Chapter Five

“Plundered!” shrieked the headline of the yellowed newspaper I lifted from a storage box.

I could have postponed doing research on The King’s Crown, but I had already agreed to meet Jerry downtown for lunch.

So by ten o’clock on Monday morning, I was comfortably established at one of the reading room tables in the Historic Society’s wing of the library. Neatly folded around me were numerous issues of the Pacific Commercial Advertiser from the 1890s, and I was busily shuffling through them in a more or less systematic way with an eye to seeing whether there was any link between King Kalākaua’s crown and my family.

The news articles gave a detailed account of the theft of the crown jewels but didn’t differ substantially from the story Benjamin Hastings had already told—beginning in early April 1893, when a government inventory in the basement of ʻIolani Palace was conducted. A leather trunk holding the crown was found open, the lock smashed. All the jewels of the crown had been pried out. Only a contorted gold headpiece remained.

Corporal Ryan, of the Hawai‘i Guards, was tried and convicted a mere four months later. The evidence presented was indisputable—an eyewitness testified to the theft, and several small diamonds were found in Ryan’s vest pocket and in his barracks room.

I had to go back to the newspaper archives to get to the end of the matter. An obituary in 1899, announced “the murder of the man who stole the crown jewels,” to fill in the remainder of Ryan’s life; a pardon granted a year earlier had allowed him to enlist in the army to fight the Spanish-American War in the Philippines. There he was found dead, lashed to a raft floating on the Pampanga River in a particularly gruesome condition, with his arms severed below the elbows. The matter ended there.

The Wentworths didn’t seem connected to this tale of theft and murder. Still, I wondered what became of the crown itself and remembered that it had been on display. Violet was filing index cards at her desk when I asked her if she knew anything about the exhibit.

“I don’t remember the exact date,” she whispered. “There’s another set of reference books we can consult.”

I followed her to a low bookshelf where she paged through an index to the Honolulu Advertiser. “My aunt told me she saw the crown on display once, and I was hoping to see a picture.” I followed Violet’s example by speaking in hushed tones though there wasn’t anyone else in the room.

It turned out that the crown had been exhibited for a week in October of 1925, in the window of Wall & Dougherty Jewelers, the company that repaired it with simulated stones. Then it was returned to storage in the Territorial Archives. There was a photo in the newspaper of people peering into a glass display case. The crown didn’t look like anything I’d seen before that could be connected with Makani Kai. Another dead end, I decided.

I returned the newspaper to Violet’s desk. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she quietly asked.

“Yes and no, if that makes any sense.” I remembered to keep my voice down.

“Are you researching the history of your family’s house? I heard you were restoring it.”

“I’d like to. I just haven’t decided where to start.”

“Why don’t you begin with this history of Hawaiian architecture? If you come back another day, I’ll have more materials ready for you.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Violet.” I waged a short debate with myself then asked, “I wonder if you’d be interested in taking a look at my library sometime—the house library, I should say. It’s mostly a collection of the classics, but you might find the arrangement interesting or suggest one that’s more practical.”

Her face lit up with pleasure. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

“Good. I’ll phone you when we’re further along with the renovations and we can set a time.” I looked at my watch, nearly eleven forty-five. I needed five minutes to walk to Fort Street to meet Jerry. “I’ve only got a few minutes before I have to run, so I’ll read as much of this as I can for now and return it to your desk.”

I flipped through the chapters and was struck by the way the history of the Islands could be told through its buildings. From the simple village shelters of the earliest Hawaiians, an infusion of styles slowly evolved, beginning with the first European traders and whalers. Then came the wood and stone buildings of the New England missionaries, and, finally, the airy plantation styles drawn from Oriental labor cultures. I thought about Makani Kai’s wide veranda and wanted to know more about the way its Victorian style had been transformed into one that was uniquely Hawaiian.

Jamison could tell me, but that wasn’t possible now. I remembered how he ran his fingers across the carved doorframe on the evening we first met, then only dimly aware of his appreciation for the architectural tradition and how much we could share.

With a little involuntary shake, I shut my eyes against the memory and chided myself for wasting my time on something that couldn’t be helped.

Darn it, now I was running late.

With a rushed thank you to Violet, I hurried out of the building and tore across the ʻIolani Palace grounds past the Barracks, taking confident strides without worrying about bumping into a ghost.

****

Benson Smith’s Drug Store advertised its presence with a red-and-white striped awning on the busy Fort Street corner. Through the window I could make out a lunch counter with several metal swivel stools surrounded by shelves piled high with hair tonic and tooth powder. I hesitated on the sidewalk, wondering at Jerry’s enthusiasm for the place until I noticed him standing in an aisle, waving me inside toward the back.

A cozy nook had been carved out of an alcove in the drugstore with three private booths. We slid into the comfortable padded seats facing each other. “You made it.” He stashed a leather briefcase and newspaper on the bench beside him.

“You had doubts?” I was only half-joking.

“Not at all. What do the poets say? Something about ‘truth is beauty, beauty is truth’.”

I felt myself get pink at the personal tone he had taken. Not for the first time, he was flirting, but it took a moment for the words to register. “I don’t know where you come up with this stuff, Jerry. Especially with someone you barely know.”

“I do apologize,” he said. “Let’s order something and then we’ll talk. There are some things you should know.”

My curiosity got the better of me and I relaxed back against the seat. “Do you think they have sandwiches? And a soda?”

It turned out they had just the kind of grilled cheese that I never took the time to make for myself at home. Jerry ordered the same for himself. The sandwiches came along with drinks in flared glasses with Coca Cola etched in frosted script across the side.

We were more or less free to discuss his important matter, but my companion reverted to some idle gossip. “That’s Alan Jinx in the booth behind us.” On this he looked up knowingly. “The disc jockey on KGMB. Do you listen to his show?”

“I think I’ve heard it a couple of times. He has a deep masculine voice?”

“Never gave it much thought,” he said. “He spins a lot of Benny Goodman, all the pops, and some jazz, too. He’s on from three to six in the afternoon.”

“I’ll have to tune in more often. I’m getting interested in jazz.” Jerry’s shoulders sagged a little as he put away the newspaper in his briefcase. “I hope I’m not interrupting your lunch hour,” I said, with a nod toward his briefcase.

“Not by a long shot. I’ve been looking forward to this all morning.” He snapped the case shut and met my eyes. “My ever-present briefcase.” His sigh was long-suffering as he slumped deeper into the booth. “You know those movies where a spy is handcuffed to a case full of secret papers? Well, that’s how I feel. Only without any of the adventure.”

“Is that what you want? Adventure?”

“Of course. Who doesn’t?” He leaned back against the seat and stuck out his chest.

“Hacking your way through jungles. Climbing mountains wearing snow shoes and a big wool jacket.”

“That’s it, exactly. Except I’ll have to shop around for the snowshoes. McInerny doesn’t carry much of a selection in their Aloha Wear department.”

“You might start a fad.” I laughed. “Seriously, aren’t you going to be taking over the insurance business? When will you have time for conquering the world?”

“You’ve hit on the crux of the matter.” He slouched forward again to rest his arms on the table. “My father will be running the company—and me—for the next twenty years. By then, I’ll be an old has-been, not fit to wear snowshoes over a molehill. After that, it’ll be nose to the grindstone, with my father still watching over the company as chairman of the board. You, you’ve got the chance to try your wings.” He stopped short of mentioning the house.

“I do. But it’s also good to have a home base. Like in baseball. Makani Kai is my adventure, for now, anyway. It’s not ready to be my home plate, yet.” I avoided eye contact. “That’s the challenge.”

“You’re calling the house Makani Kai?”

“That’s the name my grandfather gave it.”

“Sounds like you’re burying yourself in the past.”

“Not really,” I objected. “It’s history. Tradition. Family heritage—”

“All right already.” He grinned and put up his hands. “Any big discoveries in an old house like that? Secret passages, magic carpets? Maybe a dungeon or a pirate chest filled with diamonds?”

“Nothing so exciting. I did try playing the Steinway piano over the weekend, and it hasn’t gone much out of tune.” There wasn’t any reason to mention Jamison. What’s more, Jerry seemed like he might share a growing suspicion of the Japanese who lived in the Islands. An unidentified submarine had been detected right off Waikiki last week that was making everyone jittery.

“You should be careful,” he warned.

“How do you mean, careful?”

“There could be rotting floors, weak timbers. You could have an accident and get hurt.” He looked grave.

I reminded myself that we were talking about the house, not warnings of Japanese sabotage. “So on one hand I should have an adventure, spread ‘my wings,’ as you say. On the other hand, it’s too dangerous to walk around my own family’s house. You’re a funny one, Jerry Caine. Is this what you wanted to tell me?”

“I’m worried about you, that’s all. And the Wentworth estate does have an unlucky reputation.”

“In what way?”

“An unlucky rock.” He fashioned an edge of menace into his words.

“You mean like a rock from…the ground?”

“Or a stone. Maybe a boulder.” Now he was grinning again.

“Maybe a pebble?” I suggested, sarcastically. “With a curse.”

“Not a pebble. Definitely not a pebble. There was a story about a curse. I heard my father mention something—I forget what it was about.” His grin softened into mischievous smile. “Just be careful, that’s all I’m saying. In case the house is haunted.”

“No chance of that. I haven’t even seen Benjamin Hastings’ ghost,” I said, turning the conversation to the Historic Society meeting. “What did you think of the library opening?”

“The usual this-and-that,” he replied, then sparked to attention. “I don’t think that architect will be buying any of your paintings.”

“Mr. Sumida?” I set my glass down with a clatter. “Why do you say that?”

“Seems he’s moving his office to somewhere in Chinatown where the rents are lower.”

Jamison must be as reluctant as I am to bring up financial matters. He probably didn’t expect to pay much for my mother’s painting, so it wouldn’t figure into his finances.

The waitress interrupted us with a mechanical, “How’re you doing?” while the party with Alan Jinx in the next booth was signaling her over, ready to pay their check. Then they filed past us in the leisurely fashion that I imagine entertainers effect when they’re in public, somehow floating above the fray of the common work-a-day world. A thin balding man flashed us a smile as he passed our booth, and I could see him vigorously pumping a customer’s hand at the lunch counter.

“That’s Alan Jinx,” Jerry whispered.

“He doesn’t quite match his voice in person, does he?”

“But he sure spins the hot tunes. Do you like to dance?”

“I haven’t since I’ve come back. On the Mainland we’d go to college dances. And once, a bunch of us drove across the Bay Bridge to an afterhours club in San Francisco—the Forbidden City. Have you heard of it?”

“I don’t think the Aloha Ball can compete with that—” Jerry forced a smile “—but would you like to go with me?”

“You and me? Together?”

Jerry must have prepared in advance for any possible resistance. “It’s for charity, you know—the Red Cross, Humane Society, think of all the people—and animals—that are counting on us.”

“When is it?”

“In a couple of weeks, on December sixth. It’s a Saturday night. Saturday night at the Oahu Country Club, what do you say? I’d love to take you.”

“Then…yes.” It wasn’t as if anyone else was going to ask me. Jamison wouldn’t be a country club member—why was I thinking of him anyway? I brushed aside the thought of him holding me…the way it might be to dance with him. “It’s nice of you to ask, thank you.”

With the matter settled, Jerry ran through the highlights of last year’s ball with his particularly infectious humor, not sparing the reputation of Mrs. Dwyer, of the draying and moving fortune, by joking about the way her shoe had flown right off her foot during an energetic jitterbug. Then, he continued, one of the town’s most distinguished businessmen floundered tipsy and with a great uproar, into the balloon decorations with his lighted cigar. An evening with Jerry would be frivolous, but not unpleasant. Auntie May would be pleased, and the whole thing was for charity.

That was my state of mind as we left the drugstore. Jerry held the door open for me with one arm and had his briefcase in the other.

“You won’t forget the dance?” He turned a puppy-dog look on me. Except for the telltale dark crescents under his eyes, he came off as quite charming.

“I’ll put it on my calendar as soon as I get home.”

“What about Friday night, any plans?”

“On Friday I’ll be with my aunt—Mrs. Winston. You might have met her at the Historical Society meeting.”

“I didn’t have the pleasure.”

While we were talking, I noticed a man in a baggy suit leaning against a lamppost. He puffed on the stub of a cigarette in short, jerky movements, then flipped up the brim of his hat to fix us with a stare. “Do you know that man?”

Jerry lowered his chin to give the man a once-over. “Never saw him before.”

“Why do you think he keeps watching us?”

“I don’t think he’s looking at both of us.”

“What, you think he’s looking at me?”

“Why not?”

The man flicked away the stub he was smoking and tipped his hat without smiling.

“I should say goodbye now, Jerry. Thanks for the lunch. And, you know, the invitation. I won’t forget.” I hurried my words while I made my escape down Beretania Street toward the shortcut through the palace grounds. It was no great compliment to be ogled by a rumpled bystander on a street corner.

At one point I stopped to peer into a store window and stalled long enough to see if the man had followed. There wasn’t any sign of him.

Silly girl. If I don’t get a hold of my imagination, I’ll be seeing a bogeyman skulking behind every hibiscus bush.

****

The trees arching over the driveway opened up to sunlit pavers in front of the carriage house. As I drove up, I noticed Auntie May’s Ford in front of the portico before I saw Johnny, sitting on the steps with his leg propped up in bandages.

I threw open the car door. “What happened?”

Johnny wore a sheepish look on his face. “Aw, my jump shot did me in. A couple of us guys were playing a pick-up game during lunch, so I thought I’d try one of the Harlem Globetrotter’s moves over my shoulder. Instead I fell and twisted my leg. Coach took me over to Queen’s Hospital for X-rays.”

“And?” I encouraged him.

“Nothing’s broken, but I need to stay off it for a couple of days. Mom came and brought me home.” He screwed his mouth into a crooked grin.

“How’s she taking it?”

“Pretty good, actually. She and Dr. Kane—he was my doctor—they talked for a long time about tendons and bones. First aid stuff. She knows a lot, even though she hasn’t been a nurse since before I was born. She doesn’t talk about it much. Because it reminds her of Dad, I guess.”

Auntie May bumped open the screen door with her shoulder just then, holding a tea towel filled with ice cubes. “Ready for another cold pack?”

Johnny gave me a look that said, ‘See what I mean’. “How long do I need to keep it on this time?”

“Twenty minutes. Then you can be done for the day, if you keep your leg up.”

“How can I walk around with my leg up?” Johnny complained.

Auntie gave him a triumphant smile for an answer, then turned to me. “How was your day? You had lunch with Jerry?”

“Yes Auntie, you know I did.” I let her stew for a minute. “He asked me to the Aloha Charity Ball.”

“How wonderful,” she cried. “Now, what about a dress?”

I kicked off my shoes local style, leaving them at the front door, and followed her back inside to our cramped living room.

“Keep the ice on your leg,” she reminded Johnny before the screen banged behind us.

“I have a rose silk taffeta with a sweetheart neck that I wore to a college dance. It probably isn’t sophisticated enough for a country club, but it’ll have to do.”

“Jerry will like you in whatever you wear. He didn’t waste any time in asking you out, did he?” She finished folding up an unused tea towel. “You can borrow my pearls, if you like.”

“And your long gloves?”

“Of course. You’ll look lovely.”

“How have you managed all these years, since your husband...” I asked tentatively without bringing up his death, since she rarely mentioned it, herself.

“Dan left us with his military pension. It isn’t much, but we’ve made do. And now, you’ve given us a home in the carriage house.”

“You’ve been wonderful—you and Johnny are the best family I could ask for,” I said. “Do you ever think of taking up nursing again? You had a career before you were married, didn’t you?”

“After Johnny was born, I left my job at the hospital to make a home for the new baby. Dan and I were both pulling long hospital shifts, so it was for the best. Then, after Dan’s accident, when there was only two of us, I wanted to be there for Johnny. Getting a job didn’t seem as important.”

“You’ve never regretted it.”

Auntie May looked out the screen door to check on Johnny, ready, I suspected, to remind him about the ice pack. “Not in the least,” she said. “Although Dr. Kane told me about a program being run through the hospital where I could use my training again. As a Red Cross volunteer at the blood bank if Hawaiʻi has a disaster.”

“What kind of disaster?”

“Some people think a lot of lives could have been saved during the London blitz, if more medical preparations had been made.”

“But that’s war.” I frowned at the idea.

“There are different kinds of emergencies,” she said, sagely, “and it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Auntie had her reasons, I decided. More importantly, I was thrilled she was thinking about getting out in the world and taking up her profession again. Once she reentered the workforce, she’d remember how capable women were outside the home. My guesthouse plans might not seem so far-fetched.

The sky had clouded over and I stepped outside to survey what remained of the afternoon. Thick gray billows were forming on the mountain at the back of the valley, tumbling over themselves as they somersaulted in slow motion down the slopes. “I’m going to run over to the house for a minute to see how the carpenters are doing—Oh, there goes one of the trucks, now.” I was already putting on my old tennis shoes as I spoke.

“You need to get phone service installed in that house one of these days,” Auntie grumbled with good-natured intentions. “Don’t be long, Lei and wait, take my umbrella.”

“I’ll be fine—I can run faster without it.”

“Don’t get wet, or you might melt,” Johnny hooted, and sent me on my way with the tired old joke he often used on his mother, though he had a point; it was truly incongruous to think of her walking in the rain.

Instead of using the path, I made for the road, anticipating I could cut off Mr. Gonsalves. He was just pulling away from the house when I breathlessly jogged up to his truck.

He couldn’t wait any longer for Mr. Sumida to come, he explained through the open window. “I call him for come help me read da drawings he left. Plenny da kine job, I t’ink,” the big man said apologetically, as though his skills had not lived up to my expectations.

I was unprepared for this news. The idea of having Jamison officially involved in the restoration put me on my guard—the possibility of running into him was both disturbing and strangely unnerving.