“When she came across a jar of ground cinnamon, Elena remembered the ailing senator. Upon the stove, she found the coffee kettle already percolating and steaming hot, and she knew the kitchen staff had not long been absent.
“As she checked the percolating coffee, that feeling of the older man came over her. Elena dropped in a pinch of the cinnamon, then searched the spices for something else. She touched her fingertip into the dark powder of the red pepper, then stirred her finger into some cream from the ice box.
“‘Why would I do such a thing?’ she asked herself, but somehow she knew that he would greatly enjoy it. One more pinch of cinnamon, the cream added to the black brew, then a single drop of citrus juice and two dashes from other unknown spices.
“Elena gave the grateful politician his cup and saucer, noticing the blanket over his lap as her father continued his monologue, now on Australian traders. Then the face of her mother appeared in the open window behind the senator’s head. She motioned for Elena to have her father come outside.
“Over an hour passed before they thought again of Señor Emory. To their distress, they learned that he had returned to Manila. Elena’s mother vowed to lock Alexa up, send her to the convent, or ship her away to a foreign country and marry her off to the first man who saw her arrival.
“The next day, the politician was back at their door with his wife.
“‘I awoke with the dawn and felt a youth about me that I haven’t felt in years. What kind of coffee did your marvelous daughter serve? I believe it cured my ailment at once. From the first sip to the last drop, I felt a strength and cure come over me. Could your daughter make more of that coffee? My wife has suffered from an ailment of the womb since the stillbirth of our son, and she is in pain quite often.’
“It was a turning point for Elena and for the entire hacienda. The senator’s wife also felt improvement after drinking a lemonade with a surprising dash of yellow curry that Elena chose to make instead of coffee. Word spread. Her mother had no choice but to allow Elena into the kitchen. She trained beneath the hacienda chef until the old woman happily turned the kitchen over to the younger woman’s able hands.
“Her fame grew until the hacienda staff would drive away people and require appointments. They were paid in chickens, fruits, livestock, and sometimes actual money. Elena’s healing powers were not always completely effective, but none left her kitchen without some sense of renewal. The family’s debts were soon repaid, and the hacienda gained capital through gifts and payment.
“And then Elena met Amerel.”
“Amerel?” Julia asked. “I thought the story was about Elena the Cook and Cortinez.”
“So it is. But perhaps this is a tragic tale. . . .”
THEY TEASED HIM AS IF HE WERE ONE OF THEM. AND FOR THE first time in a long, long time—at least two weeks—Emman enjoyed every bit of it.
He was their leader now, and that fact had not yet sunk in—at least not with his friends. Emman was a man, a leader, and he’d kissed the hand of the beautiful Miss Julia.
The joy rushed through him, made his legs want to run so fast or make him laugh or shout. And so their teasing made him laugh as he hadn’t done for some time. They were on duty for the night, and a game of hide-and-seek became part of that duty. Emman joined in, happy to run and hide and search out captives.
Miss Julia was safely inside the house, right on the other side of the courtyard and hacienda walls, so they could play in the waning moonlight. He had kissed her hand, and her skin was, well, it was a little sticky, he had to admit. It tasted a little like mango from the work he’d watched her do all evening with the other women. That sissy, cityboy Markus had worked with her, but surely Miss Julia—
“You’re supposed to come looking for us!” Grace said, arms crossed at her chest.
“I am, I was giving extra time.”
“No, you were thinking about Miss Julia again. Everyone knows you’re in love with her.” Grace’s dirty face was scrunched in disgust and accusation.
“Oh, what does everyone know? I was put in charge of protecting her, that’s all.” But Emman realized the words were exactly right.
He was in love with Miss Julia.
THIRTEEN
Lola Gloria begged off from the story and passed it to Markus, instructing him to tell it correctly and fully while she went off to bed. “I’m too old to stay up after such a day. But do not lose this story, Markus, you understand? A story must be finished in its time.”
Raul excused himself as well, and Markus and Julia sat alone in the very kitchen where Elena the Cook once created her miracles.
“So who is Amerel?” Julia asked, surprised at how alert she felt after the long day.
“This was my favorite hacienda story, except perhaps for the Carabao Named Rio Grande. But we’ll save that one for another day. Okay, Amerel . . .” Markus rubbed his eyes and pushed his hair back. “I hope I do get this all right, or I’ll be in big trouble.
“Amerel was a man described as beautiful—not that I would usually call any man beautiful.”
Julia laughed.
“But this is the story, and I have promised Lola Gloria I will tell it as accurately as possible. Amerel was described as beautiful because his features were of masculine perfection. He was known throughout the province not only for his good looks but because of his incredible charm with the women.
“It was during the Christmas fiesta in the village, and Elena had baked several pastries, candies, and cakes. As Amerel walked the booths, with several girls following in his wake, he stopped for a piece of cake at Elena’s booth.
“The first bite stopped him with a shudder from his mouth through his toes. His second taste nearly caused him to burst into tears as he remembered his childhood with vivid recollection and longing. As he thought of his years since, of all he had squandered in extravagance and promiscuity, a guilt rose within him so strong that he considered seeking the village priest. But by the final bite, Amerel experienced the honor of a man who’d come home a war hero, and he suddenly longed to do something of greatness.
“He had to know who had made that cake, and he quickly returned to the food stands, sending the other women away. When Elena had given him the cake, Amerel hadn’t even noticed her. Now he found her stand near the courtyard dance floor where she was packing up a tray of yema—a Filipino candy—to return to Hacienda Esperanza. Amerel felt a spontaneous urge, much to the shock and devastation of a dozen or more young women, to drop to his knees, and he asked Elena for her hand in marriage.
“‘My cake made you do this?’ she asked. Elena, like all the other young women of the hacienda, town, and beyond the borders of the province of the Batangas, had dreamed of Amerel at one time or another. But she had never entertained any real illusions. Now, as Amerel waited on his knees before her, the band hushed, and all held their breath to hear her response.
“Elena was in a time of weariness, tired of sleeping her nights alone and longing for someone to share her recipes as well as to love and be loved for who she was. Though the scent of oleander came to her—a flower that is beautiful but poisonous—Elena chose to find the fragrance inviting. ‘This is not proper, Amerel. But yes, I will marry you.’”
Markus paused a moment. “Are you tired, Julia?”
“Yes, but I want to hear the rest. Are you too tired?”
He answered by taking her hand and leading her outside. Then he carried two of the chairs to the center of the courtyard, gazing up at the sky from time to time before setting them down.
“We can see the stars best from this spot,” he said, holding her chair as she sat. “Now you will hear another side of the story. For you see, Amerel had a younger brother named Cortinez.”
“Ah, the younger brother, eh?” Julia looked up into the night sky.
“Yes. Unlike Amerel, Cortinez had loved Elena for several years before she’d become known throughout the province. As a child, he had dreamed of a plain-faced girl who had healing i
n her hands. He would watch Elena in the market and during Mass. Once he went to the hacienda courtyard and waited in a line of peasants who were there for healing recipes, but he rushed away when his turn approached.
“Cortinez knew of Elena’s mother, how important money was to her. He had little to offer, being the second-born son without inheritance or wealth of his own and only a small shop where he carved furniture from nari-nari wood. And so he joined an expedition guiding Chinese traders into the jungles of Northern Luzon. They searched for a rare gold ore that he hoped would give him the financial backing to ask for Elena’s hand. He was gone two years.
“During the final month of his expedition, while recuperating at a seaside village, a chance coincidence brought a former schoolmate into port on a ship with a broken mast. That was how Cortinez learned that his brother, Amerel, had at long last chosen a woman to become his bride. It was his very Elena.”
“How terrible,” Julia said with a sigh.
Markus smiled at that, then continued. “Indeed it was, and poor Cortinez took that night to drink away his defeat. But all he could think of was Elena.
“Now the beauty of Amerel was combined with a broken character, which is always a dangerous recipe. Except for those honest moments while eating Elena’s recipes, Amerel was arrogant, conceited, and if cornered into insecurity, cruel. When Amerel and Cortinez were children, they had seen a girl beaten to death by her father. Cortinez tried to stop the man, was beaten himself, and was the first to run for help. Amerel, a year older than Cortinez, watched the scene until the girl’s blood had carefully soaked into the earth. No one accused him of cowardice, but Cortinez was praised for his bravery even though the girl died. But neither boy would speak of the event after that night.
“Amerel drew women young and old. His rivals were eliminated once he turned his eye upon a conquest. Infuriated men of all ages sought his blood. A father tried to kill him; three brothers arrived at his house to confront him and beat a servant by mistake; the jilted fiancé of one of Amerel’s conquests left the area in utter devastation. He would have been killed, except that Amerel never traveled without his hired Samoan guard.
“One night, months into her engagement, after Elena had become accustomed to the notion of a future and dared give her heart and soul to believe its truth, and her dress was halfmade for the wedding, she was invited to the rival plantation of Hacienda Morales. She suspected the invitation to be a request for a secret cure.
“Only years later did she learn that the Samoan conspired with her younger sister, Alexa, to expose the man Amerel truly was. Elena’s cooking had brought unshed tears to the Samoan’s eyes for the mother he’d lost in childhood. And though he protected Amerel daily, the Samoan hated his master for taking the virginity of his youngest sister. Alexa as well knew of the allure of Amerel, nearly to her own heartbreak, and she vowed to save her sister from a future of misery.”
Markus paused. “Oh, did I say that Amerel had stopped eating the recipes that Elena prepared?”
“No. Why did he do that?”
“Amerel had a portion of good in him, as all men do. And when that goodness was tapped into, he saw himself and all that he had done. That’s what Elena’s recipes did to him. Amerel didn’t want to feel those things for long.”
“Interesting. I’ve known a few people like that,” Julia said with humor. But then she realized how she avoided feeling certain things, ignored certain truths about herself. It was as if the hacienda were her own Elena recipe, spotlighting the way she’d run from seeking her purpose in life, fleeing from anything that didn’t look safe.
Markus took up his tale again. “Now Elena had never been to Hacienda Morales. When she arrived, she was asked to meet the mistress of the house in the gardens. While waiting, she saw Amerel walking in the moonlight on the arm of an older woman. Their intimacy was evident even from a distance. As they approached, Amerel was startled to see Elena standing there. The older woman found amusement in Elena’s distress.”
“Oh no,” Julia whispered, surprised to feel the pain she’d known when Nathan ended their relationship.
“Are you okay?” Markus asked.
Julia nodded. “What did Elena do?”
“Elena knew Amerel would make some ridiculous excuse that she was supposed to believe. Perhaps that this woman was his aunt or the mother of his childhood friend. He opened his mouth to deliver what she must accept to remain his future.
“She placed her hands over her ears. ‘Do not say it to me.’
“He stood very still. ‘What a child,’ he said and turned back to the older woman.
“Elena walked the kilometers home as a storm rose upon the islands. At the midnight hour, the hacienda gateman was surprised to see Elena come through the misty darkness, and without greeting him as she always did. She continued forward like a lost soul. The gateman wondered if he’d really seen her until he saw her footprints marked on the wet driveway.
“Elena went to the kitchen and cooked the nightly warm milk with cinnamon, nutmeg, and slivers of chocolate for herself and her father. The kitchen maid retrieved a steaming mug for the don of the house and returned to find Elena gone and her cocoa untouched. Later the maid told of seeing Elena standing in the downpour on the courtyard stones, face up to accept the slap of the rain, arms out in resignation. ‘How could You allow this? How could You forget me like this?’ The maid was afraid and did not stop Elena’s angry words to God.”
Julia thought again of the months after she and Nathan broke up. Everyone went through heartache. Everybody had times when they had to start over. Every person alive experienced pain. So why couldn’t she rise back up? It had frustrated and taken her into a deeper depression, until her work suffered and she’d had to find a roommate to help pay the bills. Her mother had wanted Julia to move home, and for a time she did. For two years, she’d floundered along.
Markus’s deep voice pulled her from her past back to Elena’s. “The storm did not quiet by the next morning, and it was discovered that Elena was gone. Word spread quickly of Amerel’s betrayal and Elena’s disappearance. On the second day, villagers from near and far came to search the hacienda for her. They braved the storm for several days until at last it faded. For one week, the grounds were covered in hordes of people who searched and trampled every section of land. Flickering candles filled the cathedral and prayer vigils were established.
“Upon hearing of his brother’s betrayal, Cortinez quickly joined the search, haggard from his travels back from the expedition in Northern Luzon. A few interrogated Amerel as to his whereabouts the night and morning of the storm. But the rich doña gave him an alibi for the entire night.
“Elena’s footsteps were difficult to trace, but trackers were confident that they’d found her path from the back porch through the gardens to the farthest section of the hacienda that ended at a cliff above the sea.
“Elena’s family was surprised at the level of distress caused by her disappearance. They’d never guessed the far reach of their daughter’s healing cuisine. Tears and wails filled the courtyards, and there was the scent of foods cooked on small ovens on the lawns as search parties were sent out through the days and nights.
“While Amerel disappeared to his mother’s clan house in Mindanao, no one searched for Elena more than Cortinez. He collapsed each night in his quest for her, several nights not returning at all.
“Then it was discovered that Cortinez had not been seen for three days. The search became twofold, and when his footsteps were also tracked to the cliff above the sea, the searchers became fearful, making the sign of the cross and holding their amulets lest they be driven to the rocks below themselves.
“It was said that a curse had come to the hacienda. The candles were lit again, not as much for the poor soul of Cortinez, but for a plague of ailments that swept those who did not search for them. Most of the candles burned for Elena.
“The priest was kept up for days with confessions. A good-hearted ma
n, he prayed for Elena, the young girl he’d always cherished, not just for the famous Elena the Cook. He reminded his flock with confidence, ‘God Almighty can save them still.’
“A month later, early in the morning, Elena’s parents woke to noise downstairs. Her father crept downstairs to discover the intruder, and her mother, too afraid to remain upstairs alone, followed behind, feeling terror with every step.
“‘What if it is the Devil coming to take us?’
Her father held a gun and mother her rosary as they descended the stairs. They followed the noise until they stopped outside the kitchen, hearing pots and pans clatter inside.
“‘My God!’ Elena’s mother gasped as they opened the door.
“Her father nearly dropped the gun.
“There stood Elena in the midst of cooking. And on a chair sat Cortinez.
“Elena’s mother grasped her father’s arm. ‘Are they ghosts?’
“‘I do not know.’
“Elena had the quality of a ghost. Beneath her usual apron, her dress was torn and soiled, her hair wild and tumbling over her shoulders as her father had never seen it before. Her face was pale, and when she looked up, she smiled such an expression of peace that it took both her parents aback. The cooking had put a thin misty smoke throughout the kitchen. Cortinez turned in his chair, where he had been watching Elena. His unshaven face and angelic presence confirmed that they were both dead and now ghouls in the house.
“‘Mother, Father,’ Elena said with joy as she wiped her hands on her apron and rushed to embrace them. Even after feeling the touch of her, the solidity of her being, her parents still were unsure whether or not she was a specter returned to haunt the house.
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