Orchid House

by Cindy Martinusen-Coloma

  Despite the sting in his foot, he hopped to the softer ground in the jungle and ran again over the barely visible path that would get him to the hacienda house with minutes to spare before Miss Julia’s arrival.

  He was the first of his friends to see her, and she had seen him too. Their eyes had connected for just a moment. What did she think of him? Would she remember him? Had he looked like a man or just a boy in her eyes?

  Emman ran so hard he thought his heart might burst from his chest. He couldn’t help the wide grin; he’d never felt such exhilaration in all his twelve years. Now, not only did he hope to impress her by protecting her, Emman wanted . . . well, what did he want? He couldn’t quite express it.

  All he knew was he’d never been happier in his life.

  THE DIRT ROAD SUDDENLY CUT THROUGH THE THICK FOLIAGE AND revealed a clearing in a sloping valley ahead where rice fields and a humble community of whitewashed houses greeted them.

  “These were formerly workers’ houses,” Raul explained, bending toward her ear. “They evolved into family homes that came together into a small village.”

  The simple wooden homes were built side by side and hugged the stone-paved streets at both sides.

  Raul motioned for their driver to pause before the smooth descent. From the corner of her eye, Julia caught the sight of a massive house. It stood separate, starkly dramatic and noble over its faded vinecovered stucco walls. Tall and austere, its weathered stucco columns rose confidently dark brown against a clear cobalt sky as white billowy clouds rolled above its red rooftop.

  The driver smiled widely and pointed toward the house. “Clan house of Hacienda Esperanza,” he shouted over the engine. “Captain Morrison’s home.” He increased the motorcycle engine, and Julia hung on to the bar in front of her.

  Its enormity took her aback. An impressive mansion, though the age and wear of generations could be seen even from afar. Yet, perhaps even because of that, Julia felt the mysterious and dignified majesty of the estate. This had been a grand and imposing place at one time. And it could be once again, came the wistful thought in her mind.

  She leaned forward to gain a better view and caught the proud expression on Raul’s face as he took in the setting before them. Built on a large open compound, with secured adobe walls covered waist-high with vines, the clan house’s inner grounds were lined by tall palm trees. A garden overflowed with a variety of lush plants and flowers. Bougainvillea or some flowering vine grew wild along its walls, blossoming in pink, white, and yellow.

  The house itself was two towering stories tall and had high triangular roofs with Spanish red tiles that vaulted up to the sky in various separate angles. It stood separate from its surroundings, a world of its own.

  Something came over her, something that had been building around her since her arrival, but now surprised Julia with its encompassing strength. It was like relief or hope, or maybe something of love at first sight. There was a peace about her that had been absent at home. All this she realized as she saw this beautiful and exotic house, dark brown and tall, surrounded by sprouting green palms against the deep blue sky.

  “I love this place,” she whispered without thinking. How surprising that I love this place I don’t even know.

  She felt windswept in a spirited sort of way: her face hot and refreshed, the exhilaration of speeding down the damp road in this bizarre little vehicle, the scent of a tropical forest as evening fell quietly beyond them.

  Julia was six thousand miles from anyone who knew her, driving along in a tin box attached to a motorcycle with the driver smiling at her every reaction and a stoic Filipino dangling outside like a captain at the helm of his ship.

  The fantastic had become real.

  The road turned along a tall stucco wall nearly overrun with flowering vines and then to another set of massive gates opened for their arrival. Julia knew the house, or rather mansion, had been built nearly two hundred and fifty years before, and though certainly worn from the trials of time, it still loomed regal and austere against the deep blue sky.

  A considerable crowd was gathered upon the green lawn, some waving handkerchiefs and with smiles as bright as the house behind them. Their enthusiastic welcome made her look behind for other vehicles or the approach of a parade.

  “Is that for us?” she yelled up to Raul.

  He leaned down and said with the first hint of pride in his tone, “That is for you.”

  “For me?” she whispered.

  The group spread open and moved into loose lines on either side of the walkway, reminding Julia of the palm trees lining the road to the house. The driver stopped at the end of the rock path to the entrance and turned off the engine with a sputter. A light wind fluttered the cotton skirts of a few women and swayed the palms above them. A sweet earthy scent filled the air. Birds chattered like more applause from the trees.

  A boy of about ten years came hurrying forward to take her hand before Raul could turn to help her out.

  “Thank you,” Julia said as she released the boy’s hand. He smiled, nodded his head, and disappeared back to the now quiet crowd.

  “Who are all these people?” she asked Raul softly before going forward.

  “Many are extended family one way or another; some are old hands in the hacienda who still remember your grandfather. All are the men, women, and children of Hacienda Esperanza. They welcome you.”

  Julia tried to take in their faces, the lines and age, the youth and beauty. Their expressions held expectation and greeting.

  Raul surprised her by taking her arm partway up the gray stone pathway; then he spoke loudly. “Miss Julia Bentley, Captain Morrison’s granddaughter.”

  They clapped again with wide smiles; one older woman covered her face in joy. Another elderly woman reached for Julia with both hands, holding her hands tightly as tears fell down her face.

  “Dear child, I am your Lola Gloria. Your grandfather was so proud of you when you were born, and he never forgot to mail us your pictures as the years passed by. He loved you so much, and how we loved your grandfather.” Tears formed in the edges of her eyes, and she clung tightly to Julia’s hands. “Captain Morrison always said he would find a way to come back. And now here you are, his beautiful granddaughter.”

  “It is good to meet you, Lola Gloria.”

  “And you, Iha. At long last you have come home.”

  A young girl tugged at Julia’s arm and handed her a blossom, then ran to the lawn where she spun in her thin cotton dress, raising it into an airy hoop as her thick braid circled like a propeller. An older girl scolded her under her breath.

  Julia walked toward the mansion, greeting each person, shaking hands, receiving hugs, hearing names she knew she wouldn’t remember. One unknown aunt after another, one far-off relative after the next introduced himself or herself to her, along with a few more lolas and lolos—grandmothers and grandfathers of the hacienda. Such a warm and unexpected welcome!

  Julia had left her family behind in the States only to find a long-lost family waiting her arrival in this faraway place. They were strangers who loved her, bound by a history she knew little about, each of them knowing things about her, though Julia had known nothing of them till now. Her grandfather’s stories had suddenly come to life; names and faces she hadn’t paid much attention to were here before her.

  Before long, Raul was at her side, holding her elbow to guide her. “Come now, we usually use the back entrance, but today we open the front doors for you.”

  Julia looked up at Raul as he spoke; his jaw was firm, and he appeared regal with the love and pride he felt for the plantation. He led Julia up the stone stairway toward the sculptured solid wooden doors with the vintage brass knobs and colored stained glass that were to her open arms drawing her inside.

  “The hacienda house has not been lived in for almost twenty years. We use the kitchen and back porch, and I use the study downstairs for business, but the rest of the house has been kept closed up since Captain Morriso
n was forced to leave. We have opened several areas for your short visit, but of course you may enter any room you wish.”

  Stepping inside, Julia stopped short at the grand entrance. Polished wooden floors of dark wide planks, a massive winding staircase that reminded her of Gone with the Wind. The walls halfway up were covered in a dark aged wood with rich engravings and molded edges. The front windows let in beams of dusty light. The ceiling dwarfed them; Julia guessed it was about twenty feet.

  Several older women followed them inside as the rest of her greeters dispersed to unknown places.

  “Miss Julia, would you like some iced tea or lemonade?” Lola Gloria asked. She spoke clear English with only a slight accent.

  The house had the feel of a museum, antiques that didn’t want to be touched, and on the staircase wall, paintings of the hacienda from past eras in large frames. The foyer opened into a parlor with Victorian-styled chairs, a sofa, a lamp.

  “It’s beautiful.” Her voice fell softly into the room.

  Raul gave a nod of assent. “We tried maintaining the house as best we could. We have had a hard few decades. But we have retained its grandeur.”

  “I’m surprised no one broke into the house with such valuable antiques,” Julia said, looking at the small piano in the corner, the grandfather clock, the lamps, sideboard, and other furnishings that would bring a large price in the States.

  Raul’s footsteps stopped hard on the floor as he turned to her. He examined her face and then smiled as if she’d said something humorous. “There was no fear of anyone entering the hacienda house without permission. No one would dare enter, not with the Barangay Mahinahon.”

  “Barangay Mahinahon?” she asked, surprised that she could repeat the name. A shiver ran through her. Raul had mentioned it earlier, and it seemed she’d heard those words before from her childhood days as well. Had it been childhood ghost stories from her grandfather? “What is that?”

  “I will take you there perhaps.” He seemed to consider a moment, his look far away. “Or I will at least explain it further at another time. I do apologize that not everyone could be here for your arrival.”

  “Some were missing?”

  “Some of your cousins were not in attendance. They will of course attend the wake and funeral. There have been some difficulties of late. You will meet them all soon enough.”

  Raul was keeping something from her; Julia detected worry in his face. Dwarfed in the presence of this house and the great unknown around her, she knew there were many secrets hidden within and without.

  She’d entered something far beyond expectation, and her short time here meant long repercussions. But exactly what those repercussions might be, and what her role would be, she did not yet understand.

  “WHY DON’T YOU GO HOME NOW?” EMMAN COULDN’T KEEP THE annoyance out of his voice.

  “Did you see her?” Bok said, climbing the tree at his heels. “Can you believe I touched her hand?”

  “I saw her before anyone else.” Emman wanted to kick the boy out of the tree and be left alone. She did have blue eyes; he knew that for certain now. But he’d been rooted in place while others reached out to take her hand and introduce themselves. The nerve of Bok to rush up before anyone else and help her from the tricycle.

  The light went on in her room. Emman took the wooden gun in his hands and touched the knife at his side. He’d protect her, even if she didn’t know he was here. One day soon, she’d know. And if any harm approached, Emman would be ready.

  He wondered what Miss Julia thought of the hacienda house. From what he’d seen on television, not everything in the United States was grand and imperial. He wondered what her house looked like. Was it like those houses on Beverly Hills 90210? Or in the city like the Bronx or south LA—like he’d seen on TV shows and movies? Somehow he couldn’t imagine Julia in a rundown house with gangs doing drive-by shootings.

  Yet surely the hacienda would impress anyone. Just that day he’d learned more about the inside from his cousin, who had done some woodwork on the staircase. Abner said that the house had ten upstairs bedrooms, a second spacious open-air living room, and a long and large hallway that connected them all. Downstairs were the large primary sala, kitchen, dining room, study, parlor, and four more bedrooms. Other than the office and kitchen, the rest of the house had remained unused for over a decade. Sheets covered furniture in many rooms, and the thought of those shrouded objects—would they scare her as she stayed there alone?

  Emman would stay the night nearby in case she needed someone strong and brave to save her.

  Bok had finally stopped bugging him. The kid had initiative beyond his years, Emman had to admit. And when the younger boy handed him some cigarette butts only half-smoked, Emman decided he could stay.

  SIX

  He walked down the stairs, leaving Timeteo, Paco, and Frank on their beds in the darkened room. Perhaps they couldn’t sleep either. They’d hear his departure as men accustomed to being wary at all times, but none would follow him.

  He waved a hand in the air to stop a taxi, and as he told the destination, Manalo wondered when he’d last ridden in a cab and what fare they charged now. Walking the kilometers back to the safe house after the day he’d had did not appeal to him.

  The city was still alive with people walking the streets and streaming from the malls. He couldn’t believe how many malls had cropped up, and more were being built. When he’d last been in Manila, the economy struggled to such an extent that whole areas of the city were desolate. Now rich developers were being made richer, while the poor remained poor even without Marcos as the unmitigated president.

  Rock bands and vendors lined up beneath the palm trees of Manila Bay. Their lights reflected onto the dark water, and far out in the bay ships both large and small could be identified by their pinpoints of light.

  As he walked along the baywalk, a powerful longing came over him. He needed more than food or water or rest. He no longer desired success or power or war. What he needed, he could not have. Malaya. All he wished was to crawl into bed with his wife, put his head on her stomach, and feel her hands in his hair. Once there, he’d remain forever and cry a thousand tears.

  “Comrade.”

  “Comrade Pilo.” Manalo slapped his back and smiled as if meeting a long-lost friend, in case someone was watching. Their smiles were forced as they asked about each other’s families and found a bench before the view of water and night sky.

  “What happened tonight?” Comrade Pilo asked him in a lower tone.

  “I was hoping you’d know more than I do.” Manalo would not accept any form of reprimand after the situation into which they’d been placed. “What is going on?”

  “Mistakes were made.”

  “Yes, that much I know. But why was that boy there in the first place?”

  “The granddaughter of Captain Morrison was here today. At the Manila Hotel, in fact.” They both looked in that direction and could see the building rising up past the opposite end of the baywalk. “The young man was the driver bringing a Mr. Raul Sarmiento to pick her up. We followed, and the car broke down. Once they approached Manila, I turned the tracking over to our ‘friends.’

  “They picked up the boy, which they should not have done. They thought he had information, but they did not even know the questions to ask him. Our friends do not know about the American woman, Captain Morrison, or the strategic importance of Hacienda Esperanza. And so, you know the rest.”

  Manalo realized they were sitting on a bench not far from where he and Malaya had sat, oh, how many years ago was that now? Fifteen, eighteen, maybe more. He tried to keep her from his thoughts.

  “What is the objective for our going to Hacienda Esperanza?”

  “Under no condition can hope for the American woman or Captain Morrison be revitalized. She is the beneficiary to the plantation, but that is not legally possible because she is a foreigner. Unless contracted with a Filipino individual or enterprise, she cannot own the land out
right. Their lawyers are working on that, and this is of much concern. We need the land to be sold, divided by investors, or given to the people. But the American must leave. If the hacienda gains some measure of power and her position is associated with that in any way, then the entire region will gain a stronger political stability, and we’ll have lost a key region of the country.”

  “So we encourage dissension.”

  “Yes. Chaos, fear, retribution. The area must be rife with insurgents, but not necessarily Communists. The Muslims could be contacted, and if they can do our work, then all the better. They care nothing for diplomacy, while diplomacy is our only means of battle at this point.”

  “The Muslims will kill the woman.”

  “No, we don’t want that. The capitalist sympathizers already have one hero, Captain Morrison. We cannot give them a martyr as well. But the sooner the American woman leaves, the better. I will negotiate with either the Muslims or our ‘friends’ and see what they will do, and I will try to control their zeal.”

  “Good luck with that. What about the boy?”

  “Let me work on that as well. Your plan was good, to return the body. But I will take that responsibility as well.”

  Manalo nodded his head in thought. This was what they needed: objectives for their mission, not obscure instructions to go to the area and see what they might see.

  Then Comrade Pilo surprised him, saying, “Manalo, you won’t go back to the safe house tonight.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “Let us walk awhile, and I will tell you. But you will not join your men for three days’ time.”

  THE SECRET IS IN THE ORCHID.

  Julia searched the pages of her grandfather’s logbooks, sure she’d read that phrase somewhere. She sat in the massive bed, the books piled next to her. The softly ticking hands of the windup clock pointed to just past four in the morning.

  The antique furniture in the room had brought the phrase to her mind. Carved into the thick wood of the headboard, the bed-side table, and the large wardrobe was a design Julia recognized as an orchid blossom and leaves.