HISTORICAL FICTION BY Michael G. Malaghan
Sachiko’s knees quivered as she stepped out of the Packard and looked up the path to the house on the hill. She took a few steps . . . slowly, hesitantly. The scent of plumeria blossoms should have reminded the girl of her childhood in Waimea. Instead, all she could smell was her own fear.
Coming around from the other side of the car, Charles Hemenway spoke with calming reassurance. “It may be hard to imagine, but I was young once and can still remember what it’s like to leave home for the first time.” He shifted Sachiko’s wicker suitcase to his left hand and gently guided the girl up the path with his right. “But I wish I had had your mission.”