An excerpt from Hannah Grace: A Second-Generation Missionary’s Daughter

Aloha kākou ,

I’ve got one more story in me for Hawaiian History Month.

An excerpt from Hannah Grace: A Second-Generation Missionary’s Daughter

“One day, after the rains, I felt I had to leave the congregation and my family. It wasn’t who I was anymore, who I became. I wanted to live with the kanaka…

       After over a week of no contact with a living soul, I saw a young

man. I felt he had been watching me for a while. Was he the stranger who

followed me downslope? He was swimming in one of the deep, green pools of the Wailuku. He looked over at me and confidently motioned to come into the water.  He shook his full, wet mane of dark curls.  

         “ I can’t swim, I’m a Missionary girl,” I said.

         “I can teach a Missionary girl to swim. First, take those funny clothes off.”

         Kinda bossy, I thought. I spoke to him in ʻōlelo, he insisted on replying in namu haole. His command rubbed me the wrong way. I went ahead and peeled the “funny clothes” off. Strangely enough, I trusted him, but I can’t say why.

 He swam up to me and tried to wedge a small canoe between two huge boulders. I

watched the muscles of his arms flex as he struggled to secure the canoe. He took

 a soft kaula rope and tied it around my right ankle, then attached it to the inside of

the canoe. I pulled my leg away in resistance. He looked up, between my legs, then at my eyes.

          This kanaka looks like he’s had lots of practice, but he ain’t bad looking, I

thought. I love his skin, it was the color of the canoe’s wood.

         “If you can’t swim, this will keep you attached to the canoe. It’s okay, now

try”.

         I splashed and gasped like a child. I sank into the depths of dark, limu-green

water. I wondered if I was going to drown here and whether this stranger would

rescue me. I struggled to get into the canoe and kept falling back into the water. I

started to panic, gulping green water.

        He just watched for a few moments then lifted me on to the canoe. I struggled

to take the kaula rope off my ankle. He laughed at me. I grasped on to his brown

arms for support. Will he rape me, then drown me?  If I screamed, would anyone

hear me? The sun hid behind the clouds, it got very cool. I said a quick prayer in silence.

        “I wanna get out of here!” I shouted.

        “By the end of the day, you’ll be jumping from that high ledge up there.”

         I laughed nervously.

        “ I’m Puna. Who are you? ”

        “Call me Hannah Grace.” He playfully touched a few wet tendrils of my hair.

        “Can you stay for a while longer, Hannah Girl?”

        “I’m not sure, I’d like to get to Hilo before dark.” He seemed not to hear that.

        He used the old canoe as a diving board, playfully diving off the edge and

 disappearing into the depths. He’d suddenly spring up at the opposite end of the pool, laughing at me, then taking another plunge. He was completely nude, tattooed from head to toe. It shocked me for quite a while. He noticed how I’d turn away each time he got out of the water, shamelessly exposing his nudity. His right eye was an orb of deep-green glass. Like the green of the deepest part of this pool. It was beautiful in a disturbing way, like him, like this place. I soon realized that whatever fear I had in me, had to be overcome.

       His connection with the Wailuku blew me away. It was almost like he lived in

the river, he was so at ease.  He stepped on slippery rocks, traveling from one side

of the wide pool to the next with no hesitation, no fear.

      As the afternoon sunlight softened, we left the pool and climbed up the trail. I

 was in my haole missionary-girl underclothes, fully covered to the ankle, and he, still completely nude. We held hands all the way up the trail. I noticed he had the soft kaula rope tied around his wrist. Oddly enough, he led the way up to the cave, knowing exactly where I had been seeking shelter. I said a quick prayer in silence, wondering if God or Papa would come to my rescue.

                                                ʻAʻole Pau ( not pau yet)