Title: Red Sky Over Hawaii
Author: Sara Ackerman
Publisher: MIRA books
Genre: Historical, World War 2
Release Date: 9th June 2020
BLURB supplied by Harlequin Trade Publishing
For fans of Chanel Cleeton and Beatriz Williams, RED SKY OVER HAWAII is
historical women's fiction set in the islands during WWII. It's the story of a
woman who has to put her safety and her heart on the line when she becomes the
unexpected guardian of a misfit group and decides to hide with them in a secret
home in the forest on Kilauea Volcano.
The attack on Pearl Harbor changes everything for Lana Hitchcock.
Arriving home on the Big Island too late to reconcile with her estranged
father, all she can do is untangle the clues of his legacy, which lead to a
secret property in the forest on Kilauea Volcano. America has been drawn into
WWII, and amid rumors of impending invasion, the army places the islands under
martial law. When they start taking away neighbors as possible sympathizers,
Lana finds herself suddenly guardian to two girls, as well as accomplice to an
old family friend who is Japanese, along with his son. In a heartbeat, she
makes the decision to go into hiding with them all.
The hideaway house is not what Lana expected, revealing its secrets
slowly, and things become even more complicated by the interest of Major Grant
Bailey, a soldier from the nearby internment camp. Lana is drawn to him, too,
but needs to protect her little group. With a little help from the magic on the
volcano, Lana finds she can open her bruised heart to the children--and maybe
to Grant.
A lush and evocative novel about doing what is right against the odds,
following your heart, and what makes a family.
PURCHASE LINKS
Amazon US
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sara Ackerman
is the USA Today bestselling author of The Lieutenant's Nurse and Island of
Sweet Pies and Soldiers. Born and raised in Hawaii, she studied journalism and
earned graduate degrees in psychology and Chinese medicine. She blames Hawaii
for her addiction to writing, and sees no end to its untapped stories. When
she's not writing or teaching, you'll find her in the mountains or in the
ocean. She currently lives on the Big Island with her boyfriend and a houseful
of bossy animals.
AUTHOR LINKS
Facebook: @ackermanbooks
Twitter: @AckermanBooks
Instagram: @saraackermanbooks
EXCERPT
THE ROAD
December 8, 1941
WITH EVERY MILE
CLOSER TO VOLCANO, THE FOG thickened, until they were driving through a forest
of white gauze with the occasional branch showing through. Lana considered
turning the truck around no less than forty-six times. Going back to Hilo would
have been the prudent thing to do, but this was not a time for prudence. Of
that she was sure. She slowed the Chevy to a crawl and checked the rearview
mirror. The cage with the geese was now invisible, and she could barely make
out the dog’s big black spots.
Maybe the fog would be to
their advantage.
“I don’t like it here at all,” said Coco,
who was smashed up next to Lana, scrawny arms folded in protest. The child had
to almost yell to be heard above the chug of the motor.
Lana grabbed a blanket from the
floor. “Put this over you. It should help.”
Coco shook her head. “I’m not
cold. I want to go home. Can you please take us back?”
Goose bumps had formed up and
down her limbs, but she was so stubborn that she had refused to put on a
jacket. True, Hilo was insufferably hot, but where they were headed—four
thousand feet up the mountain—the air was cold and damp and flimsy.
It had been over ten years since
Lana had set foot at Kı¯lauea. Never would she have guessed to be returning
under these circumstances.
Marie chimed in. “We can’t go
back now, sis. And anyway, there’s no one to go back to at the moment.”
Poor Coco trembled. Lana wished
she could hug the girl and tell her everything was going to be okay. But that
would be a lie. Things were liable to get a whole lot worse before they got any
better.
“Sorry, honey. I wish things were
different, but right now you two are my priority. Once we get to the house, we
can make a plan,” Lana said.
“But you don’t even know where it
is,” Coco whined.
“I have a good idea.”
More like a vague notion.
“What if we don’t find it by dark? Are they
going to shoot us?” Coco said.
Marie put her
arm around Coco and pulled her in. “Turn off that little overactive imagination
of yours. No one is going to shoot us,” she said, but threw a questioning
glance Lana’s way.
“We’ll be fine,”
Lana said, wishing she believed that.
The girls were
not the real problem here. Of greater concern was what they had hidden in the
back of the truck. Curfew was six o’clock, but people had been ordered to stay
off the roads unless their travel was essential to the war. Lana hadn’t told
the girls that. Driving up here was a huge risk, but she had invented a story
she hoped and prayed would let them get through if anyone stopped them. The
thought of a checkpoint caused her palms to break out in sweat, despite the icy
air blowing in through the cracks in the floorboard.
On a good day,
the road from Hilo to Volcano would take about an hour and a half. Today was
not a good day. Every so often they hit a rut the size of a whiskey barrel that
bounced her head straight into the roof. The continuous drizzle of the rain
forest had undermined all attempts at smooth roads here. At times the ride was
reminiscent of the plane ride from Honolulu. Exactly two days ago, but felt
more like a lifetime.
Lana’s main
worry was what they would encounter once in the vicinity of the national park
entrance. With the Kı¯lauea military camp nearby, there were bound to be
soldiers and roadblocks in the area. She had so many questions for her father
and felt a mixed ache of sadness and resentment that he was not here to answer
them. How were you so sure the Japanese were coming? Why the volcano, of all
places? How are we going to survive up here? Why didn’t you call me sooner?
Coco seemed to
settle down, leaning her nut-brown ringlets against her sister’s shoulder and
closing her eyes. There was something comforting in the roar of the engine and
the jostle of the truck. With the whiteout it was hard to tell where they were,
but by all estimates they should be arriving soon.
Lana was
dreaming of a cup of hot coffee when Coco sat upright and said, “I have to go
tinkle.”
“Tinkle?” Lana
asked.
Marie said, “She
means she has to go to the bathroom.”
They drove until
they found a grassy shoulder, and Lana pulled the truck aside, though they
could have stopped in the middle of the road. They had met only one other
vehicle the whole way, a police car that fortunately had passed by.
The rain had let
up, and they all climbed out. It was like walking through a cloud, and the air
smelled metallic and faintly lemony from the eucalyptus that lined the road.
Lana went to check on Sailor. The dog stood up and whined, yanking on the rope
around her neck, straining to be pet. Poor thing was drenched and shaking. Lana
had wanted to leave her behind with a neighbor, but Coco had put up such a
fuss, throwing herself onto her bed and wailing and punching the pillow, that
Lana relented. Caring for the girls would be hard enough, but a
hundred-and-twenty-pound dog?
“Just a bathroom
stop. Is everyone okay back here?” she asked in a hushed voice. Two low grunts
came from under the tarp. “We should be there soon. Remember, be still and
don’t make a sound if we stop again.”
As if on cue,
one of the hidden passengers started a coughing fit, shaking the whole tarp.
She wondered how wise it was to subject him to this long and chilly ride, and
if it might be the death of him. But the alternative was worse.
“Deep
breaths…you can do it,” Lana said.
Coco showed up
and hopped onto the back tire. “I think we should put Sailor inside with us.
She looks miserable.”
“Whose lap do
you propose she sits on?” Lana said.
Sailor was as
tall as a small horse, but half as wide.
“I can sit in
the back of the truck and she can come up here, then,” Coco said in all
seriousness.
“Not in those
clothes you won’t. We don’t need you catching pneumonia on us.”
They started off
again, and ten seconds down the road, Sailor started howling at the top of her
lungs. Lana felt herself on the verge of unraveling. The last thing they needed
was one extra ounce of attention. The whole idea of coming up here was
preposterous when she thought about it. At the time it had seemed like a good
idea, but now she wondered at her sanity.
“What is wrong
with that dog?” Lana said, annoyed.
Coco turned
around, and Lana felt her hot breath against her arm. In the smallest of
voices, she said, “Sailor is scared.”
Lana felt her heart
crack. “Oh, honey, we’re all a bit scared.
It’s perfectly
normal under the circumstances. But I promise you this—I will do everything in
my power to keep you out of harm’s way.”
“But you hardly
know us,” Coco said.
“My father knew
you, and you knew him, right?” Lana said. “And remember, if anyone asks, we
tell them our story.”
They had
rehearsed it many times already, but with kids one could never be sure. Not
that Lana had much experience with kids. With none of her own and no nieces or
nephews in the islands, she felt the lack palpably, smack in the center of her
chest. There had been a time when she saw children in her future, but that
dream had come and gone and left her sitting on the curb with a jarful of
tears.
Her mind
immediately went to Buck. Strange how your future with a person could veer so
far off course from how you’d originally pictured it. How the one person you
swore you would have and hold could end up wreaking havoc on your heart
instead. She blinked the thought away.
As they neared
Volcano, the fog remained like a curtain, but the air around them brightened. Lana
knew from all her time up here as a young girl that the trees got smaller as
the elevation rose, and the terrain changed from towering eucalyptus and fields
of yellow-and-white ginger to a more cindery terrain covered with red-blossomed
‘ohi‘a trees, and prehistoriclooking ha¯pu’u ferns and the crawling uluhe. At
one time in her life, this had been one of her happiest places. Coco reached
for the letter on the dashboard and began reading it for the fourth time. “Coco
Hitchcock. It sounds funny.” The paper was already getting worn.
Marie swiped it
out of her hands. “You’re going to ruin that. Give it to me.”
Where Coco was
whip thin and dark and spirited—a nice way of putting it—Marie was blonde and
full-bodied and sweet as coconut taffy. But Lana could tell even Marie’s
patience was wearing thin.
“Mrs. Hitchcock
said we need to memorize our new names or we’ll be shot.”
Lana said as
calmly as she could, “I never said anything of the sort. And, Coco, you have to
get used to calling me Aunt Lana for now. Both of you do.”
“And stop
talking about getting shot,” Marie added, rolling her eyes.
If they could
all just hold it together a little bit longer.
There was sweat
pooling between her breasts and behind her kneecaps. Lying was not her strong
suit, and she was hoping that, by some strange miracle, they could sail on
through without anyone stopping them. She rolled her window down a couple of
inches for a burst of fresh air. “We’re just about here. So if we get stopped,
let me do the talking. Speak only if someone asks you a direct question, okay?”
Neither girl
said anything; they both just nodded. Lana could almost see the fear condensing
on the windshield. And pretty soon little Coco started sniffling. Lana would
have said something to comfort her, but her mind was void of words. Next the
sniffles turned into heaving sobs big enough to break the poor girl in half.
Marie rubbed her hand up and down Coco’s back in a warm, smooth circle.
“You can cry
when we get there, but no tears now,” she said.
Tears and snot
were smeared across Coco’s face in one big shiny layer. “But they might kill
Mama and Papa.” Her face was pinched and twisted into such anguish that Lana had
to fight back a sob of her own.
Excerpted from Red Sky Over
Hawaii by Sara Ackerman, Copyright © 2020 by Sara Sckerman. Published by MIRA Books.
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