NOELANI NEEDED TO REST after the tour. Aunt Esme had brought Bellefontaines history to life, and Noelanis head throbbed with facts. While she might forget these facts in time, the pride with which Esme had imparted her family history would linger. Built in the early 1800s, Bellefontaine had withstood the ravages of the Civil War. Noelani knew little about that war, but Esme made it sound as if it had been fought yesterday. For the first time, Noelani was glad she didnt have what Esme called Yankee blood in her. Auntie E was a southern belle from the top of her coiffed hair to the toes of her designer shoes.
Rechecking her watch, Noelani thought she had an hour or two for a nap before changing for dinner. She drifted off quickly, and had no idea how long shed slept when she awoke to voices and hurried footsteps in the hall. Her room was dark. Turning on a lamp, Noelani saw it was seven-thirty. She sprang off the bed in a panic. Her bags still sat where shed left them after pulling out the slacks and blouse shed hurriedly donned for her house tour. She felt rumpled again and pawed through the larger case, this time removing both of the dresses shed packed. Why hadnt she asked how dressy people would be tonight? She eyed a sleeveless red linen shift. The other, a black crepe, was definitely dressier. The red, she decided, digging out red sandals. Faced with meeting Duke Fontaines legitimate heirs, her spirits needed the bolstering red offered. Shed originally thought the family might be in mourning, but as Esme had worn a flowery dress today, Noelani doubted anyone expected her to wear black.
She splashed water on her face, then slipped into her dress and sandals. She started down the stairs with five minutes to spare. All the while, she prayed she wouldnt be the last to arrive.
She was. Talk stopped dead. The mens chairs scraped back the moment she appeared in the archway. Her knees knocked. Her palms were sweating. Determined not to show her nervousness, she breezed into the room. Sorry Im late. I fell asleep. Must be jet lag, she said as though she were a seasoned traveler.
Esme was slower to rise. Youll sit here, she directed. Her miniature schnauzer, Toodles, lay curled on a velvet pillow under Esmes chair.
Noelani gripped the back of her assigned seat. A place mat peeked out from beneath off-white china. She spotted lead crystal and real silver. A soup bowl sat perfectly centered on her dinner plate, and a matching soup tureen steamed as it sat just so between etched, hand-blown glass fly-catchers. Esme had explained that before Bellefontaine was fitted for air-conditioning in the 1940s, the bottom of these globes were filled with sugar water to attract the flies that came into the house through unscreened open windows.
Noelani tried to remember what the odd contraption hanging beside the light fixture above the table was called. Ah, yes. A shoo-fly fan. According to Esme, a slave child would sit out of sight in a corner and operate the fan with a rope pulley, which controlled the sweeping blades. It was impossible for Noelani to comprehend what life must have been like back then.
Anytime she felt as nervous as she was now, trivia tended to cycle over and over in her head. Aunt Esme had given her plenty of trivial facts.
Noelani, youve met Adam. Jacksons at the end. His daughter, Megan, is to your right next to her nanny, Tanya Carson. Esme inclined her head toward a thin young woman. And this, she finished breathlessly, is Noelani Hana. Esme smiled through a series of greetings. At last, she suggested they all sit again, and she requested Jackson serve the soup.
Noelani detected a similarity between Duke Fontaineas he looked in the snapshot shed tucked into her purse at the last minuteand his son. Brown hair streaked blond by the sun had been recently cut. His navy eyes were shaded by indecently long lashes, which Noelani noted his daughter shared. Megans eyes were gray, however, and her mop of curls a much richer brown. Athletically built, Jackson Fontaine appeared tanned, fit and stylish, although casually put together with that look only top designers could achieve.
Tanya Carson, young for a nanny in Noelanis estimation, had pouty lips and wore big glasses that gave her violet eyes a permanently myopic look.
Adam and Tanya had been discussing music, and they continued their conversation after everyone sat. Noelani deduced that jazz was Tanyas area of study. Although the young woman chattered nonstop with Adam, her eyes followed Jacksons every move. In fact, she gazed dreamily at him, although Noelani doubted he even noticed.
It was just as well that Adam and Tanya were talking, considering no one else at the table bothered. Megan was practically falling asleep in her soup. And no wonder, given the late hour. Noelani tried to draw her out several times to no avail.
Really, though, she was dying to inquire if what Adam had said about cutting wet cane was true. If so, what type of harvester did they use? Bruces operation could benefit from cutting stalks beaten down by Mauis heavy rains. Maybe shed have to wait until Casey joined them before she could ask. Since Jackson seemed preoccupied, and his silent wraith of a child didnt respond to her overtures, Noelani endured a tense meal except for an occasional word from the stiff-backed Esme.
The soup, a creamy yellow squash with just a hint of nutmeg flavoring, was delicious. Ravenous, Noelani ate every drop. By the time she finished the fresh spinach salad that came next, she was full. As she avoided red meat, she was dismayed to see the others load roast beef, potatoes smothered in brown gravy and creamed baby carrots onto their plates.
Declining the beef, Noelani dipped out small portions of the side dishes. At that point even Tanya and Adam ate in silence. The knot in Noelanis stomach grew.
Toying with her carrots, she glanced up once and found Adam staring at her. He gave her a warm smile, and she mustered a small one in return.
Red is your color, he said offhandedly, as if he ought to make some remark, simply because shed caught him staring at her.
Thats good. Its my favorite color. To her own ears, her voice sounded rusty from disuse. Understandable, considering how long itd been since shed mumbled hello to a tableful of folks who virtually ignored her.
Jackson set his fork down and used a napkin to blot his lips. I have no doubt you are who you say. But did you by chance bring your birth certificate, Noelani?
Not by chance. Your lawyer requested it. But if youre hoping to verify your fathers name on it, I can save you the trouble. Its not there. Im Noelani Hana, daughter of Anela Hana, period. She lifted her chin and met his eyes without blinking.
Jacksons cheeks reddened under his tan. Duke had a copy of your birth certificate in his files. You were born October 8, 1975, at Wailuku, Maui. The purpose of asking for the original is to match it to Dukes copy.
Fine. Its in my suitcase. Ill get it and you can study it to your hearts content.
Esme arched an eyebrow. Its plain the jeune fille has Dukes short fuse.
The girl also understands French, Noelani muttered. I throw that out so no one will assume they can talk around me that way.
Esme coughed discreetly. Jackson made no effort to disguise his scowl. We arent trying to dispute your cla He broke off as a three-toned doorbell played loudly up and then down the scale.
Excuse me. Rising, he slid back his chair. Thats probably Shel Prescott. Ill take him to my office. Aunt Esme, will you phone Casey, then bring Noelani over after the two of you finish eating?