explained. “Soon after the first missionaries came in the early 1800s, the queen became a Christian. She ordered all the sacred images destroyed. That’s when the people began to get rid of their false gods and accept Christianity. The places of worship had to be fit for a queen.” She smiled. “Or a king.”
Before they could say any more, an organist began to play. A well-dressed man led a choir of men and women, and the congregation joined in singing, “O Worship the King.”
Rose leaned forward, her face next to Jane and Matilda. “They’re not singing about Hawaii’s king.”
Jane and Matilda smiled at her and at each other. Jane’s eyes wandered around the beautiful wooden walls, the middle aisle separating high-backed pews, the tall columns holding up a balcony on each side of the sanctuary.
Soon, however, her thoughts focused on Uncle Russell’s sermon. She appreciated his straightforward approach which reminded her of Matilda’s way of not skirting the truth. Not that her preacher in Texas did that, but this sermon seemed more personal, something you could take home with you and think about. He talked about a servant’s heart, which is what his congregation had been showing in such special ways for many months after Pansy’s illness was diagnosed.
“Even a cup of cold water to a thirsty person,” he said, “is very significant to our Lord.”
His sermon made Jane uncomfortable. She’d always assumed she was useful to God, but she hadn’t thought of it in such specific terms before. She supposed these days of watching Matilda and Uncle Russell put Pansy’s needs ahead of everything else gave her a different perspective, too. She’d always said she wanted to be just like Matilda, but she’d concentrated on the adventurous side of her aunt.
The next morning, determined to be more useful, she asked if she could read to Pansy for a while. Both Uncle Russell and Matilda later acted as if she’d done a tremendous good and said they had enjoyed having a cup of coffee together and discussing old times when he and Pansy, Matilda and her husband had cooked and fed the needy in the church fellowship hall after a big flood.
Jane knew Matilda was good and generous, but she hadn’t realized the extent of her service to the poor and needy until Uncle Russell began bringing it up and Matilda kept trying to change the subject.
Jane decided to take a walk while the doctor was with Pansy. School would be in recess for lunch soon, so she walked to the more secluded spot where the church, surrounded by lush foliage, was located.
She was in the midst of asking God how she might be of more help to Pansy or Uncle Russell when the unexpected sound of horse’s hooves approaching her at the corner of the church startled her. She squealed and recoiled. Should she wait to be run over or dive into the bushes and hope for the best?
“Aloha, Miz Buckley,” said a masculine voice she recognized with what she thought was a tinge of British accent and something else. She’d heard only three male voices and this did not belong to Uncle Russell nor the doctor, who was now with Pansy. Turning her head to the side, she saw a brown boot beneath a breeches-covered leg against a big brown stallion. Before she could lift her gaze higher, Mak MacCauley swung the other leg over the saddle and stood beside her.
He held the reins in one hand and removed his hat. The wind blew his wavy hair toward his face. His eyes held an expression of curiosity. “Is someone behind the bushes?”
He sounded serious. What kind of animals hid in these bushes? Was a fear of that why he and the big stallion had crept up silently until they were almost upon her? Without moving anything but her eyes she looked at the bushes and back at him. She whispered. “I don’t think so. Did you see. . .something?”
“No. But you seemed to be talking to the bushes.”
Okay, first time they met, she threw up. Now he saw her talking, apparently to a
Before they could say any more, an organist began to play. A well-dressed man led a choir of men and women, and the congregation joined in singing, “O Worship the King.”
Rose leaned forward, her face next to Jane and Matilda. “They’re not singing about Hawaii’s king.”
Jane and Matilda smiled at her and at each other. Jane’s eyes wandered around the beautiful wooden walls, the middle aisle separating high-backed pews, the tall columns holding up a balcony on each side of the sanctuary.
Soon, however, her thoughts focused on Uncle Russell’s sermon. She appreciated his straightforward approach which reminded her of Matilda’s way of not skirting the truth. Not that her preacher in Texas did that, but this sermon seemed more personal, something you could take home with you and think about. He talked about a servant’s heart, which is what his congregation had been showing in such special ways for many months after Pansy’s illness was diagnosed.
“Even a cup of cold water to a thirsty person,” he said, “is very significant to our Lord.”
His sermon made Jane uncomfortable. She’d always assumed she was useful to God, but she hadn’t thought of it in such specific terms before. She supposed these days of watching Matilda and Uncle Russell put Pansy’s needs ahead of everything else gave her a different perspective, too. She’d always said she wanted to be just like Matilda, but she’d concentrated on the adventurous side of her aunt.
The next morning, determined to be more useful, she asked if she could read to Pansy for a while. Both Uncle Russell and Matilda later acted as if she’d done a tremendous good and said they had enjoyed having a cup of coffee together and discussing old times when he and Pansy, Matilda and her husband had cooked and fed the needy in the church fellowship hall after a big flood.
Jane knew Matilda was good and generous, but she hadn’t realized the extent of her service to the poor and needy until Uncle Russell began bringing it up and Matilda kept trying to change the subject.
Jane decided to take a walk while the doctor was with Pansy. School would be in recess for lunch soon, so she walked to the more secluded spot where the church, surrounded by lush foliage, was located.
She was in the midst of asking God how she might be of more help to Pansy or Uncle Russell when the unexpected sound of horse’s hooves approaching her at the corner of the church startled her. She squealed and recoiled. Should she wait to be run over or dive into the bushes and hope for the best?
“Aloha, Miz Buckley,” said a masculine voice she recognized with what she thought was a tinge of British accent and something else. She’d heard only three male voices and this did not belong to Uncle Russell nor the doctor, who was now with Pansy. Turning her head to the side, she saw a brown boot beneath a breeches-covered leg against a big brown stallion. Before she could lift her gaze higher, Mak MacCauley swung the other leg over the saddle and stood beside her.
He held the reins in one hand and removed his hat. The wind blew his wavy hair toward his face. His eyes held an expression of curiosity. “Is someone behind the bushes?”
He sounded serious. What kind of animals hid in these bushes? Was a fear of that why he and the big stallion had crept up silently until they were almost upon her? Without moving anything but her eyes she looked at the bushes and back at him. She whispered. “I don’t think so. Did you see. . .something?”
“No. But you seemed to be talking to the bushes.”
Okay, first time they met, she threw up. Now he saw her talking, apparently to a
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