Daughter of Moloka'i: A Novel

By Alan Brennert

NOW A LOS ANGELES TIMES BESTSELLER | NAMED A BEST/MOST ANTICIPATED BOOK BY: USA Today • BookRiot • BookBub • LibraryReads • OC Register • Never Ending Voyage

The highly anticipated sequel to Alan Brennert’s acclaimed book club favorite, and national bestseller, Moloka'i

"A novel of illumination and affection." —USA Today

Alan Brennert’s beloved novel Moloka'i, currently has over 600,000 copies in print. This companion tale tells the story of Ruth, the daughter that Rachel Kalama—quarantined for most of her life at the isolated leprosy settlement of Kalaupapa—was forced to give up at birth.

The book follows young Ruth from her arrival at the Kapi'olani Home for Girls in Honolulu, to her adoption by a Japanese couple who raise her on a strawberry and grape farm in California, her marriage and unjust internment at Manzanar Relocation Camp during World War II—and then, after the war, to the life-altering day when she receives a letter from a woman who says she is Ruth’s birth mother, Rachel.

Daughter of Moloka'i expands upon Ruth and Rachel’s 22-year relationship, only hinted at in Moloka'i. It’s a richly emotional tale of two women—different in some ways, similar in others—who never expected to meet, much less come to love, one another. And for Ruth it is a story of discovery, the unfolding of a past she knew nothing about. Told in vivid, evocative prose that conjures up the beauty and history of both Hawaiian and Japanese cultures, it’s the powerful and poignant tale that readers of Moloka'i have been awaiting for fifteen years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Feb 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781250137685

Alan Brennert

Alan Brennert is a novelist, screenwriter, and playwright. He grew up in New Jersey but moved to California in 1973. His novel Moloka’i was a national bestseller and a One Book, One San Diego selection for 2012. It also received the Bookies Award, sponsored by the Contra Costa Library, for the 2006 Book Club Book of the Year. His next novel, Honolulu, won First Prize in Elle Magazine’s Literary Grand Prix for Fiction and was named one of the best books of 2009 by The Washington Post. Of his novel Palisades Park, People Magazine said: “Brennert writes his valentine to the New Jersey playground of his youth in Ragtime-style, mixing fact and fiction. It’s a memorable ride.” His work as a writer-producer for the television series L.A. Law earned him an Emmy Award and a People’s Choice Award in 1991. He has been nominated for an Emmy on two other occasions, once for a Golden Globe Award, and three times for the Writers Guild Award for Outstanding Teleplay of the Year. Alan's short story"Ma Qui" was honored with a Nebula Award in 1992. His story “Her Pilgrim Soul” was adapted by Brennert himself for the Alan Menken musical Weird Romance in 1992. His novel, Daughter of Moloka'i is a follow-up to Moloka'i that tells the story of Rachel Kalama's daughter Ruth, her early life, her internment during World War II, and her eventual meeting with her birth mother, Rachel. The novel explores the women's 22-year relationship, only hinted at it in Moloka'i.

Book preview

PART ONE

Hapa

Prologue

1917

A wave of Kona storm clouds rolled across the jagged peaks of the Wai'anae Range, arriving in Honolulu with a cannonade of thunder and the kind of wind and rain Hawaiians called lani-pa'ina, crackling heavens. In the harbor even the largest ships seesawed in their berths; one little steamer, the Claudine, barely made it into port by sunset, before the sundered clouds began to weep and rage.

Sister Mary Louisa Hughes stood on the covered lānai of a house high atop a hill overlooking the Kalihi Valley, with a fine view of nature’s wrath. Short and stocky, she didn’t flinch at the trumpeting thunder or the spears of lightning in the distance—in fact, there was a smile on her broad, open face. Louisa had grown up on the South Side of Chicago, her family’s cold-water flat wedged into the middle of a stack of sooty tenement apartments; she had never drifted to sleep to the soothing patter of rain on a rooftop, not until taking her novitiate at the Franciscan convent in Joliet. So what she was now witnessing—the majestic fury of a genuine tropical storm—this was glorious. God’s glory, yes, but also Hawai'i’s. She was more certain than ever that this was where she belonged—glad that she had answered the call for volunteers to make the long voyage to O'ahu to serve at the Kapi'olani Home for Girls.

But there was work to do: Kau'iokalani, the night nurse, was sick, and Louisa had taken her shift. There were fifty-eight girls—ranging in age from twenty months to twenty-one years—living at Kapi'olani Home, and as Louisa entered she could hear the youngest crying out in fright. She went to the nursery, going to each child in turn, lifting them from their cribs, holding and comforting them against the noise and the night. Ssshh, ssshh, she told them, it can’t hurt you. I won’t let it. Finally, when the storm had abated and the last child had fallen asleep, she went to check on the older girls; she suspected they were probably up long past their bedtime, telling each other blood-curdling tales of obakes—ghosts—in the dark.

But before she could reach the first dormitory, there was a furious knocking on the front door. At first she thought the wind was merely animating a tree branch, but when she recognized a human rhythm to the knocks she hurried to the foyer and swung open the door.

Standing on the porch was a tall, unfamiliar sister in a rain-soaked habit. She was holding a bundled child, its face tucked into her shoulder, shielded from the rain by a swath of blankets.

Oh my heavens, Louisa cried out. Sister, do come in!

The nun—in her mid-forties, with a wet but pretty face—smiled gratefully and stepped inside. Thank you, Sister, she said. She walked with a slight limp, but it didn’t seem to slow her down much.

My goodness, you’re drenched. Did you walk all the way up the hill?

No, I took a cab from the harbor. Most of the moisture is from the steamer trip. She smiled. I’m Sister Catherine Voorhies. And I’ve come bearing precious cargo.

She peeled back a layer of blanket, revealing the sweet round face of a frightened infant—no more than a year old—with the tawny skin of a Native Hawaiian and the slightly almond-shaped eyes of a Japanese.

She was an absolutely beautiful child, in the unexpected ways children could be in Hawai'i.

Her name is Ruth Utagawa, Sister Catherine said, and we’ve come from Kalaupapa.

I thought as much. But let’s get you both out of those wet clothes and in front of a warm fire.

---

Within five minutes Catherine had shed her waterlogged habit, toweled her short brown hair as dry as she could, and slipped into a freshly laundered bathrobe offered by the friendly and efficient Sister Louisa. Ruth’s blankets were soaked almost all the way through but her corduroy frock was, thankfully, still dry. Louisa had brought them both into the kitchen, stoked a fire in the oven, heated up a bottle of milk for Ruth and a cup of coffee for Catherine. Ruth drank eagerly, and only when she was done did Catherine allow herself to take a sip of her coffee.

Louisa dragged a chair close to the fire and said, Please, Sister, sit. You must be exhausted. Can I get you something to eat?

Not after that boat ride, thanks. Catherine sighed. It felt good to have her veil off and to feel the heat of the fire on her face. She reached up and touched her wet hair. I must look a fright, Sister.

Oh, nonsense. Louisa’s gaze drifted to little Ruth and to those sweet brown eyes—so dark they almost looked black—glancing shyly away. She’s lovely. And I can tell she’s special to you.

Catherine nodded. Yes. Her parents are dear friends of mine. I promised them I would make sure she got here safely. She felt the first pang of loss, one she knew would only deepen as she drew closer to parting.

The parents—they’re lepers?

Yes. But Ruth is healthy. After a year of observation, she shows no sign of the disease.

May I … hold her a moment? Louisa asked.

Of course.

Catherine hefted Ruth and handed her to Louisa—but as soon as the child was in Louisa’s hands, she began to wail.

Oh dear, Louisa said.

Rock her. Bounce her. It took her a while to get used to me too.

After years of cradling orphans at Guardian Angel Home in Joliet, Louisa thought she knew how to soothe infants. She rocked Ruth gently back and forth, but the baby was not to be placated. Between sobs she repeated a single word: Wih-wee, she cried, the word resonant with loss, wih-wee, wih-wee!

You’d best take her back. Louisa handed her to Catherine, but Ruth continued her lament. What is it she’s trying to say? Louisa asked.

Lily.

Is that her mother’s name?

Catherine shook her head. Lillian Keamalu is the matron at the Kalaupapa nursery, she explained. The babies are taken away from their mothers at birth. The parents are only allowed to see them from behind glass in the nursery. The only mother the children know—the only one who holds and comforts them—is Miss Keamalu.

Louisa ached to hear this. She was new to this world of children and leprosy; there were always, it seemed, fresh cruelties to discover.

They sat in silence a while, Ruth’s cries gradually fading until the only sounds in the room were the drumming of the rain and the rattle of the windows as the wind shook the house like a tambourine.

Louisa noted, Strange how a place as beautiful as Hawai'i can have such bursts of stark, sudden fury.

Beneath that beauty, Catherine said, the land has molten power. These islands have borne many wounds over the years—not the least of them leprosy. I think sometimes they wake and cry out in rage at the injustice.

Louisa hadn’t the faintest inkling of what Catherine was talking about, and it sounded uncomfortably close to paganism, to boot, so she said nothing. Finally, Catherine spoke again.

Sister, she said softly, I would count it a great favor if you would do something for me.

Yes, of course.

Take care of her?

Catherine’s voice broke when she said it. It was clear to Louisa that this child meant a great deal to her.

I will. I promise you. She will not want for affection.

Thank you, Sister.

Not knowing what else she could say, Louisa stood. Let me find you a fresh habit and a warm bed. We have an extra crib for Ruth in the nursery.

Catherine hesitated. Would you mind if—if she sleeps with me tonight?

Of course.

Louisa led them outside, where they hurried through the downpour to the modest cottage that served as a convent. The other Sisters of St. Francis were all asleep but for the Home’s matron, Sister Helena Haas; a sliver of light peeked out from under her door as she worked into the night. Louisa found Catherine a fresh habit, then brought her to a small, spartan room at the end of the corridor.

Sleep well, Sister. Mass begins at six, if you care to join us.

Thank you, I will.

Louisa left. Catherine sighed and walked to the room’s single window. Out there, across the water, behind a wall of storm clouds, Ruth’s parents on Moloka'i were mourning the loss of their daughter, hoping she would find a good home. Catherine felt something of the same emotions. She took off the girl’s dress, slipped on her tiny pajamas, then climbed into bed beside her. She gave her a tender kiss on the head and said softly, I love you, sweet baby. May God protect you. This was far from the first child Catherine had held and comforted in her twenty-four years at Kalaupapa—but Ruth was the one most dear to her. She was the daughter of a lonely child who had grown into a strong woman and a dear friend; she bore the same name Catherine had been christened with; and, most important, of all those girls Catherine had cared for, Ruth was the first one who would know what it was like to be free.

Chapter 1

1919

The sky above Diamond Head was a spray of gold as the sun seemed to rise up out of the crater itself. From atop its windy hill in Kalihiuka—inland Kalihi—Kapi'olani Home took in the sweeping view, from the grassy caldera of Diamond Head to the concrete craters of the new dry docks at Pearl Harbor. On a clear day, even the neighbor islands of Lāna'i and Moloka'i could be seen straddling the horizon. The big, two-story plantation-style house on thirteen acres of trim lawn stood alongside the sisters’ convent and chapel. The Kalihi Valley was largely agricultural, and the Home was surrounded by acres of sprawling cow pastures, hog breeders, and backyard poultry farms whose hens nested in old orange crates and whose roosters announced Morning Mass as well as any church bell. On the other side of Kamehameha IV Road there were groves of big-leafed banana plants, tall and thick as trees, prodigal with hanging clusters of green and yellow fruit; taro patches filled with heart-shaped leaves like fields of valentines; and terraced rice paddies glistening in the morning sun.

As in most Catholic orphanages and schools, the Sisters of St. Francis required that the corridors remain quiet, orderly—places of silent contemplation, not to be desecrated with idle conversation. Other than this, there were only three major rules at Kapi'olani Home:

1. After breakfast no standing around talking but do your work quickly and well.

2. Do not throw your clothes on the floor nor rubbish in the yard.

3. Line up and march orderly.

Morning call sent the girls springing out of bed, into washrooms to scrub faces and comb hair, then dress. Filing quietly down corridors and into the dining hall, they went to their tables—ten girls at each one—and stood behind their chairs, joining with Sister Bonaventure in reciting the blessing:

Thank you for the world so sweet,

Thank you for the food we eat.

Thank you for the birds that sing,

Thank you, God, for everything. Amen.

This was followed by the scraping of sixty chairs on the floor as the girls seated themselves and ate a breakfast of poi, rice, eggs, and sausages. It was near the end of breakfast that a three-year-old girl—standing on tiptoes and peering out the dining room windows—made an exciting announcement:

Cow!

As she ran delightedly out of the dining room, the other girls flocked to the windows. Yet another of Mr. Mendonca’s cows, having decided that the grass was, in fact, greener on the other side of the fence, was grazing contentedly on their front lawn.

Wow, look at the size of its whatzit! said one girl.

I believe she needs to be milked, Sister Bonaventure noted calmly. Now, girls, let’s all get back to our—

Too late. What moments before had been a docile group of girls eating breakfast became a stampede out of the dining hall.

On the second floor, Sister Louisa, hearing the drumbeat of footfalls below, raced down the staircase to find a raging river of girls surging past her.

And far ahead of them all was a three-year-old with amber skin and almond eyes, crying out, Cow! Cow! Big brown cow! at the top of her voice.

Ruth! Louisa immediately broke into a run herself. Come back!

Ruth burst out the front door, down the porch steps, and went straight to the grazing heifer, which was completely oblivious to the fuss it had stirred up.

Hi, cow! Ruth welcomed it. Hi!

Ruth stood about three feet tall; the cow, perhaps a foot taller. Ruth reached up and gently stroked the side of its neck as it chewed. Good cow, she said, smiling. "You’re a good cow."

As Sister Louisa rushed outside, she saw the child she had promised to protect petting an eight-hundred-pound Guernsey, whose right hoof, with one step, could have easily crushed the girl’s small foot.

Ruth! Please! Step back!

But Ruth’s attention was drawn to the cow’s swollen udder. And what were those things sticking out of it like big fat fingers?

Intrigued, Ruth reached up and took one of the cow’s teats in her hand—examining it, pulling it, squeezing it.

A stream of raw milk squirted out and into Ruth’s face.

The other girls exploded into laughter. Sister Louisa pulled Ruth away from the animal. Either due to the warm, yellowish milk on her face or the mocking peal of the girls’ laughter, Ruth began to cry.

It’s all right, little one, Louisa said, leading her away. Let’s go inside and wash that off your face.

The other girls clustered around the cow as the elderly Sister Helena arrived, frowning. I do wish, she said, that Mr. Mendonca would keep his livestock away from our live girls.

Eddie Kaohi, the Home’s young groundskeeper, ran up, rope in hand. I’ll take her back where she belongs, he said, lassoing the cow’s neck.

"Mahalo, Mr. Kaohi, said Sister Helena. Then, with a sigh: Girls, really. You’d think none of you had ever seen a cow before."

"She’s cute, said ten-year-old Addie as she swatted a fly away from the cow’s face. She has the prettiest eyes!"

Sister Helena gazed into the heifer’s soulful brown eyes, her stern face softening. Yes, she allowed, I suppose she does.

---

In the bathroom Sister Louisa scrubbed Ruth’s face with soap and water and asked her, So what have you learned today, Ruth?

Cows shoot milk.

Louisa stifled a laugh. That’s why only dairy farmers should touch a cow’s udder, not little girls who could get hurt.

They laughed at me, Ruth said in a small voice. Again.

Again? When have the girls laughed at you before?

When I showed ’em my gecko.

Ah yes, the gecko. Only because the gecko decided to run down the front of your dress.

"Ran away. I loved it and it ran away!"

I know. Ruth loved every animal she had ever met. On a trip to the Honolulu Zoo, Ruth was enchanted by the monkeys, lions, swans, and Daisy, the African elephant. Sometimes Louisa thought the child would embrace a boa constrictor but for the welcome fact that there were no snakes in Hawai'i.

An’ they yelled at Ollie, Ruth lamented, an’ scared him away too!

Ollie was the mouse?

Ruth nodded.

Some of the younger girls were scared of Ollie, Louisa explained gently. That’s why they were yelling and—well, screaming.

He was so cute!

I thought so too.

They hate me, Ruth declared.

No, they don’t. They just don’t love animals the way you do.

Ruth’s face flushed with shame. One girl called me a bad name.

Louisa straightened, concerned. Who did?

Velma.

What did she call you, Ruth?

Ruth looked down and said quietly, "Hapa. She called me hapa."

Louisa laughed with relief. Ruth, that isn’t a bad word. It’s just a Hawaiian word. It means half.

Half?

Yes. Like if I gave you a cookie, then split it into two pieces and took away one piece, you’d have half of what I gave you.

Ruth’s face wrinkled in confusion. She called me a cookie?

"Well, your papa was Japanese and your mama was Hawaiian, and so you’re half Japanese and half Hawaiian. Hapa. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the word."

Ruth wasn’t so sure. It still sounded like Velma was calling her half a cookie, which anyone knew wasn’t as a good as a whole cookie.

Sister Lu?

Yes, Ruth?

Can I meet my papa? And my mama?

Louisa said softly, I don’t know, Ruth. Maybe someday.

Ruth considered that. Sister Lu?

Yes, child?

Can I have a pet worm?

Louisa did her best to reply with the same gravity as Ruth’s question. Well, you see, worms live underground. So if you wanted to have a pet worm, you’d have to live underground too. It’s dark and cold and wet down there. I really don’t think you’d like it.

Oh.

The sister tenderly straightened Ruth’s hair and said, Let’s go to the playroom, all right?

---

Due to public fear and prejudice, children of leprous parents were banned from attending public or private schools. But the Board of Education did, at least, provide the sisters with schoolroom equipment, and the Free Kindergarten and Children’s Aid Association had years ago established a kindergarten at Kapi'olani Home and assisted the order in its operation. Girls from six to fifteen were taught by Sister Valeria Gerdes, who gave lessons in arithmetic and English.

After classes, the older girls sewed shirts and dresses for inmates at Kalaupapa—some of them, perhaps unwittingly, for their own parents.

Saturdays were housekeeping days and Sundays were for Mass and Benediction, but they were holy in another way: they were visiting days for friends and family—'ohana, a word Ruth knew, even if she had no use for it.

Ruth would listen as a brass bell rang, announcing the arrival of a visitor, and young Sister Praxedes would enter the dormitory to inform Maile that her uncle had come to see her, or Freda that her cousins from Wai'anae had arrived, or Addie that her friends from Kaimukī were here. The girls would jump off their beds, thrilled, and rush out of the room.

No bell ever rang for Ruth.

Until, one day, it did.

Sister Praxedes came in unexpectedly that afternoon and told her, Ruth, there’s a nice gentleman and lady here who want to meet you!

Ruth, who knew no one outside the Home, could only think of one thing. She asked hopefully, Are they my mama and papa?

They might be. They’re looking for a little girl to adopt. To make part of their family.

Really? Ruth said excitedly.

Most of the time, when a resident girl was adopted, she was taken by relatives or friends in what was called a hānai adoption. But occasionally a couple with no relation to anyone in the Home would come seeking a girl to adopt. Usually these were Native Hawaiians, who were less afraid of leprosy and less mindful of the stigma that attached itself to children of lepers.

Ruth had watched as other girls were chosen to meet potential parents, but now, for the first time, she was taken to the Home’s library where she was introduced to a man and woman, both Hawaiian. Ruth’s heart raced with a new feeling—hope—as the man smiled warmly at her.

"Such a pretty little wahine. What’s your name, keiki? he asked, using the Hawaiian word for child."

Ruth, she answered, seeing kindness in his eyes.

How old are you, Ruth? the lady asked.

Ruth counted off three fingers on her hand. T’ree? she said uncertainly.

Very good, Ruth, Sister Praxedes said, then, to the couple: Ruth is a very bright little girl.

Do you want a real home, Ruth, with a mama and a papa? he asked.

Oh yes! Ruth cried out. I do!

The nice couple laughed and smiled, asked her a few more questions, then told her she was very sweet and thanked her for seeing them. Sister Praxedes escorted Ruth back to her dormitory and Ruth excitedly began wondering what her new home would be like, would she have brothers and sisters, would they have pets? She started planning which of her scant belongings she would pack first, until Sister Praxedes returned to tell her regretfully, I’m so sorry, Ruth. They chose another girl.

Crushed by the weight of her hopes, Ruth asked, Din’t they like me?

They liked you fine, Ruth, it’s just—

"’Cause I’m hapa?" she asked, forlorn.

No no, not at all. These things are hard to understand, Ruth.

She left, and Freda, a world-wise nine-year-old, said, Same t’ing wen happen to me too. Sometimes they don’t choose nobody at all. Don’t let it get you down, yeah?

Ruth nodded gratefully but felt no better.

Later, before lights out, Sister Lu came into the dorm, gave Ruth a hug, and assured her she would be chosen by someone, someday. And meanwhile you have a home here and someone who loves you very much.

The warmth of Sister’s embrace cast out the chill of rejection … for now.

Over the course of the next year, three more couples would ask to see Ruth. With each request her heart soared like a kite and after each rejection she was dashed to earth, convinced there was something lacking in her. She was hapa, half, incomplete. Half a cookie; who would want that? And eventually she learned a valuable lesson: she learned not to hope.

---

On Sunday evenings the parish priest would preside over the Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, and as the older girls sang prayers and devotions in the chapel, the youngest sat in a classroom, supervised by an older girl whose job was to read Bible stories to them. On the last Sunday night of October 1920—which also happened to be All Hallow’s Eve—that girl was Maile, who extinguished all the lights in the room save for a lone candle and regaled the little girls with a less devout tale about an obake that resided inside a koa tree. When the tree was cut down for lumber, the things made from it—a spear, a calabash, the handle of a knife—all contained a piece of the ghost, which was not at all happy at being dismembered and set about doing the same thing to everyone who owned a piece of that koa wood.

Ruth—now four years old—grew bored and quietly left the room. At first she intended to return to bed, but as she stood in the corridor she heard something that sounded like … whimpering? But not a human whimpering.

Curious, Ruth went into an empty classroom, stood on tiptoe at a window, and looked out.

It was dark and cloudy and the only light on the grounds came from the flicker of candles in the chapel. Ruth managed to push open the window an inch or two. Now she could tell that the whimpering was clearly coming from the side of the road—Meyers Street—bordering the convent.

Then she saw a shadow detach itself from the dark contours of a noni, mulberry, bush. It shuffled on four legs, low to the ground, until its hindquarters dropped and it sat there in the dimness.

It was a dog!

Ruth had seen dogs before—some of the local farmers owned them, and she even got to pet one once. Thrilled, she raced out of the classroom and out the back door. As she rounded the Home, she saw the dog sitting on the side of the road, whining plaintively.

She slowed down and approached it.

Hi, dog, she said softly. Hi.

It turned its head to her and its black eyes, ringed in amber, shone in the darkness.

Ruth got close enough to gently, cautiously, stroke its back. It didn’t object. Good dog, she said happily.

It was a scruffy, medium-sized mutt with matted, light brown fur—but to Ruth it was the most beautiful dog she had ever seen. As she petted it, it stopped whimpering, rubbing its wet nose against her arm. She scratched under its chin, its head tipped up and its mouth opened in a smile.

As she stroked its side she could feel its bony ribs.

You hungry? she asked. I’ll get some food. You stay here, okay? When she got up and moved away the dog started to follow, but she put up a hand and said, as loudly as she dared, No! Stay here. I’ll be back.

The dog stopped, sat. Good doggie! she whispered, then ran back into the Home, down the corridor, and into the kitchen.

Maria Nunes, the Home’s Portuguese cook, was washing the last of the supper dishes when Ruth burst in and announced, I’m hungry!

Maria had to smile at the urgency in the little girl’s voice. Didn’t you finish your supper tonight?

I did. But I’m still hungry.

Well… Maria went to the big icebox and opened it. We got a little Sunday ham left over … I can make you a sandwich, you like?

Oh yes. Thank you! Ruth said.

A minute later, Ruth accepted the fat sandwich, thanked Maria again, and rushed out of the kitchen. She worried that the dog might have left, but when she emerged from the Home, he—he seemed like a he—was still sitting patiently where she had left him.

Good dog! She tore off a chunk of sandwich and offered it on the palm of her hand. His tongue ladled it up and into his mouth, and Ruth giggled at the pleasant tickle of it on her skin. She tore off another chunk and he wolfed that down too, then another, until the sandwich was gone and he was licking the last crumbs of bread from her palm.

She was petting him when she suddenly heard the sound of a door opening, followed by footsteps. She turned quickly. Benediction was over, and the sisters and older girls were leaving the chapel.

Skittish, the dog sprang to his feet and ran away down the road.

Ruth watched, disappointed, as he seemed to melt away into the darkness; but her palm was still wet from his tongue, a nice feeling.

Before anyone could see her, she hurried back into the Home. She went to bed thinking happily of her new friend.

All day she stole glances out the windows, but there was no sign of the dog. At dinner she was careful not to eat all of her chicken and mashed potatoes, but squirreled away the remainder into her napkin and stuffed it into the pocket of her dress.

At bedtime Ruth hid the napkin under her blanket as she changed into her pajamas, then slid under the covers. When the air became heavy with the rhythmic breathing of sleeping girls, Ruth took the napkin filled with food and went into the washroom. Above a toilet stall was a single window, lit faintly by moonlight. Ruth climbed onto the toilet seat, then up onto the back of the toilet, and quietly pushed up the window as high as she could.

She heard a familiar whimper. Eagerly she climbed up onto the windowsill, swung her legs over the edge, and jumped out, landing in the garden below. She hurried around the building to find her new friend waiting patiently for her on the side of the road.

As soon as he saw her, his tail began happily thumping the ground.

He gulped down the chicken and potatoes while Ruth stroked his back: Good doggie. When his slobbery tongue darted out to lick her face, she giggled. Finally he rolled over on his side and closed his eyes. Ruth nestled beside him, face to face, draping an arm across his torso. Their chests touched and she felt the comforting warmth of his body. She felt his heart beating, and for a moment it felt as though their heartbeats were one and the same. Because they were the same. He was alone. She was alone. They needed each other.

And he needed a name. She’d been thinking of one and now whispered it into his ear, which twitched noncommittally at the suggestion. Ruth closed her eyes, enjoying the softness of his fur, their shared contentment. She wanted to stay like this, warm and loved, forever.

In minutes she was asleep.

Ruth.

Suddenly an earthquake threw her dreams into disarray. She woke to find that the upheaval was the dog bolting upright beside her. She looked up and saw Sister Lu gazing worriedly down at her. Ruth, what—

The dog fled into the night. She told herself that was all right—he came back before, didn’t he?

Sister Lu squatted down beside her. Are you all right, Ruth? Are you cold?

Ruth just shook her head.

No, she said. He kept me warm.

---

Louisa stood before Sister Helena, summoning every ounce of persuasion as she pled Ruth’s case: Mr. Kaohi rounded the dog up; it appears to be a stray. We’ve checked with all the neighbors and no one knows him. He’s malnourished, mangy—

But retains all his working parts, Sister Helena noted wryly.

That can always be fixed. Louisa always felt intimidated by Sister Helena, even though the sister wore her authority gently. "He is a sweet dog, and looks like he could use a home. And Ruth—Ruth needs something like this. Something she can care for. And you must admit, she was very resourceful in finding something for Only to eat."

‘He has a name? Sister Helena asked. Then, realizing what she had just heard: ‘Only’?

That’s what Ruth calls him.

Sister Helena could not help but be moved. Is that how she sees herself too?

In a way, they’re all onlies here, Louisa said quietly.

Sister Helena sighed. Sister, I simply can’t establish the precedent of an individual child owning a dog. What if another stray shows up? What if a cat has kittens on our doorstep?

He could be the Home’s mascot, Louisa suggested, belonging to all the girls, not any one. I’m told that even at Kalaupapa, there was a kind of mascot at Bishop Home. I believe he was called ‘Denis the pig’ and he used to sun himself in the front yard.

Sister Helena rolled her eyes. "‘Denis’ was actually a huge boar—so huge, according to Mother Marianne, God rest her soul, that he sunned himself wherever he pleased.

Sister, we don’t know anything about this animal. He could have rabies. He could bite one of the girls. I can’t risk that. I’m sorry. Truly I am.

This will be … very hard on Ruth, Louisa said.

She’s only four. She won’t even remember this dog in two years.

Louisa had run out of arguments. Thank you, Sister. May I—allow Ruth to say goodbye to him?

I think that would only make things worse, don’t you?

Louisa nodded her obeisance without actually agreeing, then went to crush Ruth’s fondest desire.

---

Ruth didn’t understand why Only had to leave. But she knew he would be back—as indeed he was the very next evening. Ruth had hidden half of her fish and rice from supper in a handkerchief and lay in bed expectantly until she heard the familiar whimper outside. She jumped out of bed, hurried into the corridor and toward the back door—

When she heard Sister Lu say Ruth, she froze on the spot.

The sister squatted in front of her. She held out her hand. Give me the food, she said gently.

But he’s hungry!

He’ll find someone else to feed him. Dogs usually do.

"But he’s my dog!"

No he’s not. I’m sorry, Ruth. Give me the food.

Ruth slowly handed her the soggy bundle.

Thank you. Now go back to bed.

"Can’t I go look at

Reviews for Daughter of Moloka'i

[kimkimkim-7 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Years ago I read Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson and was staggered upon learning of the internment of American-Japanese residents by the American Government during World War II. This wasn’t taught in the History or Political Science classes that I took in school, once again proving that the victors get to decide how history is fashioned and handed down. Daughter of Moloka’i reawakened the abomination that the American Government visited upon its Japanese residents and citizens. This book made me realize I had shelved that knowledge, once again ignoring the hopelessness, loss, separation and misery that Americans perpetrated upon loyal Japanese citizens.The Daughter of Moloka’i is about Ruth Utagawa, born to a Hawaiian Mother and Japanese father, both lepers, who were forced to give up their baby within a day or her birth. Ruth grows up in an orphanage and at for the age of three she is able to articulate that she feels Hapa, half of something and never whole. Wanting a family, a real home and being repeatedly rejected by prospective parents she reacts with anger and not surprising this is her fall-back emotion to all the injustices she is forced to endure throughout her life. The forced loss of a mangy dog she named Only, constant belittling by her schoolmates, the theft of a business created by Ruth and her husband, transported on trains with the windows blanked out not for their protection but so white citizens wouldn’t have to view the passengers, being forced to live in abandoned, barely standing, flea ridden stables in the internment camp, Ruth and her family were entitled to their anger. Ruth offers the thought that she understands how the European Jews must feel. With each blow struck against Ruth my heart broke, and I felt Ruth’s anger and Brennert’s writing is that quietly powerful. I loved everything about Alan Brennert’s previous novels Moloka’i and Honolulu. Heartbreaking, well researched stories with exceptionally fluid writing. Daughter of Moloka’i was equal in prose to Brennert’s previous books, the story being told was equally important. But this book read like two separate books that didn’t completely mesh.Thank you NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press for a copy.

[thegenreminx · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Daughter of Moloka’i is a companion novel but it can be read as a standalone. The story follows the life of Ruth who was born to a woman infected with leprosy and that fact was a stigma that was attached to Ruth at birth, despite having shown no signs of leprosy herself. In addition, Ruth was a mixed-race child with one parent having been Japanese and the other Hawaiian. That was a big deal back then as it made everything just a little harder for her to be adopted and it would become something that she struggled with as an adult. I loved that this story followed her from her early childhood because it gave me a real sense of what was stacked against Ruth. It made the wins that much sweeter and I know that with every chapter I was full invested in her happiness and her future.This story is a historical fiction saga filled with both warming moments as well as heartbreaking ones. Great attention was given to accurately portray the Japanese culture and I just loved Ruth’s adoptive family. Their time together was moving, complex, loving, and I came to adore every single character. There are events in Ruth’s life that are also a reflection of rather dark times in American history and if you did not truly understand what people of Japanese ancestry suffered during those times, you will find yourself researching it. The writing is wonderfully descriptive and the details create vivid imagery that will stay with you. Overall, Daughter of Moloka’i is a touching coming of age story that is both poignant and meaningful.This review is based on a complimentary book I received from NetGalley. It is an honest and voluntary review. The complimentary receipt of it in no way affected my review or rating.

[lauriebrown54 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

We first meet Ruth in an orphanage on Oahu, the half Japanese, half Hawaiian daughter of occupants of the Moloka’I leper colony. Over the course of 54 years, from 1926 to 1970, we follow her life as she is adopted by a Japanese family who move to California to farm. Of course, come Pearl Harbor, they are put in an internment camp and later have to start over in the aftermath. Ruth is contented with her life; she loves her parents and is starting a family of her own. Then, out of nowhere, a letter arrives from Rachel – her birth mother. Will Ruth want to meet the woman who gave her up when she was one year old? Can she love both her birth mother who she doesn’t remember and her adoptive mother, the only other she’s known? Can she even understand the woman who gave her up- and who lived a significant amount of her life in the leper colony? The characters are mostly well drawn and three dimensional. The author brings places to life, too- the islands, central California, the internment camps. I think this description of the inhumanity of putting people in internment camps like animals comes at a time when the US is doing the same thing all over again, and I hope it will make some difference in the minds of readers. Five stars.

[beckyhaase · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

DAUGHTER OF MOLOKA’I by Alan BrennertThe long awaited sequel to MOLOKA’I is here! Rachel’s daughter Ruth, taken from her the day Ruth was born, is the main character in this family tale that extends from Hawaii to California to Japanese internment camps and back to California.Brennert excels in incorporating actual people and events into his stories. DAUGHTER OF MOLOKA’I is no exception. The discrimination against Japanese (Rachel is adopted by a Japanese couple) in the early part of the twentieth century, the difficult life of “foreign” farmers in the lush farmland of California and the internment of hapless Japanese during WWII make up the bulk of this novel. The final portion relates the difficulty of adoptees and their birth parents in locating each other and the repercussions that follow. Brennert’s empathy finds expression is his clearly drawn characters, skillful conversations and deft handling of conflict. Book groups will love this historically accurate account of difficult episodes., especially those who have read and loved MOLOKA’I. Groups interested in immigration/emigration issues will find much to discuss.5 of 5 stars

[mzonderm · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Alan Brennert doesn't pull his punches when it comes to some of the more shameful aspects of history. In Moloka'i he explored the segregation of Hansen's Disease patients in Hawai'i, through the eyes of Rachel Kalama who was removed from her family and sent to the leper colony on Moloka'i at a young age. Now, in Daughter of Moloka'i, Brennert tells the story of Ruth, the daughter Rachel was forced to give up for adoption. And his unstinting gaze falls on the racism against Japanese immigrants and the Japanese internment camps of WWII.As always, Brennert's gaze falls beyond the immediate drama to give us the full and rich sweep of a life. Ruth's life is fully imagined, from her time in an orphanage and her dreams of finding a family to her happiness with her adopted parents and brothers to the hardships they faced as farmers in rural California to their internment and beyond. Once Rachel is re-introduced into the narrative, it is fascinating to watch Brennert tell the same story, even many of the exact same scenes, but told from Ruth's perspective. Reading the books back-to-back turns them into a wonderfully faceted multi-generational story that is a pleasure to read.

[toobusyreading · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Although you don't have to read Moloka'i before you read this book, the story is richer if you do. There is enough backstory given so it's not a necessity, but you'll appreciate this book more, I think. This story is rich in character and history, as was Moloka'i, and I felt the characters as if I knew them – always a good thing in fiction, even historical fiction. We have done some horrible things to our citizens over the year, and sadly, we continue to do so.Towards the end, the story got a bit touchy-feely for someone (me) who shies away from too much of that, but it wasn't over the top. This story, although there was a great deal of love in it, is not a typical romance. I really enjoyed Moloka'i, and I'm glad this book was published, albeit several years after I read Moloka'i, so I could find out what became of the daughter of Moloka'i.

[janarose1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is the sequel to Moloka'i. It tells the story of Rachel's daughter, Ruth. At a year old, Ruth was taken from Kalaupapa to the Kapi'olani Home for Girls. At a young age, she was adopted by a Japanese couple. Their family left Hawaii and moved to California's farmland. When WWII struck, the family was interned at the Manzanar Relocation Camp. Years later, Ruth receives a letter from a woman claiming to be her birth mother.This book had some of the same problems that Moloka'i had. The characters seemed detached and superficial. I never felt like I knew who the characters were. Relationships with secondary characters also seemed superficial. Time also moved quickly in this book, skipping through what may have been important moments. Overall, not a bad book, but not something I would reread or recommend.

[pdebolt_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book highlights a shameful event in American history when Japanese Americans had their homes, businesses and possessions taken and were placed in internment camps for long periods of time in places that were foreign to them after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Ruth is at the epicenter of this novel. She was born to Japanese/Hawaiian parents on Molokai who had Hansen's disease, formerly known as leprosy. Deemed to be free of the disease, she was raised by nuns until she was four without a knowledge of her birth parents, when she was adopted by a loving couple with two sons. They eventually moved to the United States. Ruth is married with two children at the outbreak of WWII when the Japanese are targeted as potentially subversive. The question as to why people of German and Italian descent aren't also targeted is haunting - the only reason can be that aren't readily visually identifiable.Ruth's life follows an interesting life trajectory as she learns more about her past. It was helpful to have read Rachel's story in Molokai #1, which I well remember and which led to learning more about Molokai and its haunting history.

[jgoto_4 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was not as good as Moloka’i. The characters were mostly either good or bad, and their relationships were either always great or terrible. There was little nuance or human flaws. That said, the book was still an engaging read. The section on the Japanese Internment Camps was eye opening to me and made the book well worth the read.

[nancyjcbs · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Ruth is the Daughter of Moloka'i. Her birth mother, Rachel, was the protagonist in the first novel of this series. Ruth has been separated from her parents and is taken to a Hawaiian orphanage. Daughter of Moloka'i follows Ruth through much of her life from the orphanage to adulthood in California. This covers the period of World War II so also takes place in Japanese internment camps. The camps are more vividly and violently described than most novels I've read. A more complete stain on our history is revealed.The novel tackles the topics of racism, mixed backgrounds, family struggles, a sense of honor, and love. Like Rachel Ruth is a very loving woman.

[librarycin · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a sequel to “Moloka’i”, to be published early in 2019. This one follows Ruth, the daughter of Rachel and Kenji, both who have Hansen’s disease (leprosy) and were sent to Molokai to live their lives. Rachel is Hawaiian and Kenji, Japanese. Ruth was born in the early 20th century, and was taken away from her parents. At 5 years old, she is adopted by a Japanese couple, so Ruth is raised learning her Japanese culture. They move from Hawaii to California when Ruth is still young to help her uncle on his farm. Things do not go well for Ruth and her family, along with over 100,000 Japanese Americans when Pearl Harbour is bombed in 1941.I really liked this, though I have to admit, I wasn’t as interested later on in the book when Rachel came back into the picture. Maybe that would have been different if it hadn’t been so long since I’d read the first book, I’m not sure. It was interesting learning about the Japanese culture, as Ruth learned, and later there was some about the Hawaiian culture, as well. The most interesting parts of the book to me was when Ruth and her family were in the internment camps. That wasn’t completely new to me, but it was the best part of the book for me. I do feel like this one could stand-alone without having read the first book.

[tamidale · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I loved this story. My only complaint is that the characters didn’t spend enough time in Hawaii. The setting was one of the things that made Molokai so wonderful to read. While Daughters of Molokai is an engaging continuation of that story, I was expecting a bit more of the Hawaiian atmosphere.In Alan Brennert’s sequel, readers follow the child Ruth as she is put in an orphanage and eventually adopted. I felt her adoptive family was so pivotal to the story. As Ruth adjusts to her new family, she eventually forgets her life in the orphanage. The family endures many changes throughout her growing up years.A major event in their lives was the move to California, where her father learns some unsettling news about his older brother. Later, the bombing of Pearl Harbor leads to the incredibly sad time Ruth and her family spend in an internment camp during WWII. Growing up, Ruth was often bothered by being “half.” Half Japanese and half Hawaiian, Ruth was left with a sense of not completely belonging. Eventually meeting her biological mother and learning more about her Hawaiian culture helps Ruth to reconcile her dual heritage. Many thanks to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press for allowing me to read an advance copy and give my honest review.

[marquis784-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Daughter of Moloka’i (Moloka’i #2) by Alan Brennert

February 2019
Fiction, historical
St.Martin’s Press and NetGalley

I received a digital copy of this ARC from NetGalley and St Martin’s Press in exchange for an unbiased review.

Originally published in 2004, Moloka’i (book 1) by Alan Brennert provides a richly detailed history of Rachel Kalama’s life growing up in a leper colony on Moloka’i, Hawai’i during 1891 to 1948. “Kalaupapa had evolved from a “given grave” where the afflicted could only wait for death to a place where people lived as well as died.”

Rachel lived a full, meaningful life on Kalaupapa where she married Kenji Utagawa. In 1918, they made the heart wrenching decision to put their only child up for adoption. Once it was determined that Ruth was not afflicted she was sent to live in Kapi’olani Home, an orphanage.

Daughter of Moloka’i provides a parallel history of Hawai’i from the perspective experienced by Ruth Utagawa during 1891 to 1948. The historical aspects of life during these years is not overlooked. The author provides well-researched information which allows the reader to understand the hardships and devastation of the time. Ruth was adopted by Taizo and Etsuko Watanabe, a Japanese family, with 3 boys desperately wanting a girl to add to their family. She eventually goes on to marry Frank Haradas and have 2 children of her own.

The stories entwine to provide perspectives of family life and loyalty. Although this novel could easily “stand alone” the emotional family history is enhanced with the “complete” story explained in Moloka’i.

[gpangel_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Daughter of Moloka'I by Alan Brennert is a 2019 St. Martin’s Press publication. Vivid and poignant, very effective and emotional! It took me a long time to get around to reading Moloka’i, and I deeply regretted putting it off for so long. However, on the positive side, having read it so close to the publication date of this long anticipated follow up, all the details were still very fresh in my mind. Remembering the many reasons why Ruth was placed for adoption so clearly, experiencing her story first hand, was more touching and heart wrenching and the story is felt more powerful and intense. To recap-Ruth’s parents were both inflicted with leprosy and lived on the island of Moloka’i in Hawaii. Ruth was free of the disease, but her parents had to give her up so that she could live a full and happy life. Ruth is biracial- part Hawaiian and part Japanese. Her adoptive parents are Japanese, and Ruth is also blessed with having older brothers. Her life is good, her parents love her, but Ruth has to cope with racism and prejudice aimed at her because she of her mixed race. She also experienced cultural misogyny and sexism. However, Ruth’s life changes forever, when her parent move from Hawaii to California, hoping to own and work their own land. Sadly, they were misled, and things didn’t work out for them quite the way they planned. However, Ruth grows up, gets married, and starts her own family. However, life as she knows it comes to an abrupt halt when the Japanese invade Pearl Harbor. Ruth and her family are among the many Japanese Americans rounded up and sent to the internment camps. Although she makes the best of the situation, it also leaves her embittered. Eventually, the story merges with that of Ruth’s mother, Rachel, who is now widowed and declared free of her leprosy. The mother and daughter finally meet and forge a bittersweet relationship. I strongly urge anyone considering this book to read the first Moloka'i beforehand. The story will not have the same impact if you are not aware of Rachel’s backstory and the hopes she had for Ruth. The bulk of the story is centered around Ruth’s life in the internment camps and the horrible injustices bestowed on these American citizens. I’m glad this period of history is spoken of more frequently now, and more closely examined.I never heard a great deal about the plight of the Japanese Americans during world war two, until a little over a decade or so back. It was not a topic that came up frequently, and when it did, it was quickly glossed over. The more I learned about it the conditions of the relocation camps, the way these families were stripped of everything they had worked for, the more mortified I became. This was certainly not a shining moment in US history. Although many years later, some acknowledgments and apologies were eventually forthcoming, and a pittance was given the survivors, it doesn’t come close to compensating for what these endured and lost. This is a period in history that should get more exposure, especially in the classroom. While I would like for us to learn from the past and be ever more diligent not to repeat our mistakes, I hold my breath, wondering when- not if- this same exact thing will happen again. This story personalizes the struggles of those in California who were forced to live in the camps, and once released were forced to start building their lives all over again from scratch. Living through these times, seeing it from Ruth’s perspective certainly gave me pause. Ruth is a strong character, who endured much, felt deep convictions, and although she never fully released her bitterness, her life was enriched by her adoptive family, her husband and children, and eventually, by having the chance to forge a relationship with Rachel. This novel has an entirely different tone from its predecessor. It’s not as tender, has a sharper edge to it, more befitting of the situation, I suppose. I think Ruth’s character is as sympathetic as Rachel’s, but the era of time the story is written in, as well as the dynamics between Ruth’s adoptive family, which was also quite intense at times, makes the atmosphere heavier and the characters tougher, but equally resilient. I would caution against starting this one with preconceived notions. Don’t expect the same type of emotional elements, or tragic poignancy as Moloka’i. It is certainly different, but I appreciated it and found it to be a very compelling novel. I must confess, I enjoyed seeing Rachel and Ruth reunited, and although Rachel continued to suffer loss and lingering health issues, she lived a full life, as did Ruth, both women overcoming adversity, getting on with the business of life and living, and appreciating every moment they were alive – and FREE!