! I was hoping you’d remember me. It’s Lana, Jack Spalding’s daughter,” she said.
He held out his arms and pulled her into a bear hug, his waxed mustache tickling her forehead. “Of course, you are a sight for these old eyes, my dear. But please don’t tell me your father has run out of kerosene again, or wants help rounding up those darn horses.”
The room suddenly felt colder.
“My father contracted meningitis. He passed away on Friday. I’m sorry to have to tell you.” She spoke as few words as possible to avoid breaking down and sobbing.
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