Mystic Memories (17 page)

“I asked you before about him, but you refused to talk. Won’t you at least tell me about how you met?”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “He was a cabin boy on a merchant ship much like this one. The captain was one mean son of a—uh, that is . . . He was
‘a ‘ole maika’i
.”

“No good?” translated Cara.

Keoni gave her an encouraging nod, then went back to his story. “Blake ran off, stowing away on a whaler bound for the Islands. But he was discovered the second day out.”

“Did that captain hurt him, too?”

“No, thank God. Blake never wanted to set foot on a ship again, so he was brought to my father. We’ve been brothers ever since.”

“What made him go back to the sea?”

Keoni shrugged his massive shoulders. “Time heals . . .”

Cara understood the old saying. She also understood her vision of Blake. The abuse he’d suffered had been unspeakable.

“Time hasn’t healed Blake,” she said solemnly. “The wounds are still there.”

“So you saw the scars on his back.”

“Yes, but I’m talking about something deeper—a hurt that kills the soul. I think I can help him, but he won’t let me.”

“You should concentrate on finding Andrew.” Averting his gaze, he looked toward Bud. As he stroked the dog’s shiny black coat, she sensed something was wrong.

“Blake is going to leave me in San Diego, isn’t he?” The
Kanaka
’s head came up slowly, a silent apology in his black eyes. “Yes, he is.”

Her appetite suddenly vanished. She pushed the plate away. “I was counting on his help to find Andrew, and I blew it! I scared him off. Damn!”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Hawaiian’s surprise. “My turn to apologize,” she said. “I shouldn’t swear.”

He grinned. “It seems to come quite easily to you.”

“Perhaps too easily. I need to watch myself more carefully.” She pivoted in her chair and put her hand on the man’s thick forearm. As before, he guarded his thoughts well. Still, she sensed certain things. “I am aware of how . . . different I seem to you and everyone else. Keoni, I need your help.”

“I will not betray
ko’u kaikaina
.”
My younger brother
.

“I’m not asking you to.” She felt a kinship of her own with the Hawaiian. “In your world, you have beliefs that a
haole
cannot understand, let alone accept as real. Some of the stories told as myths and legends are based on fact. Am I right?”

He agreed.

“Keoni . . .” She hesitated, praying that he would listen and accept what she was about to say. “I know Blake has told you about my second sight.”

“Yes, we have talked. But then, it would be easy for you to guess that we have discussed you.”

“If he hasn’t been here in this cabin in days, how would I know he is concerned about my condition?”

“You were terribly ill in San Juan—”

“Not with morning sickness, as he is wondering.”

“You overheard us talking when we were on deck,” he said, pointing upward. “Or you heard the woman at the mission.”

He had a ready explanation for everything she tried to use to make a case for herself.

“I’d like a chance to prove myself. May I hold your hand?”

He balked, then reluctantly complied. Though it wasn’t necessary to close her eyes, she did it to aid her concentration.

“Think of something I would know nothing about.” Pictures and images popped into her head. She smiled at the vision of the large half-moon bay of calm blue water on the north shore of Kaua‘i.

“Ah, that’s easy—Hanalei.” She heard his sudden intake of breath. Considering that the island was his home, she wasn’t surprised to pick up his memory of it. Actually, it was almost too simple. She wanted more of a challenge. “Think of a special day in your past . . . There you go . . . Good . . . I see some of your people around you.”

Cara gave a precise description of each person, naming his mother and father and siblings. And bride. It was his wedding day. As he quietly acknowledged her observation, she suddenly received a torrent of images as if a floodgate had been opened. He had lost his young bride in a hurricane during his first long voyage, later learning about their twin babies with her.

“Oh, Keoni . . .” Sympathy swelled her heart. She reached up and tenderly cupped his cheek. “I’m so sorry. Here I have been talking about Blake and his painful past when you, too, have scars that have not completely healed.”

His fingers wrapped around her wrist, holding her tight yet not hurting her. She sensed that this man would never harm her.

“How can you know these things?” he asked, awe in his voice.

“A gift from the gods.”

This was the moment of truth. She had to tell him the truth. With luck, he would believe her. Then maybe, just maybe, she would have an ally on board the
Valiant
, someone who could reason with Blake. “Keoni, I am not from this time. I have come here from the future. Far in the future.”

His grip slackened. His eyes grew wide. His jaw dropped. Any second now, she expected him to hightail it out of there faster than a speeding bullet.

Then he said, “I believe you.”

The following morning a fair breeze picked up again, allowing the
Valiant
to round the high point. Entering the narrow outlet of a small river, the crew fired the bow guns in salute, which was returned from the shore. With barely enough clearance for their single ship, the crew brought her through this snaking waterway that followed the inside face of the point and curved inland around a finger of land where the bay opened to a spacious anchorage.

To the north, a chain of hills ran inland from the point. To the east and south, the landscape was low and green from spring rains, yet sported only a scattering of trees, none of which were taller than six or eight feet. On the beach, four long wooden hide houses were lined up end to end, the only signs of civilization. The
presidio
and its village were three miles eastward; another three miles further was the mission.

Mooring within a cable’s length of the sandy shore of San Diego, the
Valiant
joined two other vessels at anchor. One was the brig Pilgrim from Boston, another the
Ayacucho
, a long, sharp brig bearing the British colors, each standing off the beach in front of a hide house that was under their use while on the coast.

Blake had sent his steward to fetch Cara, unwilling to set foot in that cabin and risk being alone with her. After his last visit, he had vowed to stay away from her, though it had been almost impossible to keep from going to her. Yet, if he’d gone to her one more time, he would have made love to her. He was certain of it. Then he would never be able to leave her alone in this uncivilized territory with its volatile political coups and rough men.

She had asked his help to bring her to this port. He owed her nothing more than that. His decision had been made. He would sail for Boston within the week without Cara. And nothing would change his mind. Nothing.

When Cara appeared on deck, every man in the crew became aware of her presence, glancing her way. Even with her male clothing and cropped hair, she was unmistakably female with her large, expressive eyes and full lips. In the bright sunlight, her Indian and Spanish blood was much more evident in her light coppery skin. His own blood warmed at the sight of her, stirring up thoughts he had no right to be thinking.

Angered by his powerful urges, he barked at Mr. Bellows to get his men back on task.

Allowing Jimmy to assist Cara into the boat, Blake stood back until the last, then called Bud, who looked forward to these land excursions after confinement on the small ship.

No words were spoken during the short trip to shore with the
Kānaka
oarsmen, including Keoni. Halfway, Bud began barking at the pack of dogs living around the hide houses. They responded with their own raucous yips and howls. Before the longboat landed, Bud leaped off the bow, splashing into the foot-deep water, where he was greeted by a tall, agile canine that outweighed him by several pounds.

“Welly!” cried all the
Kānaka
in unison, greeting the jowled namesake of the Duke of Wellington that was a strange mix of broad-faced mastiff and long-legged greyhound.

“What is it?” Cara asked Keoni, rather than Blake, who was closer to her. Her friendship with the cook had rapidly grown into a bond that sorely chafed Blake. After noticing the numerous “language lessons” over the last several days, he did not like the way her smiling eyes gazed at his jovial brother instead of him.

While Keoni told her about the leader of the pack, Blake ground his back teeth to keep from interjecting himself into the benign conversation.

As soon as the boat was pulled up on dry land, he leaped out and turned to offer his gentlemanly assistance to Cara, only to see her being lifted off her feet by Keoni, whose wide hands spanned her small waist. When she was set down, those hands remained on her waist far longer than Blake thought was necessary.

Tipping her head back, she looked up at Keoni and thanked him, saying, “
Mahalo nui loa
.”

“
Noʻu ka hauʽoli
.”
The pleasure is mine
, he said in his native tongue, then offered to take her to speak with the
Kānaka
about the boy she was searching for. A number of them lived inside an enormous baking oven, built and abandoned by a Russian crew and large enough to sleep nearly a dozen men. All the Islanders gathered together to smoke, drink, and have a fair time while in port at this “
Kānaka
Hotel” or “Oahu Coffeehouse.”

As she paused with a concentrated effort to translate his words, Blake stepped forward to put an end to their lesson.

“She does not need your services, big brother,” he said to Keoni in the Island language. “You ask questions about the boy here at the beach and the oven.” Then turning to Cara, he grasped her upper arm. “In the meantime,
I
will take you to the village to ask if anyone there knows about him.”

She wrested her arm away from him, clearly perturbed with him for taking the decision out of her hands. “I’ll go on my own, thank you.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind. This is not a safe place for you alone.” He gestured toward men bringing off uncured hides from the ships and piling them outside the houses. Others worked at pickling, drying, and cleaning the cattle skins for the five-month storage in the hull of the vessels bound for home.

Would he need to explain to her that this male-only community offered few opportunities for the men to see a lady, let alone socialize with one? Couldn’t she see the reason for his concern?

“You win,” she agreed halfheartedly, though she didn’t offer her arm to him. “Let’s get going. No horses, though. I’ve been cooped up too long without any exercise. A three-mile walk will do me good.”

Leaving a smiling Keoni behind, Blake motioned in the direction of the small village. “This way . . .”

“What about Bud?”

“He’ll romp with his friends for hours.”

As if the dog wished to make a fool of his master, Bud raced up to them and fell into step next to Cara. She chuckled. “I guess he still feels he needs to protect me.”

Blake grunted in reluctant agreement, then fell silent. They had not walked far when Cara glanced over her shoulder, paused, then turned to gaze down at the bay. Sunlight glinted off the calm water. The four long wooden hide houses stretched out on the beach below them. Her attention was drawn to the south end of the last building, where three sailors worked out of sight of the other men on the beach.

A dark Indian approached them, cautiously looking around. At his side was a woman in a dress that was nothing more than an earth-brown sack.

“He is her husband,” explained Blake as the Indian appeared to be speaking to one of the hide workers while the other two listened, also glancing around nervously. As the husband nodded, his wife was circled by the three men and led around the corner of the hide house. The Indian then turned, walked several paces, and sat down on the ground.