The Ohana Read Online Free Page A

stood next to the sink and a kerosene stove topped by a wooden box used as an oven. Plumeria flowers were strewn on a crude wooden picnic table set with dishes and chopsticks. The smell of kahl bi cooking made him homesick.
    Tae Ja stood at the stove, her round, smooth face flushed from the heat. Her dark eyes lit up when she saw Chaul Roong. Bowing, she said, “So wonderful of you to grace our house.”
    Bok Nam handed her the wine.
    “How very kind and generous of you.”
    Chaul Roong shook his head. “It was kind of you to invite me.”
    “You are most welcome.” She smiled, eyes fluttering downward.
    During dinner, Chaul Roong entertained them with tales of his ancestor, the Hwarang Warrior and the Original Flower who became his wife. Although he hid his nervousness with laughter, he couldn’t help watching Tae Ja when he thought no one was looking. Once she caught him as she stood behind Bok Nam, taking an empty plate from him. Her hand went to her throat and her sparkling eyes widened for a fleeting moment before she turned away.
    Chaul Roong saw his attraction returned for one brief moment. It was enough.
     
    Chaul Roong became a regular visitor to the Chong’s home. Bok Nam’s genuine pleasure at seeing him made Chaul Roong hate himself even more. But he was caught in a web of desire. Tae Ja’s every gesture and look mesmerized him. The way she put one small hand to her mouth when she laughed, the curve of her arm when she rolled up her sleeves, the dark strands of hair that fell across the nape of her neck and forehead, the tilt of her head when he said something interesting, and the lilting sound of her voice, like honey blended with wine.
    One night Chaul Roong heard a tap on his window. He looked out and saw Tae Ja’s face glowing under the full moon. She put a finger to her lips. He slipped outside and she led him to a little clearing beside the banana grove.
    Holding a dark blanket in her arms, she spread it on the ground. Sitting on the blanket, she looked up at Chaul Roong, her lips parted. Dropping to his knees, he took her in his arms. He kissed her and their lips melted together with a sweetness he had never tasted before. They became one. A fire began inside him yet he couldn't help being poignantly aware no matter how much he wanted this, it was wrong.
    As he held her from him and gazed into her hopeful face, he knew he should stop. But desire won over conscience. They kissed again. He tried to forget he was a Hwarang warrior committed to doing the honorable thing. But just because he knew a thing was right didn’t mean he was capable of doing it.

Chapter Three
     
    Ireland-Boston-Kohala Plantation, 1850-1914
     
    Patrick O’Malley lost his childhood at the age of ten. It was the year his family fled Ireland for America by way of Liverpool. The “Great Hunger”— an Gorta Mor as the Irish called it – had taken the lives of more than a million people in only five short years. In the year of our Lord, 1850, Patrick’s family loaded their belongings into a wagon to join the hungry exodus. His father bid Ireland goodbye. “May God grant us a life worth living in America,” he said.
    Along the way, Patrick saw hundreds of wagons leaving a country ravaged by starvation and cholera. Abandoned houses and the stench from wagons full of corpses lay like a nauseous shroud over his beloved land. Scores of lifeless people were flung like abandoned rag dolls across the land, their mouths agape and stained green with the grass they ate to try to stave off the hunger. Patrick journeyed past thousands of listless children who stared at him vacantly as they waited to die, their jaws distended, their bodies twisted and misshapen.
    When they finally arrived in England, Uncle Mick met them at the pier where the ships sold passage to America. Uncle Mick warned his father, “They be calling the Atlantic Ocean the bowl of tears, Joseph. On account those greedy captains shove more than a hundred people into