Jewel of the Pacific (19 page)

As acquainted as she was with the writing of histories through Great-aunt Nora, Eden was more than enthusiastic about the opportunity before her. Nora had written several books on the Hawaiian Islands and had begun a book on the Derrington family history. She’d begun with the first Derrington missionary from Connecticut, and had gone on to the present political position of Ainsworth. Unfortunately that history section had been waylaid by Uncle Townsend who feared Nora would reveal his crime against Matt Easton and cause his death. Nora had not yet been able to find that missing section of her work.

Eden intended to write Rebecca’s family history. Now, in her excitement, she decided she’d return to Honolulu to gain Nora’s help. The history would contain the pathos of her mother’s leprosy discovery, and what it would mean to her marriage to Jerome and to her only child, Eden—a mere five-year-old. Eden would write what it had meant to Rebecca to live the rest of her days as an exile on the leper isle of Molokai during its early years when the misery was compounded.

Eden felt a rebirth of ambition and a driving desire to work. She would remain at Kalawao until her mother died, then she would return to Kea Lani to create the history of Rebecca Stanhope Derrington. She longed to have the journal in her possession now, but for some reason Rebecca would not present it to her yet. Her mother would only say that Eden must wait until after her own departure. Then she would receive the written works.

Eden had not inquired about Kip’s parentage. That disclosure must wait for their next visit, arranged for Sunday. Her mother spoke of needing rest to regain strength. Jerome was to visit Rebecca on Friday morning, three days away. He’d already sent her messages, which the
kokua
, Lotus, would read to her.

At last Eden fell asleep thanking God for permitting the impossible meeting to occur.

A storm broke that evening, and rain fell in gushing torrents. The house leaked, and Eden and Keno rushed about placing everything from cooking pans to pails beneath the drips. Eden even set down some cups, only to see them fill to the brim within minutes. She picked up two of them and stood looking about as if wondering where to empty them. Keno opened the front door and pointed. She laughed and tossed out two cups of water while the rain came down in giant bucketsful.

“I give up,” she said. “I’m going to bed.”

“If the roof doesn’t leak over your bed,” he called.

It did leak. She dragged the mat and blanket to the other side of the little room and settled down in hope of dry sleep.

She hoped Rebecca was dry. She suspected that she was. Lotus would see to that.
Dear Lord, bless Lotus.
While Rebecca’s bungalow was tiny, it had looked to be constructed well enough—better than the leaking Doctor’s House.

Dr. Jerome walked alone one evening to see Rebecca in her bungalow near Bishop House. Eden heard him come back to the house with slow, tired feet. He went into his study and shut the door. The candlelight burned long hours that night as she heard him weep. Eden worried, cried with sympathy, and prayed.

Her next visit to her mother was to come on Sunday. Then on Saturday night the
kokua
, Lotus, came to explain that Rebecca was too sick. She would need more time to rest. No more visitors for the next few days.

Regardless, Eden had much to do. With the weather having improved, Keno and the other men went to work building four small bungalows, to be followed by the research clinic.

Eden and Aunt Lana set about to arrange the bedding and furnishings—mostly a few rattan chairs and tables—in their private cottages. Jerome and Clifford were “allowed” to borrow a few pieces of better furniture from the Doctor’s House until more suitable furnishings could be hauled in. Eden had no idea how long she would stay here at Kalawao. She was sorry to disappoint her father, but she’d made up her mind she could not stay permanently after her mother died. She supposed she could begin writing the journal into book form in her own bungalow, but something kept pulling her emotions back to Honolulu. After all, her father would have the expertise of both Dr. Bolton and Aunt Lana in the clinic when it was up and running, and their capabilities far exceeded hers.

Finally, after almost two weeks, the bungalows were up, followed several days later by the clinic. The group had as merry a celebration as they could in such circumstances. Dr. Jerome hailed Keno and his cousins for their selfless work.

“And of course,” Dr. Jerome said, “although Rafe isn’t here, we especially toast him for the generous loan he gave to make this possible, as well as for the supplies he arranged and the use of his ship!”

“Blessings!” they all said. Eden joined the applause, aware of a sympathetic glance from Aunt Lana.

Eden and Dr. Jerome had supper that evening in one of the new bungalows with Lana and Dr. Bolton. The Board of Health strictly ruled against lepers living in the Doctor’s House or staying in any guest bungalows. Such bungalows were kept for Board of Health personnel or official visitors who came to Molokai.

But these new bungalows were private, so Eden and Dr. Jerome could intermingle with Lana and Clifford Bolton as much as they had at Kalihi hospital.

The evening included Keno and the young men from the church who were all returning to Honolulu in the morning—which saddened Eden. Keno was such a close ally of Rafe’s that when she was around him Rafe seemed near.

Ambrose would remain at Kalawao until he could give further training to the ambitious young Hawaiian boy who would run the printing press.

“A nice lad,” Ambrose told everyone. “A Christian, too.”

Eden was glad Ambrose was staying longer to get the printing press running. She was enthusiastic about the work of making Christ known. The Hawaiian boy was named David, and he’d already told her and Ambrose about the need for Sunday school booklets for the sick children in the little Bible church. The pastor had died and Ambrose was going to fill his place while at Kalawao. Eden promised to write some simplified Bible stories to be printed. David planned to carve out press picture blocks to go along with the story booklets. She was pleased that it was Rebecca who’d first contacted Ambrose about a printing press.

Keno shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. The mannerism was so like Rafe that she felt a pang. “This makes me mighty proud of all of you. I’m a little nervous, though, about leaving you to this environment.” He looked at Eden.

“My dear boy,” Dr. Jerome said. “Your concerns are well taken. Yet, is anything or anyplace safe in this uncertain world? If some of us don’t take risks, who will ever step forward to do the difficult work that must be done for future generations?”

“Understood,” Keno said. “It will take braver men than I am. It will take those who are willing to sacrifice. Right now, sir, I’m looking forward to marriage, a family, and a good portion of Hawaiiana. I guess that’s rather selfish.”

“Nonsense,” Dr. Bolton said. “You’re not selfish, Keno, and you’ve contributed your part toward our success. Isn’t that right, Jerome? Each of us sitting around this table wished you the full cup of God’s happiness and blessings for the future.”

“Thank you, Dr. Bolton.” Keno looked across at Eden. As their eyes met, she lowered her gaze to her plate. She knew his discourse was also meant for her benefit, and that in speaking of a happy future he was hinting that she, like Candace, should return to Honolulu and focus on marriage.

The next morning Keno and the young men from Ambrose’s church left Kalawao for the beach. Some of the crewmen were waiting ashore with the boats. The weather was windy, and the waves starting to rise, but they rowed out to sea and soon boarded the
Minoa.

Within an hour Keno gave the order to weigh anchor and the
Minoa
headed for open sea.

Eden had been outside, and went behind her new bungalow to a solitary place she’d discovered. She ascended a hill, and crossed the running brook that provided their water supply. She stood on a mound and viewed the bay and the landing area where their whaleboats had arrived. She viewed the blue-gray vastness of the Pacific and watched the
Minoa
get smaller and smaller, heading toward Oahu and Honolulu.

A lone seabird cried, then disappeared toward the black cliffs.

She turned and, looking past the Doctor’s House, could see the neat bungalows recently put up. Her father’s research clinic reminded her of a military barrack. Beyond the roof of the clinic, the hospital buildings appeared worn and windswept. Across the single street in Kalawao stood the little Catholic church where Priest Damien had ministered. His bungalow, now occupied by Brother Dutton, was built up from the ground. Nearby was the graveyard with various markers of wood crosses, as well as rocks, and Hawaiian symbols of a religious belief system.

Wind flowed over the mound and shook the brush. A restive spirit settled over Eden’s heart as she looked on—first at the ship on the sea, then at the exile settlement amid the beauty of green ferns, wild ginger, and black cliffs. She refused to let her heart dwell on Rafe Easton.

One evening, when Eden was settled in her own little bungalow, Ambrose came to pray with her and to say goodbye.

“David will need more help and training in the next year, but I plan to come and go as necessary. I see you’ve written the children’s stories.”

Eden had finished the work that evening, and had planned to bring the stories to David the next day.

“I was remembering Hiram Bingham,” she said, “and all he did through God for Hawaii.”

“Ah, yes. His most enduring work was his translation. He did the books Luke, Colossians, Hebrews, Leviticus, Ezekiel, and part of Psalms, as well as collaborating on some other books. He also created the Hawaiian alphabet. The missionaries also taught them to read and write as well as creating schools and medical facilities. How easily the following generations forget!”

“They only seem to remember the things to criticize.”

“They’re not qualified to criticize. They’ve inherited all the benefits and some seem to think they were always part of Hawaii. But, lass, the praise of mankind is one thing; but that of God, another. The Good Lord knows whom He will acknowledge with His words, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’”

Eden was not pleased to see Ambrose leaving Kalawao, but she knew he had to fill the pulpit at the mission church back home. “And Noelani is concerned with some of the changes taking place in Honolulu.”

“Changes?” she asked.

“The annexation movement is butting heads with the queen. Liliuokalani seems to have dug her heels in to get rid of the ’87 Constitution. Sanford Dole and Thurston are saying if she tries it will bring the revolution we’ve all heard about for the last two years.”

“Noelani firmly supports Queen Liliuokalani,” she stated. “You’ve never actually said what you favor. I suppose you back Rafe and annexation, like Keno does.”

“I back whoever gives the most honor and obedience to the Lord,” he said. “As for Keno, whatever he prefers is understandable. Though his father was English, I give him more credit than to think he simply sides with whatever ethnicity he feels most reflects himself. He’s looking down the long road to future generations when these Islands may make a difference in history. Now,” he said, patting her shoulder, “I want to pray with you, and commit you to the Lord before I leave in the morning. It’s steamer day you know.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry to see you go—”

“Now, now, none of that, lass, or you’ll have us both morose.”

“When will you actually return?”

“Not for several months. Now, I want you to listen to me,” he said gravely. He took hold of her shoulders and peered down into her eyes with a fatherly frown. “Rebecca is likely to pass on before I return.”

Eden bit her lip. “Yes, I know.”

“If Jerome needs more help and support than any of you can give him, I’ll want to know—at once. Send a message to me. Rebecca’s worse now than she was just a month ago. When did you see her last?”

“I’m able to spend an hour with her each Sunday after church.”

“Nothing yet on that journal she’s kept?”