Aloha Love Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Copyright

  ISBN 978-1-60260-341-7

  Copyright © 2009 by Yvonne Lehman. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

  One

  1889, The Big Island, Hawaii

  “The Little People won’t let the Night Marchers hurt me, will they, Daddy?” five-year-old Leia asked as Makana Lalama MacCauley tucked her in for the night.

  “You know they’ll keep you safe, Leia. And so will I.”

  Her little pink lips turned into a smile, and her big brown eyes—so like her mother’s—held confidence that her daddy would not tell her a lie. “Aloha au la oe, Daddy.”

  Mak bent to kiss her forehead. “I love you, too.”

  Tucking his daughter in safely for the night was a special time, but he dreaded what would follow. As her eyes closed, his smiled faded. Her words resounded in his mind, but there were places in his heart even they couldn’t touch. Reaching over to turn down the wick in the whale-oil lamp was like inviting the chill, beckoning the darkness with its never-ending feeling of loss, that aching loneliness, the unfairness of it all.

  When Mak left the room, leaving the door open a few inches, his mother stepped from the doorway of her room. Observing the expression of displeasure on his mother’s face, he braced himself for a reprimand. They walked down the hallway and into the kitchen.

  He didn’t sit, and she didn’t follow her usual routine of brewing a cup of hot tea. Instead, she sighed and held onto the back of a chair. “I heard what Leia said, Mak. How long are you going to let her believe in those idols and myths?”

  “She’s a child, Mother. And the myths of the Little People are fun. The paniolos’ children she plays with tell these stories like my friends and I did when I was a child. Besides,” he added, “I believed in faeries, brownies, and silkies.”

  “But you were taught by your dad and me the difference between myth and truth.”

  “Don’t you teach her the truth, Mother?”

  “She needs to know what her dad believes, too.”

  His stare caused her to look away. They both knew his current beliefs were not fit for a child’s ears.

  He shook his head and walked toward the screen door rather than say something disrespectful to his mother.

  But his mother did not allow him the same courtesy. She constantly badgered him about God and letting Leia go to the mission school. His own early education had been at the mission school, so he knew his mother was teaching Leia more than she would learn there—and in less time.

  They’d been through this many times. With a deep sigh, he walked out into the calm night. His heart was heavy. How could he keep his little girl safe when he hadn’t kept his own wife safe? And how could he give Leia assurance that God would keep her safe when he had stopped believing in the love of the God who had let his young wife die? He and Leia needed Maylea so much.

  His mother kept raising the question, “Is your own child never to learn to ride, Mak?”

  How could he force his daughter on a horse when her mother had been killed by one? He, who trained horses and bred them for the royal races, would not insist his daughter learn to ride. He had not been able to calm her fear, or his for her, and horses sensed that. But his mother was right, Leia was almost six years old.

  Leia had become as adamant about what she wanted as his mother, and it seemed they both were taking sides against him.

  He lifted his eyes to the sky, star-spangled with lights of blinking mockery, a sharp contrast to his mind, punctuated with his mother’s questions, his daughter’s resoluteness, and his own indecision. He bent his head and gazed at the dusty path leading to the carriage-house stables.

  This was a lonely time of night. The moonlight wasn’t as pleasant as it used to be. The stars not as bright. The quiet was not comforting. His cattle were in the fields; his horses grazing or in the larger stables. His paniolos would have gone home or settled in the bunkhouse.

  Strange, how a man’s life and confidence could take a 180-degree turn in so short a time. He’d thought himself a man after marrying Maylea and taking over the care of the ranch and his mother when his dad died. God was in His heaven, and all was right with the world. But all was not right with this world. His mother was now taking care of him. She and his daughter seemed to question his every move.

  He would consider their requests after the race. Leia was young. There was plenty of time.

  This was not the time to make such decisions. Next year, he’d be a different man. There was the upcoming race. He must attend to that. He walked into the stable and breathed in the aroma of rich earth, straw, and horseflesh so welcome to his sense of hope.

  Hope?

  No. More than hope.

  Not seeing his jockey, Chico, he assumed the man had retired to his room in the carriage-house part of the building.

  Mak strolled over to the great racehorse that only he had trained—that only he and his jockey had ridden. Panai was the most beautiful horse he’d ever seen: midnight black with a streak of white down his face from his ears to his nose. He had the eyes of a winner, one with the desire to just be given the chance. He was almost ready.

  Panai would bring Mak the victory he must have, his number-one goal: to win.

  Then, and only then, could Mak find relief from his grief and anger.

  Mother and son. . .racing for the coveted Big Island Cup.

  Ill-conceived it might be, but Mak would have his revenge.

  Two

  April 1889, Texas

  Jane looked out on the range from her upstairs window and saw the cows wandering aimlessly, likely chewing their cud, their only concern swishing away flies with their tails.

  What a life.

  But would hers be any more exciting?

  Realizing she was twisting the impressive diamond on her finger that she’d worn for more than a year, she stopped, studied it, and understood anew what it represented.

  Jane Marie Buckley and Austin Price were made for each other. They grew up believing it because their parents told them so. Having heard it repeatedly through the years was probably
like cud-chewing. She’d had to swallow it. But lately, the thought of being a married woman was hard to stomach.

  Realizing she was once again moving the diamond ring up to her knuckle and back again, she stopped. Seemed that right hand of hers was always trying to take the ring off her left.

  She had nothing against Austin. No one seemed to know of any fellow more suitable for her. And nothing was really wrong with him. She liked him. Furthermore, she loved him.

  The Buckleys were in cattle and horses. The Prices were in oil. Her daddy would throw her the most fantastic wedding Texas had ever seen—that is, if she ever set a date. Things kept coming up. There’d been her daddy’s cattle drives and Austin’s college education, Matilda’s embarking on another excursion, Jane’s going off to college—or not wanting her wedding to be at the same time as a friend’s.

  The wedding part delighted her, but she wasn’t too keen on marriage. She’d seen too many friends marry and become dull and boring when they weren’t frazzled over what to do with their children.

  The men fared well, but the women—that was another matter. Yet what else was there for an educated, marriageable young woman?

  As a privileged married woman, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about the flies. While strolling over the green lawns, avoiding the cow patties, her swishing fan would flick the flies away. Another thought made her giggle. Would a fly dare land on the likes of Mrs. Jane Marie Buckley Price?

  The fast clip of horses’ hooves and the clanking of turning wheels on the cobblestone drive broke her reverie. Leaning closer to the window, she saw the fancy coach come into view. That could be none other than Aunt Matilda Russell Buckley—her most exciting relative in the world. With a tinge of sadness, Jane remembered the shocking explosion at an oil refinery several years before that had killed her dad’s only brother and had left Aunt Matilda a widow.

  Come to think of it, Matilda fared quite well as a single woman. But again, the word widow had a more respectable ring to it than spinster. Jane cringed at the thought of being married just yet, but she certainly didn’t want to be a spinster.

  Did she?

  She would prefer to be a widow, like Matilda. Not that she wanted Austin dead. She just wanted to have an exciting life like Matilda. Seeing her aunt emerge from the carriage, Jane was reminded anew that her aunt was nothing less than colorful in her long green skirt with a matching traveling vest over a white blouse with flowing sleeves. She’d been told by a few friends and acquaintances that she and Matilda were a lot alike, but Jane felt like a washed-out version of Matilda. Her own hair was brown, her eyes blue-green, and her skin less glowing. She pinched her cheeks but knew it to be a futile gesture to appear more attractive. Matilda would be stunning.

  “Matilda,” Jane called from the window. Her aunt looked up, revealing her beautiful peaches-and-cream skin, reddened lips, and copper-colored hair beneath a wide green hat adorned with graceful plumes. Matilda waved vigorously, and her lips spread into a delighted smile. Even from that distance, Jane could see her aunt’s green eyes.

  Turning from the window, Jane dashed down the hall and sped down the wide, curved staircase to the foyer. Inez had apparently heard the coach and was hanging her white apron on a peg in a closet below the staircase. The meticulous Inez closed the door, then smoothed her black dress and lifted her hand to make sure her black hair was not in disarray before opening the door to a visitor.

  “I’ll get it,” Jane said. “It’s Matilda.” A dreaded look appeared in Inez’s eyes. Nevertheless, she reopened the closet door to take out her apron and return to her duties.

  After all, it was only Matilda, whom Inez considered “that worldly woman.”

  Pilar, the seventeen-year-old daughter of Inez, held a different opinion. The girl yelled from the kitchen, “Did you say Matilda?”

  Jane nodded.

  Inez warned, “Remember your place, Pilar.”

  But Pilar’s “Ohhh” sounded like she thought royalty had arrived.

  Jane shared that thought as she swung open the front door and hurried toward her aunt. Feeling quite plain in a simple cream-colored day dress, Jane nevertheless fell into her aunt’s arms for a warm, meaningful embrace while they expressed their joy at being together after a three-month absence.

  “Ahem.”

  The cough from the coachman brought to their attention that Matilda’s bags had been deposited on the wide, front porch of Buckley House. Matilda reached into the front of her blouse and withdrew a small purse from which she took a gold coin that widened the eyes of the driver.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he crowed exuberantly, bobbing his head of collar-length hair. “Been a pleasure, ma’am.”

  By that time, Inez stood in front of the open door while Pilar came out to help with the bags.

  “Oh, if I’d known”—Pilar’s eyes widened and her chest rose with her rapid breathing—“I would have put flowers in your room, and—”

  Matilda waved her graceful hand. Sparkling rings adorned several fingers. “Oh, I’m sure your mother will excuse you long enough to pick some flowers from the garden.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know she will.”

  Inez smiled stiffly, but they all knew if Matilda requested something, it would be done. Pilar rushed to take hold of the largest bag and tug it inside. Matilda was not opposed to picking up her own bags, but allowing Pilar to do it meant a generous tip from Matilda, perhaps a gold coin or two.

  Jane stopped at the bottom of the staircase when Matilda did. “I assume suppertime is as usual,” her aunt said.

  “Of course.” Jane laughed. “Nothing ever changes around here except a new bull, the birthing of a few more cows, and Austin’s bringing in another oil well.”

  Matilda lifted her graceful hand in a dismissive gesture and looked toward the great chandelier hanging from the two-story-high ceiling. Then she focused on Jane with widened eyes and a serious tone. “I will fill you in at suppertime.”

  Matilda grabbed Jane’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. With a flourish, she turned, lifted her skirts, and ascended the stairs.

  Jane had no way of knowing what Matilda had on her mind. But one thing was certain. Aunt Matilda’s appearance meant something momentous had occurred or was about to.

  And it could only be disastrous. . .or sensational.

  Three

  “Buck, I bear news from the paradise in the Pacific,” Aunt Matilda said after she greeted Jane’s father with an exuberant embrace.

  “After grace, we’ll look forward to hearing it.” John Buckley stepped back from Matilda and smoothed his mustache as if had been disturbed although not even the top of Matilda’s elaborate coiffure had touched it. He stepped over and pulled out a chair for her from the dining-room table.

  Jane could hardly wait for his prayer to end. The Hawaiian stories she had heard about for many years were better than any fairy tale. She figured Matilda exaggerated, but she didn’t mind.

  “It’s Pansy,” Matilda said as soon as she and Jane said Amen after Jane’s father asked the Lord’s blessing on the sumptuous meal. Pilar would get another gold piece out of this dinner of the choicest beef, mid-April spinach from the garden, canned vegetables from last year’s harvest, and the best corn bread that ever came out of an oven. Inez was too proud to accept money other than her wages.

  “Pilar, you may remember Pansy,” Matilda said, addressing the young woman who stood with her hands folded in front of her white apron as she waited to see if anyone needed anything. Much to the chagrin of Jane’s father, Matilda never excluded anyone from her conversations and had point-blank said that anyone who didn’t like it was downright snooty. So Mr. Buckley took it on the chin when Matilda gave a thumb-gesture for Pilar to have a seat at the table.

  Matilda continued her elucidation. Of course Jane and her father knew exactly who Pansy was. Pilar probably did, too, but Matilda had her way of doing things. She looked at Pilar and explained, “Pansy Russell is my brother’s wife. Ker
mit Russell is a pastor in Hawaii. He never liked the name Kermit. Pansy wrote a long time ago that everybody in Hawaii calls him Pastor, Brother, or Reverend Russell, so she started calling him Russ. I need to remember that.”

  Pilar nodded. Matilda lifted a forkful of mashed potatoes in which Pilar would have included scads of fresh butter, milk, and mayonnaise. It appeared to melt in Matilda’s mouth; then she washed it down with sweet tea. “This is an aside,” she said, “but I simply must compliment Pilar.” She faced the young cook again. “You milked the cow, churned the cream, and made this butter, did you not?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, at a time like this, I am so grateful for you.” She took another sip of tea. “Now, for my news.”

  They all waited. Although her dad had cut his meat and popped it into his mouth, Jane hadn’t taken a bite of anything.

  “Pansy is ill.” Matilda took another sip of tea as if needing some libation to relieve her dry mouth so she could get through the announcement.

  A sympathetic “Ohhh” sounded from Pilar.

  Jane glanced at her father, who simply alternated focus between Matilda and his food. They were accustomed to her drama. But this sounded serious.

  Matilda reached into the pocket of her skirt and drew out a sheet of light blue paper. “This is exactly what Pansy wrote.” She unfolded the paper and read:

  My doctors do not expect me to live. I’m ready to go if the Lord doesn’t see fit to heal me. I want to be buried on the Big Island that has become home to me. My only regret is that I might have to leave my husband and dear children and friends in Hawaii.

  Pilar’s eyes popped. “She has children?”

  “Schoolchildren, dear.” Matilda reached over and patted Pilar’s folded hands. She stopped talking, as if one act of a stage play had ended and she was getting ready to begin the next. “I’m totally parched from that long carriage ride.” She took another sip of tea.

  “But this,” Matilda said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “This is what just about sends me over the edge.”