The Secret Daughter. Roz Fox Denny
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maybe we can upgrade our equipment.”
“Noelani, you’re not sinking money into my operation.”
“Why not? You’ve been more of a father to me than Duke Fontaine ever was. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I want to buy you out when you retire. Please, Bruce, would you phone Prescott and ask him to mail whatever I have coming from the estate?”
The man across the desk sighed. “All right. I’ll ask. But then we have to talk about what’s happening to the sugar industry in Hawaii, Noelani.”
Five minutes later, she’d heard enough of his one-sided conversation to know Prescott wasn’t going to merely cut her a check.
Bruce confirmed as much after signing off. “Duke’s will states you have to be present at the property distribution settlement to inherit. His firm’s wiring you a ticket out of Honolulu for tomorrow. So you’d better go pack. Your connecting flight leaves Kahului in five hours.”
“Forget it! Let them keep Duke Fontaine’s guilt money. I don’t need anything from him. I never have,” she blazed.
“Noelani, do this for your mother. Anela never stopped loving him. Anyway, aren’t you curious? Over the years you’ve asked questions about your biological dad. This is your chance to get answers.”
Vaulting from her chair, Noelani stalked to the door, angry tears glistening in her eyes. “That’s dirty pool,” she finally said in a hard-edged voice. “Okay, I’ll go. But the minute his affairs are settled, I’m on the next plane home to Maui. Have Midori’s son tend my computers while I’m gone, okay? If it was up to me, I wouldn’t touch a cent belonging to Duke Fontaine. I will, though, because I want to buy Shiller’s when you retire. Maybe this will allow us to be a contender in the world sugar market again.”
“Noelani…wait. I’m thinking seriously of sell—” Bruce heaved his arthritic bones from the chair and hobbled around the desk. She slammed the door, cutting off a statement she didn’t want to hear.
NOELANI OPENED ONE EYE and was relieved to discover that the 747 she’d boarded at Honolulu International was safely aloft. This was her first ride in a jumbo jet. Not that she’d care to broadcast her inexperience. Easing her death grip on the armrests, she tugged at the short black skirt of a linen suit she’d worn to meet the family in mourning.
An elderly woman seated next to Noelani smiled. “I’m always nervous during takeoff and landings, too. Are you continuing beyond Dallas?”
“Uh…yes, I’m going to Louisiana.”
“A vacation, how nice. I hear New Orleans is having a mild fall.”
“It’s not a vacation. I’m visiting family. Near Baton Rouge. They grow sugar.” Noelani shocked herself by referring to the Fontaines as family. Then, uncharacteristically, bared her soul to a stranger. “Actually, they’re my father’s family. I lived with my mother, who was Hawaiian.”
“So you’re hapa haoli. Your Caucasian half must account for the lovely auburn highlights in your hair. They’re quite striking, my dear. Is your father Scottish?”
“I don’t know. We never met, and now he’s gone.” Noelani shut her eyes. “I was ten before my hair turned this funny color. My tutu, that’s my mom’s mother, said I was born with jet-black hair like all the other Hawaiian kids in our village—on Maui. My mother kept the books for Shiller’s. The largest sugarcane plantation in the islands,” she added proudly.
The woman’s face fell. “Divorce affects so many families these days.”
Noelani didn’t bother to set her straight.
“It’s a shame, dear, especially as sugar must’ve been something your parents once had in common. But I’m sure your father’s relatives will appreciate that you’ve come so far to pay your respects.”
“Hmm.” Noelani mumbled something noncommittal as she recalled her first glimpse of Duke Fontaine’s photo. She’d often seen Anela crying as she gazed at a snapshot of a stranger. Noelani recalled stealing into her mom’s bedroom to get a better look at the picture one day, after kids at school had taunted her about her lack of a father. Instinctively, she’d known it was the man in the faded photograph.
Noelani’s seatmate moved on to another subject. “Hawaii is a wonderful vacation spot. I own a time-share on Kauai and fly over for two weeks every year. Is it boring, living full-time on an island?”
“Boring?” Noelani was never bored. But then, she had nothing else with which to compare her life. “Ours is a seaside town. Two out of three adults work in cane. Shiller’s office operates year-round, so my mother never really got time off, even though the mill shuts down for two months to overhaul equipment. Social life picks up considerably during that period. My tutu took me to all the luaus, hukilaus and huli hulis.”
“I’m familiar with luaus, where they pit-roast a pig. Locals net fish, I believe, at a hukilau. Huli huli is beyond my scope,” the woman said, and then laughed.
“Mainlanders would probably call it a chicken barbecue. But we use a sweet molasses-based sauce. And islanders grab every opportunity to sing, dance and eat.”
“I’ll bet you do the hula.”
“No way. I’m a good kick-boxer, though.”
“My, that sounds more like something men would do for sport.”
Because their lunch was served, Noelani let the subject drop. Her grandmother had believed it was a fitting outlet for a young woman’s pent-up hostilities. She’d signed her only granddaughter up for lessons at age thirteen, insisting it’d help Noelani work through her grief and anger. A wise woman, her tutu.
Following lunch, Noelani’s seatmate took a nap. The woman slept all the way to Dallas. Noelani barely had an opportunity to say goodbye, as she had to run to catch her connection to Baton Rouge.
Her arrival there was greeted by pouring rain. Thunder shook the baggage terminal. If this was mild weather, as her seatmate had intimated, Noelani hoped she didn’t encounter bad weather during her brief stay in Louisiana.
And her stay here would be brief.
Gazing out at the ominous skies, Noelani was engulfed by a wave of homesickness. She watched people chatting with those who’d come to pick them up and felt more alone than ever.
In Dallas, she’d seen greeters carrying signs with the names of various travelers. She peered around, hoping to see someone displaying her name—maybe even one of her half siblings. Until now, Noelani hadn’t realized how much she’d counted on being met by someone from Duke’s family.
What were they like, these relatives she hadn’t even known about?
As the carousel began to empty it became patently obvious that Duke’s kids weren’t imbued with the famous southern hospitality her mother had touted the one and only time Noelani succeeded in getting her to speak about the man she loved. She was always shuffled off to her tutu whenever she asked questions about her father, but on that one occasion Noelani refused to be ignored. In a rare unguarded moment, Anela described her absent lover as a dashingly handsome and charming southern gentleman. A hard man with a soft heart. Anela said then she’d love Duke Fontaine until the day she died. Noelani was sure she had.
It wasn’t until much later that Noelani inadvertently learned that Duke had neglected to mention his marriage at the outset of his relationship with Anela. According to Tutu, Duke had also wanted to divorce his wife and leave his Louisiana home, but Anela refused to hear of it. It wasn’t until after he’d left Maui that she discovered she was pregnant—a fact that never altered her decision to let him go.
Talk about decisions… After ten minutes of watching the baggage department clear out, Noelani collected her bags and went in search of a cab. If money to help shore up Shiller’s mill hadn’t been her prime objective in coming to this dreary place, she’d have asked the driver to take