Orchid House

by Cindy Martinusen-Coloma

  “I will tell them tonight when I return to the staff houses.”

  “But wait . . . do you think it’s a good solution?”

  “Julia. You know that it is. You do not need my approval. There are some things you must simply be confident about. If you do not know, seek the answer. But when you have the answer, do not second-guess yourself.”

  “It’s a lot of pressure. It’s dealing with people’s lives.”

  “It is very important. And judging is to be done with great thought. It is right to find the burden heavy. But if you have the answer, then give it and move on. There are many things to think of on the hacienda. Give weight to what is heavy, and carry it when it is yours.”

  “I’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Yes, so you keep saying.”

  Markus returned to the room, and the phone immediately rang. “I guess that means they’re working again.” He answered it and frowned. “Julia, it’s for you. Would you like us to leave, or take it in the kitchen?”

  Julia guessed it was either her mother or Nathan. “I’ll go in the kitchen.” It surprised her how much she dreaded saying hello to whoever was calling from home.

  “Julia, where have you been?” Nathan sounded angry. She heard a click as Markus set his line down. Strangely, she wished he’d stayed on.

  “I’ve been—why, what happened?” A cold fear spread through her.

  “What happened? We’ve been trying to call you all yesterday and today.”

  “We?”

  “Me, your mother, Lisa, your stepdad. We’ve called every number we have. We even tried that lawyer guy. I already contacted the U.S. embassy.”

  “Nathan, calm down. There was a storm and a volcano erupted and the lines were down. Why are you so upset?”

  “Yes, we heard about the typhoon—that’s the same as a hurricane, in case you didn’t know—and the volcano was the worst eruption in modern history. It’s all over the news.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I haven’t watched the news since I got here.”

  “Julia, I can’t believe you’re just calmly sitting around as if nothing is happening. We’ve been frantic. Your mother received a death threat about you!”

  “What?”

  “She was warned that if you didn’t leave the country, you would be targeted to be killed.”

  Julia leaned her forehead against the wall and closed her eyes. The scent of a stew or something good made her dry mouth suddenly water. She nearly laughed, finding it strangely humorous that anyone found her dangerous enough to threaten, but laughing would infuriate Nathan.

  “We’re getting you the next flight out of there.”

  How strange to imagine that in just days, she might be driving from the airport through the city northbound. How she loved San Francisco—the skyscrapers and triangular-shaped Transamerica building—the ancient looking Coit Tower, Alcatraz on its island with sailboats and cargo ships passing by in the bay waters. From San Francisco, she’d cross the grand Golden Gate with the orange beams and arches contrasted against a flawless blue sky or a gray foggy morning.

  Hacienda Esperanza would quickly feel like the past, or like a long dream she’d just awoken from. Right now the hacienda was real and home was memory, but she’d be so changed, there was no going back to the person she had been. Julia knew this as she stared out the kitchen windows at the view of the old Spanish courtyards and the green rolling fields extending to the farff mountains.

  At home she’d be comparing everything to here. Friends and family would quickly grow tired of her words . . . “at the hacienda . . . did I tell you about . . . the best mangoes I’ve ever tasted are from the Philippines.”

  She’d meet with her old girlfriends and hear how Bradley and Natasha finally settled on a china pattern for their bridal registry, and thank goodness with the wedding only seven months away. Mindy would retell tales from her most recent shoeuying binge. Shanna and Mark would have returned from a trip to Europe and say how the French were exactly the stereotype of rudeness. Shanna would say how brave Julia had been to go on her trip to the Philippines, since France seemed nearly too foreign to her.

  Julia wouldn’t fit there anymore. She’d long for this, for the people, the land. And for Markus.

  “Are you there, Julia? Hello?” Nathan sounded more annoyed than concerned.

  “I’m here. Calm down, Nathan.”

  “Are you seriously telling me to calm down?”

  They’d researched the people behind her death threat, he told her. They were a Communist offshoot, but the Communists in the Philippines were ruthless killers—they’d assassinated a U.S. captain in Manila only four years earlier.

  “And then a volcano erupts there as well!” His voice was shrill with anger as if it were all her fault, even Mount Pinatubo.

  “Was it a death threat or just a warning?” she asked, noticing that Raul stood in the doorway of the kitchen with a look of concern on his face. “Why don’t you read me exactly what it says?”

  The line was silent for a long moment; then Nathan spoke. “Listen, Julia. You will get on the next possible flight from Manila. If not, we’ll get the U.S. government to make sure that you do.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  The scents were irresistible as usual. Julia would greatly miss that.

  “Ah, Julia. Try this.” Lola Gloria leaned over the pot that Lola Amor was stirring and took a spoonful.

  “It’s delicious. What is it?” She hoped it wasn’t tinola after the mention of the dead rooster being turned into the chicken dish, though she knew this recipe would not include losers from the sabong.

  Lola Gloria shook her head. “There is a story to this recipe.”

  “Well, of course there is. There is a story for everything and everybody here. I bet there is a story for that plastic spoon.”

  “Oh no,” said Lola Gloria. “I ordered that spoon at a Tupperware party. Well, I guess there is a story behind it, ’cause it’s the first time I bought something like that, and Aling Rosa hates it. She refuses to use it.”

  “Ah, you see? A story even for the spoon.”

  “It is true. This hacienda cultivates more stories than crops. Much to our undoing. But let me tell you of our dinner tonight.”

  Julia peered into the steaming pot on the stove as Lola Gloria gave it another slow stir.

  “Tonight Aling Rosa and the Tres Lolas will present paella. It was first served for the wedding of the One-Armed Spaniard to his young bride, the first Julianna in our lineage. The One-Armed Spaniard requested the meal often. It is a dish that takes all day to cook.”

  “Wasn’t paella part of the story of Elena the Cook?”

  “Yes, indeed. The same recipe, though Elena improved upon it greatly. So now please take a long nap if you wish, then wash for our early dinner. Aling Rosa will bring some water in a few hours. We will have some guests tonight.”

  The weight of the days fell heavy upon Julia: the wake, the funeral, the journey to Barangay Mahinahon, the expectation and responsibility. She slept the afternoon away.

  The sound of voices could be heard through the house when she descended the wide staircase later beneath the gazes of the ancestors of Hacienda Esperanza. She wished for a long, hot shower, not a bath that required someone to haul up a tub full of water or a shower awkwardly given from the clay pot. She missed the hard water pressure on her back in her modern tile shower at home. If she weren’t leaving, an upstairs shower and bath would be the first thing she would have installed.

  As Julia walked into the kitchen, she noticed the table was missing from the center.

  “Perfect timing,” Lola Gloria said, turning from the counter and handing her a pot of rice.

  “Good evening, Miss Julia,” Aling Rosa said in slow English as she took a dish from the oven and motioned for Julia to follow her outside.

  Familiar faces already surrounded the two tables pushed into one: Mang Berto, Raul, Mara, Francis, and young Alice. Julia was disappointed not to see Marku
s’s face among them.

  “We were wondering if you’d wake in time,” Mara said, as she walked around the table placing silverware. “Francis thought perhaps the Barangay scared you into sneaking away in the night, but I said no way.”

  Francis laughed and nearly tipped backward in his chair. “You don’t have to tell her everything.”

  He rose to greet her, and Julia feigned nonchalance.

  “What’s to fear from a guerrilla village, my dear cousin?” she said. “It’s just a place of jungle warriors, cockfighting, and a hill-side that once was covered in decapitated heads.”

  Francis kissed her on the cheek. “I guess the savageness of our country is something we grow accustomed to. Whether that’s a good thing or not, I could not say.”

  She smiled. “There’s never a dull moment, that’s for sure.”

  The tables were covered in linen tablecloths and napkins. Small candles sat beside each plate with fresh white flowers woven around the table settings. The small lights hung for the funeral were like stars in the trees and along the courtyard wall, granting enough light to the deepening dusk to see the food on the table and provide a peaceful ambiance.

  Gloria brought out the pot of rice and set it in an open space.

  “Where is Markus?” Julia asked, afraid she might actually blush just by saying his name. Was it written all over her face?

  Othaniel rounded the corner from the side walkway. “Here I am!”

  “And late as usual,” Mara said, as they all greeted him.

  “And yet I always have a grand excuse. This time, I was searching the shops of San Pablo, and look what I found. In honor of Julia: two bottles of California wine.” He held up a chardonnay and a cabernet sauvignon, and the others clapped in excitement.

  Othaniel came up the short courtyard steps and kissed Julia’s cheek, then proudly turned the bottles to show the labels.

  Recognizing the winery, Julia smiled broadly. “I know this place. I attended a wedding there once.”

  “Wonderful. Tonight we have California and Philippines in its own merger of food and drink and family. However, the native Californian must open the bottles, since I do not have such a talent. I hope the extensive hacienda kitchen has a corkscrew.”

  She laughed and took the bottles. “I hope so too.”

  Aling Rosa brought the corkscrew out and everyone watched as Julia opened the bottles. Few there had tried wine in a country too tropical for vineyards to produce well, and they eagerly set out glasses.

  Lola Gloria and Aling Rosa together carried a huge iron pot through the back door. “Presenting Paella of the Hacienda Esperanza!” They set the pot at end of the table; Aling Rosa lifted the glass lid, and the steam billowed upward, sending an intoxicating aroma through the air. Julia peered inside at the mixture of rice, shellfish, vegetables, sausage, and many spices.

  Mara waved Julia over to the empty chair beside her. “The sisters know how to bring a meal to life,” she said gently.

  Then Raul rose from his chair, and everyone quieted. “Let us say a prayer of gratitude to our God the Father,” he said.

  The pot of paella was too large to send round the table, so plates were passed and served. There was much laughter, stories, and helping after helping of food around the table.

  Julia tried dishes she hadn’t seen before. “What is this?”

  “It is like a leafy vegetable cooked in coconut milk.”

  “And this?” She took up a fork in one hand and spoon in the other and tried eating doublehanded. She’d reach for a bit of sauce with her left-handed spoon, then with the fork, mix the sauce with a bite of meat or paella.

  Alice started talking to Julia in Tagalog, till her sister reminded her: “English, use your English.”

  “What is it like in California?” Alice asked from across the table. “Do you eat foods like this and gather with family?”

  “The food, well, it’s nothing like this. At least not where I live.”

  “Is it mostly hamburgers and french fries?” Alice asked, and the others laughed.

  “Our food is very different. Sometimes hamburgers, steak, and mashed potatoes. Usually a single vegetable, not mixed often in a sauce like this. There are ethnic restaurants—Mexican food is practically Californian food now. America is such a diverse mix of cultures that I’m sure in some families they do have meals like this. Just not mine.”

  Francis asked seriously, “So are Hollywood movies accurate as to what America is like?”

  Julia laughed this time, as they all looked at her questioningly. “I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe some of them, somewhat. Is dinner together like this a normal thing here?”

  “During holidays and fiestas. But not every night, not always,” Mara said.

  “I usually eat alone. Well, now I do,” she said, then felt awkward. How suddenly far away that life felt again, as if not lived by her at all but by someone she’d once known.

  This dinner, with these people, the breeze just touching the tallest palms, the air warm and filled with the sweet scent of the tropics and the smell of shellfish, roasted meat, rice, fruits, and the myriad of foods on the table—all this was more real than anything she’d known. Rich and alive and vibrant. The thought of her life in the past few years was like a faded painting, drained of nearly all the color.

  Julia gazed at their faces, lit by the candles. Smiles and laughter, jesting in English but also in words she didn’t know but didn’t need to. Even Raul relaxed in the setting—though Julia noticed how often he glanced at Mara or chuckled at her stories. Aling Rosa had pushed back in her chair and leaned her head on Mang Berto’s shoulder. Othaniel and Francis were tag-telling a story about getting caught driving one of Captain Morrison’s cars to Manila for an international fireworks competition.

  “When we got back, we pushed the car down the driveway so no one would hear the engine. And there was Mang Berto standing in the middle of the road with his hands on his hips.” Othaniel started laughing so hard at the memory he couldn’t continue.

  Mang Berto shook his head, a wide smile on his face, as Francis finished. “We thought he wouldn’t notice one car missing—we picked out a car from the back of the garage. We were in so much trouble.”

  Julia felt a deep sadness that this was her last meal with them, perhaps forever. She promised herself to come back soon, to be involved with the hacienda from afar as her grandfather had, but she wondered if it would really happen once she returned home.

  One thing she knew for certain: her life didn’t hold a future with Nathan. It would hurt him, and she regretted that. But there were some things a person couldn’t go back from. And Julia knew there would be no going back from the changes wrought in her by this place—Hacienda Esperanza, the plantation of hope.

  SHE FOUND HIM IN THE OFFICE, WHERE HE HAD WORKED ALL through the dinner with her cousins. “I didn’t even know you were here until Raul told me as we were eating dessert,” she said. “I missed you.”

  “I didn’t want to be there for it,” Markus said.

  By the look on his face, Julia knew what he meant. Once the cousins found out that the dinner wasn’t just a meal together, but a farewell, it had turned into a time of very emotional good-byes.

  Francis used every manipulation to try to keep her, finally saying, “This isn’t over. I’m asking God to intervene.”

  Julia fetched Markus a plate of paella and a glass of wine, which he savored slowly.

  “You have brought life back to the hacienda, Julia. Just by your presence, and then with the orchid. It’s rather amazing,” he said. “I wish I had been there with you at the cove.”

  “Yes, I wish that too,” she said, at nearly a whisper.

  He stood up abruptly. “Come with me.” He reached for her hand and led her through the house to the tall front doors and then outside. “There are no stars,” he said, looking up into the night as they stood side by side.

  Without a word, they started walking hand in hand, a force of
tingling between their entwined fingers. At the hacienda gates, Markus stopped and turned toward her. The small lights along the post and down the driveway reminded her of fireflies.

  “What are we going to do?” Julia asked.

  Markus touched the strands of hair that fell near her eye, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. “I don’t know.”

  He stepped closer to her, and she caught his cologne or soap or perhaps it was just his presence, a surprising combination of warmth and strength and desire and intrigue. Her longing for his lips upon hers grew overpowering.

  A smile replaced the same longing in his expression as he looked at her. “I want to kiss you. But it’s hard when I know there are young eyes peering at us from the jungle.”

  Their heads turned together, and some bushes moved slightly about fifty feet behind them.

  Markus frowned. “I hope it wasn’t Emman.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s in love with you too.”

  She laughed a little. “He is?”

  “Oh yes, he is. And we wouldn’t want to hurt the kid, ruin him for life and for all other women.” Markus was joking, but not entirely. “Can you tell that sort of happened to me around his age?”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes. A girl broke my heart when I was twelve, and I’ve never recovered. Until now.”

  “Uh-huh,” Julia said wryly.

  “Hey, did you even notice what I said . . . that Emman is in love with you too?”

  Julia nodded. “I noticed.”

  “And you just ignored it?”

  “I figured you’d say it if you really meant it.”

  “Oh, I really mean it. Come here.” He pulled her around the outside wall that bordered the hacienda’s main grounds and kissed her then, with a length and width like histories behind and a future before.

  “I love you, Julia,” he whispered close to her ear. “How do I live without you now that I’ve found you?”