Spoils of Eden (7 page)

“Oh yes, yes it will. This is what I want, Ambrose. Except—” her voice trailed.

“Except your heart is divided because you also want Rafe. You’re in love with him and have been for years.”

She nodded. “Yes. You know me well. You and Noelani both.”

“You were a daughter to us,” he said kindly. “When Ainsworth sent you here after Jerome went away, we saw you as the answer to our prayer for a child of our own. We’ve never regretted those ten years you lived with us.”

She smiled. “I was thinking when I entered this house that it will always be
home
. And I’ll always be grateful for your guidance and Noelani’s mothering.”

“Well, just remember you’re not the only one who faced the loss of a father,” he said gently. “From your earliest years, you longed for Jerome, and he wasn’t here. Rafe, too, was dedicated to his father, and then Matt was taken away, suddenly and unjustly. Then Matt’s plantation at Hanalei was taken away. Stolen, is the way Rafe views it.”

Eden understood Rafe’s resentments—or believed she did. Perhaps she’d not taken them to heart. There had always been her own goal to think about.

“I’ve been doing much thinking about fathers recently,” he
mused. “I’ve come to the conclusion that the father image has strong spiritual implications.”

“Spiritual?” She looked at him quizzically.

“Yes, because in the end, the quest for the deepest relationship we seek can only be fulfilled in God. Who was it that came to the garden of Eden in the cool of the evening and called for Adam, to walk and commune with him as a father walks with a son?”

She thought about Adam meeting and walking together with God in the garden. What did Adam say? Could he ask God questions as a child does his father? How wondrous it must have been to walk and talk with his Creator in the cool of the evening, among the fragrance of the flowers and greenery, the animals in perfect harmony. Did some gentle lion or elephant follow close behind as their voices carried through the trees?

“And then the serpent entered and destroyed their fellowship,” she said wearily.

“And
then
God came and made redemption possible for those who accept the remedy of the cross of Christ. Adam and his fallen sons and daughters can be restored to an even higher position of fellowship with God as Father.
Now
we can call Him Abba,
Father
. Ah, what a privilege! We
do
have a Father, my dear Eden. We have a family. We
belong
. And you and Rafe included will never tremble alone or have Him taken from us in death or, like Zachary, know the stab of rejection.”

She stared out the window. The hibiscus flowers were visuals of the Father’s care, brightly colored and basking in the warmth.

Ambrose said no more. His reassuring pat on her shoulder told her their conversation would be kept between them. “Take my buggy to Hawaiiana,” he said. “The horse is hitched.”

Several minutes later Eden became aware she was alone at the window and that Ambrose had quietly gone about his business. She picked up her sun hat from the table where shed laid it, tied the ribbon under her chin, and went out the front door. Onward to Hawaiiana … and her meeting with Rafe.

Eden drove the horse and buggy up the half-mile dirt road toward the Hawaiiana plantation. This fledgling plantation, if all progressed as planned, would one day become Oahu’s largest pineapple plantation, boasting the largest, sweetest, and juiciest pineapples on the islands. With a nostalgic smile, Eden recalled tasting sections of such a pineapple while on board the
Minoa
, anchored in San Francisco Bay. She could still remember the sweet golden flesh and the warm juice that seeped through her fingers when she bit daintily into the section he had handed her.

The breeze tugged at her dark hair beneath the sun hat. The road narrowed when she turned onto a well-used section leading toward the building and planting now underway. It was a hard-pressed volcanic dirt path, lined by trees and ferns, and presenting a view of an unbounded blue-green sea beyond the cliffs.

The Hawaiiana Great House had been started during her engagement with Rafe, and its wondrous lanai remained under construction, but there were sections already completed that housed Rafe’s mother, Celestine. The nursery, too, was in use, and it was there that Noelani cared for Kip. With Ambrose’s approval, Noelani remained at Hawaiiana five days a week to care for the baby, then returned to her house and Ambrose from Friday through Sunday night, where she assisted Ambrose with his preparation for the worship service.

Eden understood that, with the engagement between her and Rafe broken, it was likely she would never live at Hawaiiana as they’d planned. If she allowed her emotions to reign, dwelling on the loss could be overwhelming. She was not blind to Rafe’s dependable Christian character, his intelligence, and yes, his obvious good looks. She was at the age when romance, love, marriage, and a family of her own were desires yearning for fulfillment. The loss was especially painful to her heart when she felt weary, alone, and disappointed. Quite suddenly the thought of seeing him again after two months
unnerved her. She fought an almost overwhelming urge to turn back and ride instead to Kea Lani. She must have been dazed with arrogance to think she could simply walk back into the fire and not be tested! Maybe Lana was right after all about who should meet with Rafe. Yes, she should turn back. Turn back now. Go home to Kea Lani where she would be safe. Safe, because Rafe wouldn’t come there to confront her love for him. As long as they kept apart and put up a front, they could pretend they didn’t need each other.

Grandfather Ainsworth will be home this afternoon
, she thought, sitting in the buggy, clutching the reins. Maybe she should go home and wait to welcome him back from the States. After all, she could always send a message to Lana at Kalihi to call on Rafe Easton about Kip.

Eden stopped the buggy on the side of the road and sat listening to the sigh of the tropic breezes in the palm trees and breathing the fragrance of wild orchids.

R
afe Easton stood in the bungalow doorway as the breeze blew in and cooled him. His shirt was off, and he wore white cotton trousers. Tan and muscled, with dark eyes and hair, he watched his friend, ally, and chief foreman, Keno, speak with a Hawaiian woman.

He had raised this temporary bungalow in the midst of the new pineapple plantings. Hawaiiana lands covered over a thousand acres stretching from the old Easton family pearl beds, by Pearl River, all the way to the rim of the Koolau mountain range.

Parker Judson, his partner on Hawaiiana, was one of several sugar magnates with political influence in both Hawaii
and
San Francisco, where he kept a second home on Telegraph Hill. Many claimed that he stood on an equal footing with the biggest sugar king of them all, Claus Spreckels. Parker had no son or daughter, and after a meeting with Rafe in San Francisco, he’d taken an unusual liking to him—or as Rafe would clarify, “an affectionate liking for my French Guiana pineapple slips that I risked my neck to smuggle out.” And so, Parker had backed him in the establishment
of a new pineapple enterprise, which Parker owned.

Rafe, in return for selling Parker the rare pineapple slips and developing the plantation’s lands, earned the right to manage the Kona coffee plantation, founded by Rafe’s father on the Big Island of Hawaii. Matt Easton had died there during Rafe’s boyhood, and though the authorities considered his death an accident, Rafe had never accepted that explanation.

Matt’s death not only robbed Rafe of a close relationship with his father, but matters turned darker still when Townsend Derrington married Rafe’s mother, Celestine, and wrangled control of the Easton plantation away from her. While still a youth, Rafe had lost not only his father, but the land that would have become his inheritance. Townsend, ever looking for new ways to pay down his persistent gambling debts, had leased the Easton lands to Parker Judson. But now, Hanalei would be run by Rafe, and it was for this prize that he worked such long, demanding hours for Parker Judson.

Rafe used the bungalow for his field office and general habitat when working late, often well past midnight. It was a ready place to eat and rest rather than having to return to the main house, though it offered little comfort in the heat of the day when the sun beat relentlessly on the palm frond roof.

Keno turned away from the Hawaiian woman who’d been seated beside the road and walked toward Rafe, carrying a large
ahi
tuna. Nearing the bungalow, Keno held up the slippery fish, its scales glinting in the sunlight.

Leaning in the doorway, eating an overripe melon with a wooden spoon, Rafe shot Keno a quizzical look. “What’s that all about?”

Keno gestured toward the lingering woman. “She wants you to buy this.”

When she grinned at Rafe, he smiled and looked back Keno. “I don’t like fish, so you buy it and send it over to Ambrose.”

Keno thoughtfully stroked the slippery fish with one finger. “Hawaiian
wahine
has heard how poor, handsome
makua
Rafe is
heartbroken over haole girl with green eyes.”

Rafe flicked away some melon seeds and narrowed his gaze as Keno continued. “Hawaiian woman says her own eyes are black, but she can cook an
ahi
great and delicious. She wants to come inside and comfort you.”

Rafe didn’t so much as bat a lash. “Tell her that poor, heartbroken makua Rafe cannot be solaced. He only wants ‘green eyes’ in his little hut.”

Keno dug in his pocket for some change. “I’m broke.” He held out his palm. Rafe dug into his own pocket but also found nothing.

Rafe gestured. “Bring the fish back.”

Keno, a strongly built pearl diver, trotted down the slope to where the woman waited, seated by the narrow road with her basket. He shook his head no, firmly handed her the
ahi
, made negative gestures with his hands—then pointed down the road. His voice carried on the breeze: “Go up to the big house, ask for Noelani. She’ll buy the fish.
Rapidamente!”

Rafe turned his mouth.
Spanish?
Of all languages to use with her.

The woman walked away in the direction of the Great House, and Keno trotted back toward the bungalow.

Finishing the melon, Rafe wiped his hands on a towel. The one woman he wanted, he couldn’t have, even after offering her everything—his heart and his life. No small offering as far as he was concerned. He would never understand women. One brought him a big smelly fish, anxious to stay, the other kept him dangling on a line while she awaited the return of her long lost father, daily risking her future to leprosy at Kalihi Hospital.

Keno came inside, brushed past him, and sat down by a desk cluttered with papers, books, and a Bible. He reached for a pencil.

Rafe tilted his head. “You were a little brusque with her, weren’t yo
u? ‘Rapidamente!’
he mimicked good naturedly.

“If I wasn’t firm with her, she’d camp out there. Gotta be careful, ol’ pal. Remember that divorced lady, the haole? She kept coming
to see Ambrose, wanting to tell him all about how lonely she was for a fellow and how she needed counseling to deal with her temptations?”

“I remember. He learned his lesson and got rid of her in a hurry. Told her that Noelani would be happy to counsel with her … a woman’s heart to a woman’s heart. Wise, isn’t he?”

“Safest place for you, my friend, is to get you on board the
Minoa
again,” Keno said, finally finding Rafe’s map. He reached over and spread it across the desk. “No sooner will you board ship for French Guiana than ‘Miss Green Eyes’ will pine for you, weeping tears into her lace hanky. She will bemoan how she lost you, and become pale and wan. Then, Dr. Jerome will realize how he’s manipulated her to support his work, send for you posthaste, and have Ambrose perform an immediate marriage—” Rafe promptly muffled Keno’s mouth with a towel.

“You talk too much, Keno.” Rafe smiled at him maliciously. “I think it was you whom Fishy Wahine had her eyes on. Yes, that was it, you conniving hapa-haole. I had best speak to Candace about this. Let her know how the adoring island women hang around my office making a nuisance of themselves, anxious to cook you little coconut cakes while you’re supposed to be working.”

“Alas, you pine for green eyes … and I for red hair. We both should take to sea again and forget our misery.”

“It’s wiser you stay in Honolulu this time, Keno. And seriously,” Rafe said, looking down at him, “Ambrose is right. You should become a lay pastor. The little group we’ve started here on Hawaiiana needs you. Later, when Ambrose retires, you could take his position at the mission church. You need to begin teaching our group at least once a month, though, just to get over your fear of speaking before people. Then if you want to go to seminary, I can arrange for it.”

Keno frowned. He ran his fingers through his dark hair. “I can’t do it. It makes me nervous.” He laid a hand against his stomach. “When I stand up to teach, I forget everything. It’s best if you help
me the way you said you would. A plantation of my own. Then, maybe, Makua Ainsworth would think me respectable enough for his granddaughter.”