April 1941

Naked, like a dusky shadow, Paris stroked down through the azure liquid near the bottom of the grotto. With her eyes open, she was aware of the change in light, the tiny effervescent bubbles, the occasional sparkle of a darting fish. The water temperature was constant, warmed by some inner finger of fire from the not too distant Mauna Kea.

For these few idyllic seconds, she gave up her humanity to the water and became one with nature, surrounded by a blue-green atmosphere that drew every raw nerve from inside her and replaced it with a serenity she found nowhere else.

Here on the Big Island, in this most secret place, she was home. Her grotto had become a substitute for the mother she had never known, replacing loving arms and a mother’s wisdom, a place where she could come for succor and renewal in a silent, luminescent bath. Now she was totally alone. The healing waters would have to suffice for mother and father.

Paris touched bottom and pushed swiftly back toward the surface. When she broke free, she sputtered, inhaled deeply, then tossed her hair back from her face. Paddling to the flat rock, she pulled herself atop it and stretched out to dry in the sun. The plunge had been refreshing, but the ache in her heart still consumed her. Lying on her stomach, she lifted her damp hair, allowing the breeze to tickle the back of her neck. It had all happened so fast, everything had changed so completely. If only…if only…but her meandering thoughts led her nowhere, only to the finality of it all. Her father was dead. His death had been so sudden and so devastating, that she still couldn’t accept the reality of it. It was as if a boulder had rolled over her heart, crushing her with grief. The weight was there inside, and wouldn’t move away. Oddly, she hadn’t had a good cry yet. Her friends said she was still in shock; the tears would come later and bring relief. Maybe, but she knew nothing could ever completely fill the empty space left by the man who had been her whole world for as long as she could remember. The two had been inseparable since she was a toddler. He had hoisted her across his saddle before she could walk. Though all the years, they had ridden hundreds of miles side by side on their blooded mounts, overseeing every aspect of the sprawling Silversword Ranch. My little bud, he had called her. Then he would chuckle and say rosebud, lass, ’tis what ye are. But she knew he really meant little buddy. And that’s what she’d always been to him—his buddy as well as his daughter. He was proud of the way she took to her duties on the ranch. She could rope a calf as well as Malo, and she worked round-up right along with the hands, keeping up with the best of her paniolos, the cowboys trained by Hispanics from the American West. He had rarely mentioned her mother, but she often saw him standing before the portrait in the living room, gazing at the beautiful young dark-skinned woman who had died in childbirth. She compared her mother to the silversword plant, the rare and exotic Hawaiian species that grew only on these islands and for which the ranch was named. It would produce one spectacular silver bloom, then lose its own life at the moment of its ultimate glory.

Together, she and her father had planned her future. First, college in Boston, then law school. She had expected to return home this very summer and enter a law firm on Oahu. She wanted to be an advocate for her mother’s people if and when Hawaii became a state. The few native Hawaiians who were left needed a mentor, someone knowledgeable who could champion their cause in the white man’s world. She was qualified to do it with her dual heritage and her powerful connections. She sighed deeply. Now her dreams would have to wait.

Paris rolled over on her back on the warm, flat slab of granite and laid her arm across her eyes. She didn’t worry about being naked here in this secluded grove surrounded by ferns and hibiscus. She guessed the time to be around four in the afternoon as the cooling breeze sent goose bumps along her flesh. She tried to relax, but the recent tragic events continued to haunt her thoughts. Seven short days ago, she’d been in Boston, finishing her final law school exams. Malo’s call had changed everything.

“Mac is dead,” Malo had said, his voice heavy with his own grief. “Heart attack. Two hours ago. Come home, Paris, as soon as you can.”

She had sagged against the wall by the phone, her knees turning to jelly. Finally she had whispered, “Yes. I’ll call the airline right away and see what’s available through Los Angeles. I’ll get there as soon possible, Malo.” After she hung up, she sat on her bed in the dorm room and stared blankly at the window. No, impossible, kept spiraling through her mind. Angus McKinsey was invincible. Everyone knew that. She had pulled herself together and begun arrangements to withdraw from school. She packed her bags, gathered her belongings and said a few goodbyes. Her days as a student in America were over. She loved and respected her half-brother, Malo, but he could never manage Silversword alone. It was her ranch, her responsibility, the role for which she had trained since birth. More than a place or a business, Silversword was a way of life that had to be guarded from outside forces. Her father had kept it intact for her, and for his wife’s people. Now she must carry on his work, with or without her law degree.

* * * *

Yesterday had been a dark blur of half-familiar faces and whispered words from people offering their last respects. Her father would have been pleased by the large turnout of friends and dignitaries, the solemn service at the Episcopal Church in Waimea followed by a native Hawaiian ceremony on the beach. Her mother’s Hawaiian relatives had come from all the villages to honor Mister McKinsey, the Scottish immigrant who had been their neighbor and friend for decades; a white man who had respected them, their rights, and was generous in every way. Her father had always acknowledged his debt to his native wife. The land that comprised the ranch had been hers from the beginning, thanks to her royal Hawaiian blood. Through her connections, he had acquired enough fertile acreage to make the ranch enormously profitable.

Lying there in the sun, listening to the gentle splash of the waterfall and the sound of the wind in the fronds around her, she felt her resolve mounting. She could do it; she was certain of it. Silversword Ranch had always been her destiny. That destiny had just arrived sooner than she expected.