Under a Maui Moon Read online

  “She was quite a woman, six feet tall, tattoos on her leg, palm, and tongue. It’s estimated that she weighed more than three hundred pounds.”

  Now Carissa did laugh. “Wow. She does sound like quite a woman.”

  Irene leaned forward, ready to defend her superhero. “Her hair was dark and wavy, and her eyes were compared to doves’ eyes. Her skin was light, and her cheeks were as pink as the bud of a banana stem. She had a soft and tender voice.”

  Irene’s passion for the subject was evident. In spite of Carissa’s earlier hesitation, she was intrigued. She leaned against the side of one of the dining table chairs. She wasn’t willing to sit down and get stuck there, but she did want to be comfortable and hear more.

  “When Ka’ahumanu was only about nine or ten years old—again, the historians can’t seem to agree—she was taken into Kamehameha’s royal entourage. He was twenty years her senior; so she had to be kept entertained and cared for until she was old enough to be given to him as one of his wives. That’s when she mastered surfing on the long boards off the Kohala Coast. On the Big Island.”

  Irene pointed to a picture in one of the open books. It was a sketch of Hawaiian men and women balancing on long surfboards wearing very little clothing.

  Carissa didn’t quite know what to say.

  That didn’t hinder Irene from continuing her story. “Ka’ahumanu loved to make kites out of tapa cloth. Her kites were fifteen feet by six feet and had to be tied to the coconut trees when the trade winds picked up. George Vancouver, the explorer, wrote about her when he sailed into these waters in 1778. She was fifteen when he met her, and he said she was ‘an unexpectedly delightful and romantic young woman and one of the finest we had yet seen on any of the islands.’ Mind you, he had been to most of the South Sea Islands on his explorations with Captain James Cook; so to say she was the finest was saying a lot.”

  “How did you become so interested in her?”

  Irene tilted her head and looked off to the side as if trying to remember. “I think it was the story of the carriage that first captured my interest. It’s hard to remember now. I know so much about her. Yes, I think it was the carriage.”

  “The carriage,” Carissa repeated. Now she knew she couldn’t leave until she heard the story.

  A silly smile played on Irene’s lips. “In the early 1800s, Ka’ahumanu had become the most powerful woman in the islands. So, to get into her good graces, a visiting sea captain gave her an extravagant gift. A carriage. Complete with seats upholstered in velvet.

  “The problem was that, although horses had been introduced to the islands, no horses were broken that could be harnessed to such a carriage. So Ka’ahumanu harnessed ten of the strongest kanakas, that is, Hawaiian men, and they pulled the carriage. She made her second husband take a seat in the plush interior while she sat up front, holding the reins. The harnessed men pulled her through the most populated area of Honolulu so everyone could see her.”

  The image of the six-foot-tall surfer girl on the long boards had conjured up quite a picture for Carissa. But this mental image of a barely clothed, three-hundred-pound woman driving a carriage pulled by ten men was even harder to forget.

  “Imagine what the Westerners thought when they saw her,” Irene said. “They knew what a carriage was for and who should be sitting where. But for all the Hawaiians observing her actions, they knew who held the reins of the nation. And she certainly did, for many years. I believe Ka’ahumanu changed the course of the Hawaiian nation in many ways. Many profound ways.”

  Irene sighed and stroked the wrinkles folded into her quietly clasped hands. Her voice softened as she added, “And yet, near the end of her life Ka’ahumanu said, ‘I had it in my heart to do something more.’”

  Irene’s eyes dropped gently. “I think that’s why I love her so dearly. You see, I have the same feeling. I, too, have it in my heart to do something more for the Hawaiian people.”

  “Are you of Hawaiian ancestry?”

  “Yes. Only a small percentage, and I have to go back three generations to find it. I’m not connected to any of the ali’i.”

  “The ah-lee-ee?”

  “Hawaiian royalty. My ancestors were commoners, but the records aren’t reliable. I’m a mix of Japanese, German, Portuguese, and Filipino. That’s how it is for many people in Hawaii. Somewhere in me there is an ounce of Hawaiian blood, and it is that ounce that calls to me to do something more.”

  Carissa wondered if the ceremony she had observed that morning when Irene was in the grass with her arms raised was part of her acting upon the ounce of Hawaiian blood or if perhaps she was going through the motions of some other tradition. It seemed that the words she had spoken were Hawaiian, but Carissa had no way to be sure. She didn’t want to come out and ask Irene since Carissa didn’t want to confess she had been observing Irene while in hiding.

  “You said you were giving a talk next week. Where will that be?”

  “On Oahu. At the Kamehameha Schools.”

  “I’m sure it will be fascinating.”

  Irene chuckled. “You’re too kind, Carissa. I will be talking to junior high and high school students, and I don’t know how fascinating they will think it is. I don’t mind telling you, I’m already nervous. It’s one thing to sit here and tell you these stories, but nearly all the students at the school are of Hawaiian ancestry. I don’t feel quite adequate to the task.”

  “Maybe this is the ‘something more’ you want to do. You get to teach the students some interesting history. Their history.”

  “Yes. That’s what Dan said, as well. He also said he would come be my support. But then this trip came up, and he’ll still be on the mainland when I go to Oahu Monday.” Irene looked at her watch. “You’ve certainly been patient. I didn’t intend to take up your afternoon.”

  “That’s okay. I liked hearing your stories.” Carissa righted her posture, as she prepared to leave. “Thank you for sharing with me.”

  “That’s what Hawaiians love to do. We call it ‘talk story.’ If you like listening to our stories, you should come with us to Kipahulu tomorrow and camp with us for a few days. I won’t be the only one in the gathering with stories to tell.”

  “Thanks, but I’m really not much of a camper. Especially tent camping. I went tent camping only once. The outing was for our son when he was in the church youth group. It rained two of the three days, and we had a skunk and several raccoons that decided to join us.”

  Irene grimaced.

  “Yes. Exactly. So you can see why that was my first and last tent camping adventure. I love nature, but I love a comfortable bed at night even more.”

  “So do I. That’s why Dan and I invested in expensive air mattresses. And fancy fold-up chairs. I love camping at Kipahulu but only with my equipment.”

  “What is it that you love so much about Kipa …”

  “Kipahulu.”

  “Is it a beach?”

  “Oh no. The coast there is rugged from the lava flow. You have to go to Hana to find a sandy beach. But the waterfalls and the natural pools to swim in are glorious. One of my favorite chapels built by the Protestant missionaries almost two hundred years ago is there, and …” Irene straightened her shoulders, leading to her highlight. “…Ka’ahumanu was born in a cave not far from where we camp. Her birth occurred a few years before the outside world ‘discovered’ these islands. She died on a mound of scented pillows made of silk from China, holding a leather-bound New Testament in her hands—the first Hawaiian translation. Her life was a bridge, with one hand holding the ancient ways and the other hand grasping Christianity and the ways of the Western world.”

  Irene smiled warmly at Carissa. “But that, of course, is another story.”

  Carissa was genuine when she replied that she hoped she would get to hear the whole story sometime. For now, she was ready to head outdoors and not end up spending another day inside. Not when the weather was so perfect.

  Her self-guided tour driving arou
nd the Kihei and Wailea areas included a stop at an upscale shopping center. The lovely fountains and rustling palm trees inside the open-air plaza invited Carissa to relax and just breathe in time with their unhurried rhythm. She strolled slowly past clothing stores and jewelers and took her time wandering around a gallery that sold original island art. This was the most soothing sort of shopping she could remember experiencing.

  Smiling to herself, Carissa realized why that was. Her usual shopping pal was Heidi, and shopping with Heidi was never slow or contemplative. What Heidi enjoyed the most about shopping was providing a running commentary on everything she saw and making enthusiastic suggestions on what Carissa should buy or wear or at least try on. When Heidi was little it was impossible to keep her from touching everything her eyes fell on. Now that the two sisters were grown, Carissa still found herself wanting to take Heidi’s hand inside shops that had lots of breakables on display. But that big-sister gesture had been rebuffed decades ago.

  For the first time, Carissa wondered if her introverted and sometimes suspicious inner dialogue came from spending so many years of her life being the watchful companion of her irrepressible sister. Carissa was different when she went to lunch with Ruthie or shopped with other friends. Those times were more of an ebb and flow with an even exchange of ideas and comments.

  I need more friends like that. Friends who bring out the best in me instead of making me apprehensive. I’ve become too closed off, and it’s making me cynical. I don’t want to be that way.

  Carissa stopped in front of a gift shop and caught her reflection in the store window. Is that how Richard sees me? Have I been closed off and cynical with him?

  As much as she hated to see the truth reflected in her expression in the store window, she knew that was the reality. It was right there, staring her in the face, and yet for so long she hadn’t seen that tendency in herself. Over the past few years her life had narrowed to small, convenient circles, and her attitudes toward others had become narrow and controlling as well. Especially with Richard.

  She let the epiphany settle on her the way the steady sun was quietly settling on her, warming her shoulders and back. She could make changes. She had to. Life was making changes on her. Why couldn’t she start making some of her own?

  To keep from dwelling too long on what those changes might be, Carissa entered the gift shop and looked at a display of books about local interests. She thought of Irene’s extensive collection and wondered if there might be a book here that Irene didn’t yet own. Flipping through the assortment on all aspects of the Hawaiian language, history, arts, quilting, and recipes, Carissa found a book on Captain Cook. Certain that he was the same historical figure Irene had just been telling her about, Carissa took the book to the register and bought it along with a box of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts.

  It wasn’t much of a thank-you gift for Dan and Irene to express her appreciation for their kindness to her, but it was a start. Giving was the way Carissa always felt as if she best connected with others. She wasn’t effusive with words like Heidi. She wasn’t a careful listener like Richard. But she liked to give.

  Her shopping stretch was followed by a leisurely drive farther down the southwest coast of Maui and a visit to a big, beautiful beach where the sand felt like grains of raw sugar on her bare feet. She walked a long way down the shore, holding her sandals and just breathing. This felt right and good. This was what she wanted to experience.

  Carissa sat in the sand for a while, watching kids play in the surf. She wondered if residents ever grew tired of the distinct beauty. Did they get island fever? What sort of job would enable her to move there? She realized that last thought was a big jump, but this was a place meant for dreaming.

  Burrowing her bare feet in the warm sand, she wondered if Richard would like this beach. If he were here, would he want to rise early and go swimming with her?

  Now, Kai …I’m sure he does get up every morning and go swimming in the ocean. Shaking that thought from her imagination and pulling her feet from their burrow, Carissa headed back to the parking lot. She watched a couple as they stowed their beach gear in their car’s trunk and then paused to exchange a long, enthusiastic kiss. The two were still kissing as she walked past them, giving no indication that they even noticed her.

  With a sigh, Carissa slipped into her car and slowly exited the crowded parking area. I’m too young to be so old. Heidi thinks I’m menopausal and having a midlife breakdown. I feel like I haven’t even lived yet. My life has been far too predictable. No, not predictable. Boring. I haven’t done anything interesting or significant.

  She thought about what Irene had said concerning the Hawaiian woman having it in her heart to do something more. Carissa wanted to do something more, too. She just didn’t know what that something was.

  Trying a different route back to Kihei along a wide, well-paved upper highway, Carissa soon recognized the area and remembered her way back to the grocery store. She stopped in to buy a few more groceries and lingered in the makeup section. Into her cart went a handful of tubes of lip gloss and a new eyeliner. Then she pulled from the peg a pair of frivolous and flirty false eyelashes.

  A few years ago Blake had brought some friends home from college for Thanksgiving. One of the girls—one that Blake had a strong interest in—wore false eyelashes. The lashes weren’t obvious at first because she was so stunning that it appeared that they could be her own. But after the group left, Carissa found the packaging for the lashes while cleaning the bathroom. Ever since then she wondered what it would feel like to wear them.

  Why not?

  Carissa tossed the package of eyelashes in the cart and took a leisurely detour down the candy aisle. She felt like a teen trying to decide how to spend her allowance. If Richard were here, she knew that he would analyze her behavior. He would say that since her identity and purpose had shifted when she lost her job, her subconscious was trying on an assortment of alter egos from various seasons in life to find a place to reestablish her identity.

  Carissa looked up, as if Richard were standing beside her, and scowled. She even looked up at just the right height for where his face would be. Aside from knowing she was role-playing by looking up at her invisible husband, Carissa detested the way the analysis had come to her so precisely. She was familiar enough with Richard’s counseling that she knew how to analyze her own behavior and subliminal thoughts. This is ridiculous!

  Plowing down the aisle to the checkout stand, Carissa put her items on the conveyor belt and read the headlines of the magazines lined up in the eye-level rack. Three of them in a row featured the bikini-clad body of a celebrity who had lost thirty-seven pounds on a dark chocolate diet. Supposedly, she ate two bars of dark chocolate per day, and the weight just melted off. More ridiculousness!

  Carissa looked away. As a last-minute thought, she reached for a candy bar—then another—and tossed them on the conveyor belt as a final purchase.

  Both bars were labeled dark chocolate.

  9

  “Mai hopo ’oe i na ’o nou, ke kia’i nei ke Akua

  Malalo o Kona mau ’eheu Nana e ho’omalu mai

  Na ke Akua mau ’oe e kia’i i na wa apau

  Nana e ho’omalu mai Nana e kia’i ia ’oe.”

  “God will take care of you, be not afraid;

  He is your safeguard through sunshine and shade;

  Tenderly watching and keeping His own,

  He will not leave you to wander alone.”

  ON HER DRIVE BACK to the cottage from the grocery store, Carissa started in on the first chocolate bar and had a strong urge to call Richard. She wanted to tell him she had analyzed herself in the grocery store. He would like to hear how his voice in the back of her head had explained why she was so shaken up last week. Her identity was being readjusted.

  But then she remembered that when their slow-simmering conflict had come to a boil on the night of the prowler, she still had a job. Their disconnect was deeper than her job loss or h
is potentially anxious feelings about speaking at the Sacramento conference. They had been growing apart for months.

  Returning to her moonglow-induced decision to let Richard be the one to seek her out, Carissa felt her gut tightening once again. She put the candy bar aside and said aloud, “Why is it so difficult for you to just call me, apologize for abandoning me, and say you want to make things right between us?”

  Carissa suddenly had to stop the car and pull over. The nearest place was into the open parking lot of a large church. She was rattled because she realized her intense words weren’t directed at Richard. They were an old, old wish. One she had repeated a thousand times since she was twelve years old. Those words originally were lined up in that exact order as an urgent thought directed to her absent father.

  Letting out a slow breath, she conceded she was more messed up than she had thought. Maybe she did need therapy. Had she transferred all her disappointment from her father onto her husband? Had she been doing that their whole marriage? Had she kept Richard continually on trial for a crime of abandonment that he had never committed? At least he hadn’t committed it until now. Was all this a slowly evolving, self-fulfilling prophecy?

  If she weren’t sitting in an idling car in a church parking lot right now, Carissa would turn off the engine and have a good cry over the mess that was her life. But the last place she wanted to be found crying was in a church parking lot. The odds were pretty good that someone caring, qualified, and in tune with God would just happen to come across her and offer her words of hope and spiritual insight.

  And what would be so horrible about that? What’s your big grievance with the church? Or is it against God? When did you stop turning to him and trusting him as your heavenly Father?

  The answer paraded past as blatantly as the lined-up gossip magazines at the grocery store. Heavenly Father. Father. Our Father.

  That title, “Father,” was associated with the human who had abandoned her. Richard had told her years ago that this was a big piece of her soul wound. He told her she had held on to a false belief that all fathers showed up to get things started, but then they left. At the time, she didn’t know what to do with that. But now she could see what that wounding had done to her. She assumed God had abandoned her as well. With no explanation, no connection to anything she had done or not done, her heavenly Father had started a relationship with her, but then he just had left.