The Bone Field Debra Bokur (novels for beginners .txt) 📖

suggested Pualani when they were through. “Then we’ll bless the beautiful space we’ve made.”

They sat in the shade offered by the lanai and sipped tall glasses of chilled water from a pitcher. Pualani had added several thick slices of mango to the water, infusing it with the sweetness of the fruit. When she’d finished, Pualani set down her glass and smiled at Kali. “Come, Granddaughter. I will need your help. We will thank the earth for supplying us with the means to create this beautiful space in our garden.”

Pualani stood facing the broad flower blooms they had shaped with their stones: round ones in the middle, with pieces of coral fanning out from the center. The small, dark stones surrounding each bloom made them stand out clearly. Pualani began to chant with closed eyes. Her voice rose and fell, and Kali listened to the familiar words, feeling the song resonate in her bones. Pualani began to move, adding small movements of the sacred hula dance to the words of her prayer. She opened her eyes and smiled again at Kali.

“Now, help me, please.”

Kali hesitated, some of her earlier sullenness returning. “I don’t know this dance.”

“But you do. We have already practiced it, and we will make it up as we go along, just the two of us.”

“When did we practice it?”

“Just now, as we worked in the garden. We bent to weed, and we reached to tend the higher plants—just like this.”

Pualani demonstrated, dipping as though she were reaching for weeds, and mimicking the motion of planting seeds. At first hesitantly, and then with growing assurance, Kali did her best to replicate the movements.

Now, in the growing shadows, she imagined her grandmother’s graceful form beside her, teaching her with infinite patience the arm and hand movements and what each meant—when to move her feet or bend, and when to reach into the sky.

“Fill yourself with rain, Granddaughter.”

Kali cleared her mind, then did exactly that: She filled her thoughts with rain, and what it meant to the earth, picturing the drops falling steadily from the sky, downward onto the ground, slaking the thirst of the trees and grass and flowers. She imagined the touch of the rain on her face, and moved her arms and hands to imitate the flow.

“And can you be like the wind?” came her grandmother’s voice again, cradled in memory.

I can be like the wind, she thought, and her arms filled with the moving air. She bent and rose, then moved her hips in a smooth ‘ami, just as she’d been taught as a young girl.

“The sea, Granddaughter. Sense the sea and the waves and the currents. Let the tide pull you in and out.”

And she did, all through the song and into the next, her movements becoming more sure as the familiar motions took hold. She felt the soft ground beneath the soles of her feet, the tickle of the grass as she moved through it. There was movement on the lanai, and she turned to see Makena standing next to one of the tall posts supporting the lanai roof. She was watching Kali, but when Kali waved, inviting Makena to join her on the lawn, Makena merely turned away and disappeared inside. Kali sighed. At least she had gotten in a practice before the performance that was coming up at the cultural festival. She felt herself tense involuntarily at Pait’s scheming, but then reconsidered her response. Maybe it was a good thing she’d been pushed into revisiting this important part of who she was. She flexed the arm that had been scratched by the irate rooster, then reached down to massage her left calf muscle. It had been a while. Served her right if her legs were sore.

CHAPTER 25

The timbre of Hilo’s whimpering became a distressed, drawn-out whine. He stood in the bedroom doorway, and spun as he saw Kali sit up in response to his cries. There was another sound, resting just beneath Hilo’s voice—a soft moaning.

Kali bolted from her bed, lunging through the doorway into the hall, turning immediately to the left where Makena’s door stood partly open. Hilo was already there, rooted anxiously by the girl’s head.

“Makena—what’s wrong?”

There was another moan, and Kali reached for the bedside lamp, switching it on. She drew in her breath in alarm. The light revealed Makena, lying curled on her side, the sheet below her waist soaked in blood. Her hair was damp with perspiration, spread out in dark tangles across the pillowcase. Kali knelt beside her, pushing the hair away from the girl’s face.

Makena’s eyes fluttered open. “Kali—what’s happening to me?” she asked, her voice betraying fear. She attempted to sit up, but a spasm of pain crossed her face, and she fell back against the mattress, groaning.

“Stay still. Don’t try to move. I’ll be right back.” Kali darted back to her bedroom and grabbed her phone from the bedside table, quickly punching in 911. She identified herself and gave her address, then moved quickly to the bathroom and pulled a towel off the drying rack beside the shower.

She went back to Makena’s side, flipping on the overhead light as she passed the light switch next to the door. The bedcover was jumbled around Makena’s feet, and she pulled it gently away, trying to determine how much blood had been lost. Makena was clutching her stomach, and Kali reached out and placed her hand on Makena’s forehead.

“I’m afraid, Kali,” Makena whispered, her breath hot.

“You don’t need to be afraid. I’m right here, and help is on the way.” Her voice was gentle; she did her best not to convey her own fear. She sat back, kneeling beside the bed. “When did the bleeding begin?”

“Last night. Just a little bit. I fell asleep, but I had cramps.” Makena took a deep, shuddering breath. “I didn’t think it was anything important.”

Kali bit her lip, struck once again by her conviction that this girl was ill-equipped, in every way, to be a mother. The wail of sirens