kinds of tropical vines.
I could hear the waters of the stream splashing down into the gulch behind the Giles house but could not see them, of course. I was on the wrong side of the house. The sound reminded me, however, that Deirdre had a private room on the other side, across the hall. Why would a nervous, frightened young woman like Deirdre prefer the view of the noisy, unhealthy gulch with its swampy areas at the foot of the plunging stream?
What was there to see from this side of the house that she feared more than the almost impenetrable swamp? And why did a young bride, scarcely a year married, have her own sets of rooms? Two of them? But there was no immediate answer to this, and speculation certainly was not the way to get a good night’s sleep. I gave up and went to bed.
In view of the many things that had happened since I had left Los Angeles that morning, it was surprising that my dreams were so commonplace. All night I kept missing the plane, a repetition so boring it acted as a soporific and when I did wake up once or twice, hearing the distant roar of the stream pouring down into the gulch, I went back to sleep instantly.
I was awakened by an assortment of sounds. Unidentifiable bird sounds, palm fronds rustling against the open window frame, the distant rush of waters. Although the room had a westerly view, it was filled with light, a slightly filtered and changing light. When I got up and went barefoot to look out the window, I noticed fleecy clouds floating overhead. There must have been showers earlier. All the incredible greenery beyond the steep path sparkled and gave off the acrid, earthy odor of recent rain.
I saw several men—Caucasian and Oriental, but none of them Hawaiian—coming up the path from the channel dock. They appeared to be headed toward the grove of unfinished cabins, that uncompleted Sandalwood heiau which had driven Stephen Giles’s father to suicide. This might be one strong reason for Stephen Giles’s own strength and determination. Whether he succeeded or not, I admired his effort. I watched the men move past the front of the house across the green open space. Moku, probably coming to work by way of the trail west of the heiau , passed the workers and stood a minute watching as they went into the grove. Then he strode on toward the house.
For many years I had seen California desert views exclusively when I saw outside views at all, and I spent far too long that first morning at Sandalwood sniffing the lush tropic splendor, admiring the multitude of different human types I saw here. It was only when I saw Moku enter the house that I remembered I was an employee, not a guest here, in spite of Stephen Giles’s beguiling attempt to make me believe I was “one of the family.”
I turned away from the window, showered, and dressed in a pale green cotton sheath. Today I went bare-legged like everyone else in the islands. Fortunately, I had a pair of sandals, somewhat worn, but quite adequate. I was just finishing my hair when Deirdre burst in without knocking, and sneaked up behind me, although I saw her reflection in the three mirrors. Before I could turn, she was hugging me as she had done in her girlhood when she was especially pleased.
“Judy! You really are here. I need you so much. Of course, not when Stephen’s here. Wasn’t that sweet and dear of him to hurry home from Honolulu last night just because I needed him? How on earth could he know? He’s psychic— that ’ s what he is. Oh, I love that man! Isn’t he divine? Judy, are you struck deaf and dumb? Say something!”
I laughed at this remark so typical of Deirdre. “No, dear. Only waiting for a chance to agree with you.”
“About what? Be specific.”
“About everything you’ve said.”
“Oh, Judy, you are the first one who’s thought I was right about anything since—well, since that awful thing happened and you went away.”
Anxiously, I watched her face hovering above mine as I sat before the
I could hear the waters of the stream splashing down into the gulch behind the Giles house but could not see them, of course. I was on the wrong side of the house. The sound reminded me, however, that Deirdre had a private room on the other side, across the hall. Why would a nervous, frightened young woman like Deirdre prefer the view of the noisy, unhealthy gulch with its swampy areas at the foot of the plunging stream?
What was there to see from this side of the house that she feared more than the almost impenetrable swamp? And why did a young bride, scarcely a year married, have her own sets of rooms? Two of them? But there was no immediate answer to this, and speculation certainly was not the way to get a good night’s sleep. I gave up and went to bed.
In view of the many things that had happened since I had left Los Angeles that morning, it was surprising that my dreams were so commonplace. All night I kept missing the plane, a repetition so boring it acted as a soporific and when I did wake up once or twice, hearing the distant roar of the stream pouring down into the gulch, I went back to sleep instantly.
I was awakened by an assortment of sounds. Unidentifiable bird sounds, palm fronds rustling against the open window frame, the distant rush of waters. Although the room had a westerly view, it was filled with light, a slightly filtered and changing light. When I got up and went barefoot to look out the window, I noticed fleecy clouds floating overhead. There must have been showers earlier. All the incredible greenery beyond the steep path sparkled and gave off the acrid, earthy odor of recent rain.
I saw several men—Caucasian and Oriental, but none of them Hawaiian—coming up the path from the channel dock. They appeared to be headed toward the grove of unfinished cabins, that uncompleted Sandalwood heiau which had driven Stephen Giles’s father to suicide. This might be one strong reason for Stephen Giles’s own strength and determination. Whether he succeeded or not, I admired his effort. I watched the men move past the front of the house across the green open space. Moku, probably coming to work by way of the trail west of the heiau , passed the workers and stood a minute watching as they went into the grove. Then he strode on toward the house.
For many years I had seen California desert views exclusively when I saw outside views at all, and I spent far too long that first morning at Sandalwood sniffing the lush tropic splendor, admiring the multitude of different human types I saw here. It was only when I saw Moku enter the house that I remembered I was an employee, not a guest here, in spite of Stephen Giles’s beguiling attempt to make me believe I was “one of the family.”
I turned away from the window, showered, and dressed in a pale green cotton sheath. Today I went bare-legged like everyone else in the islands. Fortunately, I had a pair of sandals, somewhat worn, but quite adequate. I was just finishing my hair when Deirdre burst in without knocking, and sneaked up behind me, although I saw her reflection in the three mirrors. Before I could turn, she was hugging me as she had done in her girlhood when she was especially pleased.
“Judy! You really are here. I need you so much. Of course, not when Stephen’s here. Wasn’t that sweet and dear of him to hurry home from Honolulu last night just because I needed him? How on earth could he know? He’s psychic— that ’ s what he is. Oh, I love that man! Isn’t he divine? Judy, are you struck deaf and dumb? Say something!”
I laughed at this remark so typical of Deirdre. “No, dear. Only waiting for a chance to agree with you.”
“About what? Be specific.”
“About everything you’ve said.”
“Oh, Judy, you are the first one who’s thought I was right about anything since—well, since that awful thing happened and you went away.”
Anxiously, I watched her face hovering above mine as I sat before the
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