Kona Winds (3 page)

With her purse and heavy parka clutched in her arms, she took the steps two at a time to the second floor. Below she could hear Mrs. Kelly singing some old melody and caught the words "heavenly flower." Julie knew she would be much too busy in the next thirty-six hours to do much singing, but Mrs. Kelly was doing it for her. There were such a staggering number of things to accomplish before she left.

Chapter Two

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, we are making our descent for Honolulu International Airport." The pilot's voice came over the intercom. "The weather in Honolulu is seventy-two degrees, overcast skies, with occasional light showers. Despite the inclement conditions, those of you on the right side of the aircraft should have an excellent view of Diamondhead and the Waikiki beach when we break through the clouds."

In her right window seat, Julie leaned closer to the curved glass. The sleek jumbo jet was engulfed in a cloud, a gray white world outside its windows. Although she was exhausted from the frantic schedule of the past forty-eight hours, including more than eight hours of flying, Julie was determined not to miss her first glimpse of the island of Oahu.

The cloud dissipated into wispy trails and then nothing. Etched against the oyster-gray backdrop of the overcast was the familiar bulk of Diamondhead jutting into the sea. Directly below, the Pacific Ocean churned up whitecaps, sending rows of foaming white to the shore. A jungle of building blocks rose behind the pale strip of beach—the mass of skyscraper hotels and offices portraying a city in miniature. Houses climbed the slopes of the mountains behind the beach as the city of Honolulu seemed to tumble over itself in search of room. It was a city much larger than Julie had expected.

The No Smoking sign flashed on and a stewardess announced that they were making their final approach for landing. Julie leaned back in her seat and refastened her belt. A curious anticipation of what was before her chased away the tiredness, not just for the job, but for the people and the place. The aircraft wheels seemed to thud onto the runway and seconds later the powerful thrust of the jet engines reversed itself. The plane slowed to taxi to the terminal.

Having a first-class ticket gave Julie the advantage of being one of the first to leave the aircraft. She emerged from the long tunnel of the jetway into a glassed boarding concourse. The instructions from Mrs. Grayson had said she would be met at the airport, but they hadn't included the information of where and by whom? Julie took a deep breath and walked forward, unconsciously scanning the small group of people waiting at the gate, as if she would recognize someone.

"Miss Julie Lancaster! Miss Julie Lancaster!"
 

She heard her name being paged by a male voice in the group. Other names and tour groups were being called, and it took her a minute to identify who was seeking her. The voice belonged to a Hawaiian man who looked like he was in his late thirties, of medium height with a waistline that had begun to thicken. His hair was as jet black as his eyes.
 

"I'm Julie Lancaster," she told him.

The friendly smile that enveloped his face was easy to return. "Aloha, Miss Lancaster." He took the lei he held and placed it around her neck. In the same motion he lightly kissed her cheek. "Welcome to Hawaii."

Like his smile, the kiss on her cheek had been totally friendly. Julie wondered if this was an example of the "aloha" spirit that she had heard came so naturally to the islanders. She touched a finger to the pale yellow petal of one of the tubular flowers strung one after another into the lei. The blossoms' spicy fragrance reminded her of ginger. She guessed that that was what the flowers were.

"Thank you." She meant the words sincerely.
 

"In Hawaii, we say mahalo," the man smiled again, warmth and gentleness radiating from his face.

"Mahalo," Julie repeated.

"You're welcome." The dark head bobbed in acceptance of her gratitude. "This way, please. Miss Emily is waiting for you over here."

Miss Emily? Julie supposed he meant her employer Miss Harmon and followed him. Standing to one side of an exit was a fairly tall and very erect woman. A naturally colored straw hat was on her head, the white band around the crown almost matching the woman's hair. She wore a navy blue suit, the skirt covering her knees and sensible navy blue shoes. The cotton blouse beneath the navy blue suit jacket was buttoned all the way to the throat. Julie gained the overall impression of someone starched and prim. She didn't feel nervous about meeting her employer, only curious.

"Miss Lancaster, I'm Emily Harmon." The older woman greeted her with a smile that, while it wasn't as all encompassing as the man's had been, was friendly.

"How do you do, Miss Harmon." This time Julie was greeted with the more traditional firm handshake. "And thank you for the lei. It's lovely."

"We couldn't overlook the Hawaiian custom of greeting malihinis."

"Newcomers, tourists," the man defined the term.
 

"Dan has the car waiting outside," Emily Harmon announced. "Dan is actually our mechanic. He only doubles as a chauffeur when I have to come into Honolulu. I can't stand the traffic and the congestion."

Julie found herself being escorted out the exit door. "My luggage," she offered in faint protest, aware of the stream of passengers heading for the baggage area.

"Give your claim tickets to Dan. He'll collect your luggage for you," the woman commanded, and Julie obeyed. A silver-gray Mercedes was parked not far from the door. As they walked toward it, the woman issued another order. "Breathe in. Tell me what you smell."

Julie did as she was told again. There was an elusive quality to the air she breathed, something soft and gentle, but she couldn't identify it. The alert blue eyes of Emily Harmon read her expression.

"It's clean air," she explained. "It's been washed by thousands of miles of ocean, kept cool by the water while acquiring the softness of rain. That first breath will be indelibly etched on your memory."

Julie's lips parted in astonishment that the explanation could be as simple as clean air. "It's wonderful!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, isn't it?" Emily Harmon returned, a trifle smugly. Dan held the rear door of the Mercedes open for them. Julie climbed in first, sliding to the far side behind the driver. When Emily Harmon was safely inside, Dan closed the door. "He's going to drive around to the baggage claim area," Emily explained as if to reassure Julie that they weren't leaving without her luggage.

"Of course," she nodded.

"Were you able to see Honolulu and Waikiki when you landed?" the older woman questioned.

Yes, I did, and Diamondhead, too."

"What did you think?" It wasn't an idle question; Emily Harmon was interested in her reaction. Dan was behind the wheel; the engine purred into action.

"It's a much larger city than I imagined, and there were a lot more skyscrapers than I thought there would be," Julie admitted.

"My family once had a beach house on Waikiki. That was when the only hotel was the Royal Hawaiian. It's difficult to believe, isn't it? Of course, that was long before the war. Now there are so many hotels all up and down the beach that the Royal Hawaiian is practically lost in their shadows. Ruel says it's progress."

"I suppose so." Julie wondered who Ruel was. It was an unusual name. But she didn't have a chance to ask as her employer continued.

"You'd be surprised at how many tourists come here, stay on Waikiki for a week and believe they've seen Hawaii. They go home with their Hawaiian shirts and a crate of pineapples and become an instant authority on Hawaii." She paused for a considering moment. "When Captain Cook landed here, he called the chain the Sandwich Isles after his sponsor the Earl of Sandwich. Did you know that?"
 

"No," Julie admitted.

"Then the whalers came and the missionaries. When I see those people on the beach wearing those ridiculous pieces of cloth called bikinis, I find it difficult to believe that my forebears taught the Hawaiians to put on clothes." The woman's biting wit reached out to charm Julie, grooving a smile in the corners of her mouth.

The car rolled to a quiet stop in front of the baggage area and Dan stepped out. "Don't be too long in there, Dan," Emily Harmon admonished. "I don't want to arrive home too much after dark."
 

"Yes, Miss Emily."

With the instruction given, the woman returned her attention to Julie. "You have an unusual accent, Julie. May I call you Julie?"

It was a question that demanded an answer. "Please do," she gave permission.

"What part of New England are you from? My ancestors came from New England. They were among the early missionaries here."

Looking at the proper and fastidious Emily Harmon, Julie found it easy to believe that. "Actually, I'm not from New England. I was born and raised in California, although I attended college in Boston."

"Oh." There was a wealth of meaning in the simple word. Julie was positive she had just fallen several notches in Emily Harmon's esteem. "I was under the impression you were New England born."

"I'm sorry, no. Does it matter?" Julie couldn't resist asking.

"No, not really, I suppose," the woman sighed regretfully. "It's just that New England people tend to be more reserved and controlled, less exuberant if you will. I felt Deborah needed someone of that type just now."

"Deborah is your niece?"

"Yes, she's such an active, outgoing person that her confinement during recovery is going to be a problem. I had hoped for someone who would project a calming influence." Emily Harmon looked thoughtful. "Perhaps, though, your youthfulness will provide her with some companionship."
 

"How old is she?" asked Julie.

"Sixteen. She'll be seventeen in March. How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"So young!"

Julie dropped another notch in the woman's estimation. "I graduated from high school when I was only seventeen," she explained.

"You do seem mature and levelheaded."

Julie was positive that Emily Harmon had mentally tacked on the qualification—even if you are from California. She swallowed the smile that was teasing her mouth and decided to shift the subject.

"I know Deborah was in an automobile accident. How badly injured was she?"

"We expect a full recovery, no permanent injuries. She's in a body cast—for a broken pelvis, among other things. I won't bore you with the gory details. As I told your Mrs. Grayson, we have a nurse staying with us, and she'll see to all of Deborah's physical needs. Ah, here's Dan with your luggage." She spied the stout Hawaiian approaching the Mercedes. "We'll soon be home."

"How far do you live from here?" Julie asked.
 

"It's about an hour's drive. We live near the north shore, one of the last bastions on Oahu against 'progress.'" There was disdain in the sweeping look Emily Harmon gave the buses and taxis and automobiles zipping in and out of the terminal complex.

When Julie's luggage was stowed in the trunk of the car, Dan slid behind the wheel and drove the sleek car off the airport grounds into the mainstream of traffic. Within minutes he entered a modern freeway system, complete with bumper-to-bumper traffic three lanes wide. The skies were still overcast and were darkening to slate with the approach of a hidden sunset.

"I've made an appointment for you to meet Deborah's teacher late tomorrow afternoon after classes," Emily told her. "After traveling all day today and adjusting to the time zone change, I know you'll need to sleep late in the morning."

"That's thoughtful of you," Julie acknowledged. "I am tired, but I'm sure a good night's rest will be all I need." She hesitated. "I was wondering about Deborah's parents. I had the impression from Mrs. Grayson that they'd died."

Emily leaned forward and tapped Dan on the shoulder. "You're speeding!"

The car slowed perceptibly under her reprimand and Emily Harmon watched until she saw the speedometer register the legal limit before she sat back in her seat. Julie's glance caught Dan's gaze in the rearview mirror and he winked. The gesture seemed to say that he and Emily Harmon were constantly at odds over the pace he drove.

"About Deborah's parents," the woman returned to the question Julie had asked, "they were both lost at sea when she was five. They'd gone sailing, when there was a sudden squall. The coastguard found the wreckage of their boat on a reef a couple of days later."

The tight line of the woman's mouth indicated that she found the subject painful even after all this time. Julie decided against pursuing it any farther. She began studying the road signs and was confronted with a mass of unpronounceable words—Wàipahu, Aiea, Wahiawa, Wailua, Haleiwa, Waianae. Her tongue couldn't seem to roll over all those vowels.

"Are those names of towns?" She pointed to a sign.

"Waipahu and Waianae—yes, they are." Emily Harmon pronounced them effortlessly.

"I'll never be able to pronounce them," Julie laughed a trifle self-consciously.

"It can be a bit confusing at first. The Hawaiian language only consists of seven consonants—w, p, h, l, k, m, and n—and the five vowels. With only twelve letters, we make use of them all. I believe we have a beginner's Hawaiian grammar book in our library. Remind me to give it to you."