Mistwalker (5 page)

“I
t's beautiful, but it's not mine,” Darby said, taking the necklace from Megan.

Then she recalled Jonah asking which jewelry she'd wear with the white blouse. And her mind replayed the hanger's clang when Jonah steered her back to bed at four
A.M
.

Megan took off her baseball cap, shook her hair loose, and waited for Darby to go on.

“Well, I guess it could be,” Darby admitted. A heart with wings, though. She wasn't sure she understood. “Do you think Jonah gave it to me?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Megan said. Tilting her head back, she drank the last of her water, then flashed an innocent smile. “I mean, you got your
last jewelry from ancient ghosts.”

“You know that still creeps me out,” Darby said. “And I think that's something we won't share with my mom, if you don't mind.”

Darby ran through her chores as fast as possible, but when she got back to Sun House, she could already hear Megan's hair dryer whining upstairs.

Hurry,
she told herself.
You've got to look great
.

When she made it to the kitchen, she had every intention of just pouring a bowl of cereal and shoveling it down while standing at the counter.

“I need bigger calves,” Jonah said. He and Aunty Cathy were dawdling over coffee as if it were an ordinary day. “I can't afford to ship them to the mainland for fattening, but this hippie grass-fed beef thing…”

What? Wasn't all beef grass fed?

Hurry. Don't listen to Jonah. Don't get into conversations that will make you late.

“Jonah, grass-fed beef is healthier,” Aunty Cathy was saying.

“For cows or humans?”

“Both.” Aunty Cathy looked serious. “And if there's one thing we have plenty of, it's grass. Besides,” she added with a grin, “no one on earth would mistake you for a hippie.”

Jonah's frown kept Darby from thanking him for the necklace. Besides, it could have been from Aunty Cathy. Even Megan could have slipped it in there and pretended to know nothing about it.

Why didn't she just ask? All at once, Darby realized her fingers felt cold. Before she'd come to Hawaii, that had only happened when she'd felt really unsure. On the verge of
timid
.

Darby blamed a combination of hurry and worry.

Vowing to shake off these feelings, she said the first thing that came into her head: “Did you ever have any paint horses?”

Before he answered, Jonah's eyes shifted toward the hallway. Something in the glance made Darby sure the necklace
had
been from him. But now he was answering her.

“If you mean your Tutu's Prettypaint, that mare's papers say she's a gray.” He gave a long, dubious shrug. “I can't claim I'm unhappy to have her out of my sight, though.”

“I think she's a beautiful horse.” Aunty Cathy shot Darby a conspiratorial look.

“Me too,” Darby said, but she hadn't been thinking of Prettypaint. She'd been picturing teenage Ellen, Ebony, a black-and-silver stallion, and the horse that had come to visit, just yesterday.

Darby took down a bowl and a box of cereal, then asked, “Don't you like paints?”

“Have I mentioned this is a Quarter Horse ranch? Seems like I did.” Jonah used a knuckle to smooth one side of his mustache in mock concentration. “No wild
kanaka
stock from Crimson Vale or Sky Mountain, no blue-blooded Arabians, Thoroughbreds, Morgans,
big-as-a-truck Friesians, or anything else.”

“Okay,” Darby said, trying not to spill the milk she was pouring.

“Just Quarter Horses. The registry won't accept paints, so I'm careful with my bloodlines.” He glared at Aunty Cathy when she cleared her throat. “I'd never have one, and if some throwback popped up, I'd sell it.”

Her mom had gone for revenge in a big way, then, Darby thought, but it didn't sound like she'd achieved it.

Darby finished her cereal just as Jonah started out of the kitchen and she was quick enough to catch him before he left the house.

“Thanks for the necklace,” she said.

Her grandfather's wry smile said he wasn't surprised she'd read him like she did horses.

“It was just rattling around in a drawer,” he said with a shrug, “but you're welcome.”

“I really like it,” she added.

“It's just a reminder,” he said. The sun lines in Jonah's face turned downward as he laid his hands on her shoulders. “Your Hawaiian heart will always want to fly home.”

Darby swallowed hard. Afraid she might cry if she tried to answer, she nodded over and over again until Jonah winked at her.

He left and she looked after him, but she was in such a hurry to get ready for the celebration, it was
half an hour later, as she was blow-drying her hair, that Darby wondered why Jonah would have that pretty necklace just rattling around in a drawer.

 

Sugar Sands Cove Resort was crowded with cars.

Darby's friend Ann Potter waved as her father motioned Coach Roffmore into a parking space ahead of him. Miss Day swooped her bright yellow Volkswagen into a spot the coach had just given up on, and Jonah muttered in thanks when a hotel employee pointed out a place Aunt Babe had blocked off for Jonah, Cathy, Cade, Megan, and Darby.

“My guests of honor,” Babe called. Her steps were rushed, and the rustling crush of a long white taffeta dress banded at the waist with a sash that matched her mango lipstick announced with every move that she was the hostess.

After Babe kissed all ten of their cheeks, she complimented her brother's paniolo finery and said, “You won't be sorry about those horses.”

“We'll see,” Jonah grumbled, but he kissed her cheeks in return.

Darby felt her eyes grow wide. That must mean Jonah had accepted Aunt Babe's gift of cremello horses, as an incentive to allow her guests to ride on ‘Iolani Ranch. Guest riders would mean more money, but she had trouble picturing Jonah as a gracious host.

Aunt Babe escorted them into the hotel instead of allowing them to head toward the corral full of cre
mello horses, where a small stage had been erected.

Inside, there were white floors, mirrored walls, and transparent modern lamps filled with candles. Hotel guests twittered like excited birds, talking to reporters and each other as they savored the tropical perfumes of frangipani, ginger, and upright floral spears called birds-of-paradise.

“Watch your step.” Aunt Babe pointed at cords snaking across the lobby floor. “We've got press everywhere.”

Darby gazed after Aunty Cathy and Jonah as they stopped to talk to Kimo and an older man with sun-pleated skin and white hair. He must be Kimo's dad, Darby thought. Neck loaded with maile leis, he grinned and spoke in rapid-fire pidgin.

As he gestured, Darby noticed he was missing a finger. Was it really from a roping accident? Jonah and Kimo had told her, but Darby's head was spinning and she couldn't remember.

Deserted by her mother, Megan looked a little nervous, and that made Darby even more uneasy.

“We don't have to talk, do we?” Megan asked Aunt Babe. “We'll just sit in the crowd, the audience or whatever, with everyone else, then—”

“The chairs on the stage are for you,” Aunt Babe explained.

“So, we'll just sit there and stand when you read off our names, but you'll do the talking?” Darby crossed all her fingers.

“Oh, no.” Aunt Babe wagged a manicured nail. “This is small-town excitement at its best. But fun and wonderful publicity. Word's traveled about you brave kids, and the phone's still ringing. You three are going to sing for your supper.”

“I can't sing,” Cade insisted, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“It's just an expression,” Darby told him. It would be rude to guess that Babe was reminding them publicity for the resort had been part of the agreement when they'd begun searching for the lost colt. Still, she turned to her great-aunt and said, “But if you really meant that, I'd skip supper.”

Maybe Megan remembered she was the oldest, and, seeing there was no way out of this, she asked, “What do you want us to do?”

A movement outside caught Darby's attention. Mrs. Martindale and a man with salt-and-pepper hair, probably her husband, were waving, and Mark Larson, the TV reporter, was trying to get Aunt Babe's attention.

Kit and Cricket were there, too, checking out a long table of drinks and pastries, and Darby missed most of what Aunt Babe was saying until someone called Aunt Babe to the phone.

“While I take this call, why don't you go see Patrick. He'll help you with your leis.” Aunt Babe paused to touch the gold chain of Darby's new necklace.

“Jonah gave it to me,” Darby said. She hoped the
incredulity in her voice didn't sound rude.

Apparently Aunt Babe didn't think so.

“That's so nice. I'm sure you can arrange the lei so that it still shows.”

Aunt Babe shooed them toward a gawky figure dressed in khaki slacks, a shirt buttoned to his chin, and glasses. Darby remembered seeing him at school and thinking he looked like Harry Potter.

Now, though, he stood in a mirrored corner that reflected the orange-and-purple birds-of-paradise flowers. Looking more like a fixture than a boy, he held out an arm draped with leis that gave off a wonderful scent.

“How're you doing, Patrick?” Megan asked.

“Good,” Patrick said earnestly. “My septum wasn't fractured, after all.”

Darby noticed the bandage under the nosepiece of his glasses, but she didn't ask what had happened because Jonah had returned to help them put on their leis.

If fresh ferns, honey, and baby powder could be fashioned into flowers, Darby thought as she put on the lei, they might smell like these blossoms, which Megan called pikake.

“Wonderful,” said Aunt Babe, pointing at their leis as she stopped to talk to Mark Larson.

“I keep wondering if it was smart to sell that
keiki
a horse,” Jonah muttered, with a glance at Patrick.

“He's totally accident prone,” Megan explained in
a whisper. “Really smart and funny—in that Einstein kind of way—but watch for him at school and you'll see he always has an elastic bandage on his wrist or knee, or Band-Aids on his fingers.”

“And what's his name?” Darby asked.

“Patrick Zink.”

“Oh,” Darby said. The only sign she'd ever seen of the Zinks, the family that shared a border with ‘Iolani Ranch, was their barbed-wire fence.

“The way they let him play alone in the ruins of the old sugar mill, and along the pali,” Jonah said, “it's amazing the kid's not dead.”

“And you sold him a horse?” Darby asked.

“It was an ugly horse,” Jonah said, shrugging. But when Darby didn't laugh, he looked annoyed. “You think he could hurt himself worse with a horse than runnin' around in that foggy old sugar plantation like he does?”

“No,” Darby said, aghast, “but he could hurt the horse.”

Jonah laughed, and so did Megan, and Darby guessed it was a little bit funny, but her mind was too fixated on her mother to laugh. Why wasn't Ellen here yet? Darby couldn't stop looking over her shoulder, searching for her mother.

Just then, she saw Aunt Babe ease away from Mark Larson and head back to them.

Behind her, Mark Larson studied his watch. Reporters had deadlines, Darby thought, and though
she didn't see a clock anywhere, it must be getting awfully close to eleven o'clock. Where was her mom?

Aunt Babe's smile was brighter than before, as if she had news, but she just adjusted Cade's lei. “They look perfect,” Aunt Babe said, patting Megan's shoulder. “And there's one left, for your mother,” she told Darby. “That was her, calling from the airport in Hapuna! She tried you at the ranch, but of course you were already here. She's rented a car and she's on her way.”

Darby barely suppressed a squeal of delight. Ellen Kealoha was back on Wild Horse Island!

 

It was almost an hour later when Aunt Babe gave in to a polite but pressured Mark Larson, and started the award ceremony before the arrival of Darby's mom.

The good thing about the delay was that Megan, Cade, and Darby had persuaded Aunt Babe to let them bring Stormbird up on the stage.

“He is the real star of the show,” Megan insisted, and Aunt Babe was too busy to make much of a protest.

“Just walk him around now, and shake his sillies out so that he doesn't hurt himself up there, and
please
,” she said, cupping Darby's cheek gently but insistently, “do not let him relieve himself in front of the cameras.”

Now, the three teenagers stood in order of height—Megan, Cade, then Darby—next to each other, with
Stormbird in front of them.

The white colt leaned against their knees, watching the crowd with his turquoise eyes. Each time he tilted his head, snorted, or flicked his whisk of a tail, the “ahs” of the audience washed over Aunt Babe's storytelling.

From the small stage, Darby noticed that people in the audience kept looking back over their shoulders. Hoping to catch a glimpse of Ellen Kealoha, probably, but she still hadn't arrived.

Darby tried not to worry about her mom, as Aunt Babe explained how the three teenagers had tracked down Stormbird on the black sands of Night Digger Point Beach, how they'd lured him to safety by singing and offering him a wet bandanna to suck on. They got a standing ovation from the crowd, and Stormbird answered the clapping with a whinny.

Babe asked them all to stand, then come forward and say a few words as they received their checks.

Megan was great. Cherry Coke–colored hair glinting in the sun, she thanked Darby for spotting the colt in the first place and Cade for his paniolo expertise, then explained how she'd use her generous reward from Sugar Sands Cove Resort: for college, and to buy her mother a new set of sunflower-patterned dishes to replace those shattered by the earthquake.