Orchid House (9 page)

The road was damp, and the leaves of ferns and trees at the side of the path were wet from a recent rain. The high whine and gear changes of the tricycle engine cut out all other sounds. The wind pushed back her hair, ruffling the material of her shirt and skirt, cooling the sweat on the back of her neck. Minutes passed as they drove by endless palm trees and a landscape that extended into fields gone wild with brush grown high and occasional piles of empty coconut husks.

“I've arrived,” she whispered, wondering how many times her grandfather had traveled this very road.

In flashes through the palms, branches, and bushes, Julia caught glimpses of structures far ahead. As the road curved around, an old majestic arc, a gateway, came into view. Its strong, solid posts were made of orange layered bricks, and its wroughtiron gate was opened for their arrival. Their driver slowed the tricycle to a crawl as they approached.

Beside the gate Julia saw an old man, stocky but frail with age, standing proud and austere. A brightly colored blue bandanna was tied around his head, and he wore a bright red shirt over dark canvas pants. A plume of smoke came from his thin black pipe. And in the crook of his arm rested a large red rooster that he stroked lovingly from head to tail feathers. The rooster appeared as proud as the old man, staring with black beady eyes at the approaching motorcycle.

A boy stood at the old man's side as if the prodigy of something great. And yet, despite the man's arresting bearing, he appeared so shockingly simple and primitive.
A savage nobility of a bygone tribal age,
Julia thought.
Perhaps . . . a witch doctor?

Raul nodded his head in respect. The old man gave a slight nod in return, then turned his gaze to Julia, his eyes literally sparkling. With a warm smile, he nodded to her as well.

Julia smiled and nodded in return.

“Who was that?” she asked loudly as their tricycle accelerated again.

“He is Amang Tenio. Leader of Barangay Mahinahon. You will meet him another day. I imagine he was standing at the gates to be the first to greet you. Now we proceed to the clan house of your family, which your grandfather and grandmother and their ancestors before them called home.”

E
MMAN RAN THROUGH THE JUNGLE WITH THE SPEED OF A LEOPARD
, his feet so quick he thought perhaps he'd be viewed only as a blur through the leaves. He knew the shortcut to reach the hacienda before the tricycle arrived, but only if he was fast enough.

He'd seen her.

Miss Julia, the granddaughter of Captain Morrison. An American woman on the very road he'd walked a hundred times. And not just any American woman, but one who looked as though she could be from television or a movie.

As he ran, he remembered hearing a field-worker whose cousin lived in the States tell how few American women looked as the movies depicted. He said many were fat and ugly or from mixed-up races and looked nothing like the actresses of TV and movies.

But Miss Julia did. She even had blondish hair. Or close enough to blondish.

His first glimpse at her was like a scene from a movie. Julia's hair fluttered around her heart-shaped face, and one hand held her skirt against such beautiful fair-skinned knees. His heart pounded as it only did when watching a cockfight—or that time he'd been caught sneaking into the cinema and was taken to the police station.

Emman had stood beside Amang Tenio as the tricycle slowed and passed them. Miss Julia's expression was something between curious awe and nervousness; Emman wanted to run up beside the tricycle and tell her not to worry, he would protect her. But his feet wouldn't move until it was too late. Her cheeks were flushed pink. Pink! He wondered how such skin felt to the touch. He supposed the same as his own, but to touch white skin—Emman ran faster to rid such an inappropriate thought. He was sure her eyes were blue as she'd stared at him and Amang Tenio on the roadside. Blue eyes! He wondered if he could sneak up and look right into them, but how did a person sneak up and view another's eyes without her knowing?

A sharp pebble cut his foot as he ran across the road, and he hopped on one foot and yelled, “Owie!” It didn't sound very manly, but there was no one around to hear. He gasped for air to soothe the stinging in his lungs. The high whine of the tricycle was coming from behind—Emman was ahead already, with such leopard feet.

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.

T
HE 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 Morrison 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.”