The Girl from Everywhere (The Girl from Everywhere #1)(40)

“We have a great many of his paintings hung in the house. My mother admired his work. I can show you at the ball if you like.”

“Oh, yes, I’d love to see!”

“Are you a connoisseur of the arts?”

I laughed a little, remembering what Kashmir had said at Christie’s. “No, I am no expert.” He gave me a quizzical look and I cringed internally; I should have lied. Why else would I have sounded so eager a moment before? “I mean, I like art,” I stammered. “I just don’t know much about it.”

“Well,” he said with mock resignation. “I suppose that explains your kindness about my sketchbook.”

“Not at all!” I protested, hoping I wasn’t blushing. “Your drawings really are lovely. Especially the maps. I know about maps.” I ran my finger along the chipped edge of the saucer; I’d seen my opportunity come back again. “Did your uncle also draw maps? As you do?”

He stirred his coffee. “Not that I know of.”

“Oh.” I tried to keep the disappointment off my face. We both reached for our cups simultaneously; the silence felt long.

“You’re very keen on maps,” he said when he set his cup down.

“Well, of course I am,” I said quickly. “They’re useful to a sailor.”

“To an explorer too.” He gave me that secret smile again, and I couldn’t help but return it.

“So . . . not only an artist?” I said, teasing. “Do you hope to follow in the footsteps of Dr. Livingstone?”

“And go to Africa? No. Hawaii has enough mystery to occupy a dozen Dr. Livingstones. At least for now,” he added, his eyes darkening.

Nervous, I picked up my cup again. It clattered on the saucer. “Times are changing?”

“That’s one reason I record what I see. Things disappear otherwise.”

Surprised, I looked up at him; my hands stilled. “I’ve noticed that very same thing.”

“Have you?” He tilted his head, studying my face, but even under this scrutiny, I wasn’t nervous anymore. “You must have seen a great many things in your travels, Miss Song, but having known nothing else, I can promise you this island is unique in all the world. And everything unique is worth preserving.”

“And worth seeing!”

“Yes.”

I stared at him, and the thoughts of reconnoitering fell away. What might I learn if I spent even a day on the island, instead of mining for information on this damned map? But my smile faded, and I swirled the gritty dregs in the bottom of my cup. “I never stay long enough to learn a place’s secrets.”

He sat back; his eyes seemed to reflect my sadness. Then he nodded, as though making a decision. “Finish your coffee and come with me.”

I pushed the mug aside as he stood. “And where are we going?” I asked, following him out the door.

“Miss Song,” he said, throwing a grin back over his shoulder, “I’m going to show you your country.”

An answering smile crept unbidden across my face. It fell away, though, at his next question. “Can you ride?”

I stopped in my tracks. The horse seemed much more intimidating than she had an hour before. “I don’t know.”

He laughed. “Don’t be nervous. I’ve named her Pilikia, but she’s quite gentle.”

“What’s pilikia mean?”

“Trouble. More what we get into than what she gives me.” He paused, looking at the saddle—Western, with the high pommel and the big stirrups with leather guards to protect the rider’s feet when going through thick brush—and then back at me, or rather, at my skirt. “Will you be comfortable on the saddle? We can walk if you’d prefer.”

“No,” I said firmly. “We’ll go farther on horseback.”

He knelt, cupping his palms down near my knees. I stepped into his hands and sprang onto the saddle, sitting with my legs both over Pilikia’s left side. I had a brief sensation of vertigo—the height was intimidating—but then Blake swung up behind me, steadying me with his arms on either side of my body.

“What would you like to see most?” he asked.

I considered all the places I’d been, most of them long gone. “Something I can only see here and now.”

Blake glanced up at the sun; it was high in the sky. “All right. We just barely have time.”

He put his heels to Pilikia’s flanks, and we set off through town, traveling atop our shadow. It took me a few minutes to get used to the motion of the horse, so different from the rocking of the ship. As we passed by, Blake pointed out landmarks—here, the Kamehameha Post Office, Hawaii’s only connection to the world beyond the shore; there, a grassy square where the king gave free concerts on nights of the full moon.

“He’s even revived the hula, and they dance on the grass while the missionaries avert their eyes.” His lips were just behind my ear as though it was a secret, and I heard the amusement in his voice. “What do you mean, revived?”

“It had been banned for many years before Kalakaua took power.”

“Too licentious for past rulers?”

“It scandalized the foreigners, who only saw what they were looking for. The hula tells a story, but they weren’t listening.”