Orchid House (14 page)

F
rom his place in the tree Emman dropped the yo-yo, let it “sleep,” then flicked his wrist to bring it back. He had a long string, and it zinged far down through the branches without touching. Even in the tree he could do Loop the Loop, Hop the Fence (or rather Hop the Branch), Over the Shoulder, Walk the Dog, and Around the World. Reverse Loop the Loop he was still unable to master—which annoyed him to no end.

His mother had started his hobby, or maybe it was his father, or maybe it was just because he was Filipino. Some said the pastime came from the Chinese, others the Greeks. Others told of primitive Filipinos who sat in trees as he did and used a heavy rock on a string that “rolled up” as a weapon against enemies and as a hunting tool for food. Emman liked to think of that while yo-yoing in his tree.

His mother said his father had used his yo-yo to entertain his friends and impress the girls of the Barangay. His father died before Emman's birth, when he was hired as a bodyguard to some diplomat from China. His box of yo-yos was saved for the son who came a month later.

Ever the soldier in training, Emman had devised a tactical signaling system he called “yo-yo code.” When he and his friends were younger, it had been great fun to use it in their games. Although Emman thought military communication by “yo-yo code” was rather ingenious, he knew the men would either laugh or scold at such antics. Now that he was a soldier, with a real gun given to him by Amang Tenio, Emman would try weaning himself from yo-yoing as his mother had once tried to stop smoking.

But not tonight. He'd be alone till after dawn and could practice his yo-yo and smoke cigarette butts to keep him awake. Then he'd get to see Miss Julia on her morning walk before he went home to sleep till noon.

Emman had seen a light in her window for some time now. He wondered what she was doing. Did she brush her hair in long, slow strokes? Was there a television in the house, and if so, what did she like to watch? What kinds of things had she brought from America?

He grew uncomfortable and restless in the tree. He dropped the yo-yo again and again, practicing his tricks until a calm returned to him. Then, as if a breeze that wasn't there had shifted directions, Emman knew he was no longer alone. He eyed his rifle held on other branches within a swift and practiced reach.

A man came through the forest with little stealth; he was not trying to hide himself. His steps were confident, perhaps annoyed. Emman would've thought him a boy except for a harsh curse spoken beneath the man's breath before he actually came within view. He was following a path that would bring him near to Emman's tree.

The man drew closer, then stood at the jungle edge staring for a long while—a very long while, so long that Emman thought that an hour had surely passed, and still he remained.

Emman kept his gun within his peripheral vision, his sight ever on the stranger staring toward where Miss Julia slept, and his yo-yo in his hand. After a time, the man simply walked away in the same way that he came, leaving Emman with the greater knowledge that Miss Julia needed his protection. He must guard her well.

L
IGHT AND COLOR
.

Footsteps up the wroughtiron steps of the veranda interrupted the vast peace of the morning, filled with light and color. Julia sat drying her hair in the sunshine and gazing across the immeasurable hues and variants of the hacienda grounds.

“Well, you look lovely this morning,” Lola Gloria said as she reached the top.

The morning was lazy and calm in a way Julia hadn't experienced since childhood at Harper's Bay or during the few days she and Nathan had spent at the lakeside Gasthof Simony in the Austrian Alps.

When sleep had again evaded her in the night, Julia had made a list of her most pressing concerns, writing her notes and ideas in the last of Grandpa Morrison's logbooks.

Hacienda Concerns:

—Meet with Mr. Santos about Hacienda legal matters. Do I
actually decide the future of the Hacienda? Could the land be
sold to the people who live here?

—What happened in the fields yesterday? Ask Raul.

—What preparations are needed for Grandpa Morrison's wake
and funeral?

—What is the “secret of the orchid”? Grandfather's musings or
something real?

But sitting on the second-story veranda after her “shower” with the pail in the bathtub, the questions and concerns encompassing the night simply fell away. The hacienda had such enchanting powers.

Lola Gloria bent down by the stairway. “Look, once again, a gift from your admirer. A mango.” Lola Gloria picked up the fruit and brought it toward her.

A teenaged Filipina girl who helped in the kitchen followed the older woman with a wide tray. She set it on the glass-and-iron table, smiled at Julia, and disappeared soundlessly down the stairs.

“That's a mango?” Julia asked, taking the soft yellow fruit from Lola Gloria. “The ones at home are usually green and reddish and much rounder.” Around the mango was a crocheted yarn necklace with beads woven within it. “Are you sure this is for me?”

The old woman chuckled. “Of course it is for you.”

Julia gazed out across the long stretching lawn, looking for a gift giver to appear. The hacienda gleamed in brighter hues than the night before. Vibrant reflections of colors—greens from the lawns and encircling jungle; reds, pinks, and yellows from the flowers; blues from the sky.

“You like our humble home?” Lola Gloria said with a proud smile.

“It is . . . breathtaking.”

Julia put the necklace over her head.

“There were two ways to eat a mango,” Lola Gloria said. The constant twinkle in her eye spoke of a mischievous spirit. “The civilized way and the messy way.”

“It feels like an uncivilized morning to me.”

“Let me show you then.”

Lola Gloria selected a mango from the tray and set it on her plate. “Civilized” required peeling with a paring knife and cutting the mango into long connected cuts until it reminded Julia of a blooming yellow flower.

“And now, the fun way. Just put your fingers through the peeling at the top and start pulling it away.” Lola Gloria gestured for her to use the mango gift.

Julia peeled off the skin, and juice immediately dripped over her fingers.

“Peel it away and just eat it.”

At the first bite, Julia's chin was dripping; she and Lola Gloria laughed as Julia leaned forward and drips fell over the tile floor. The sweet flavor languished in Julia's mouth and filled her senses. Soon her hands, mouth, and face were covered with the sweet juice as she scraped the long white seed with her teeth.

“It's delicious,” Julia said, embarrassed, and yet not embarrassed enough to stop. She found a linen napkin and shared it with the older woman, who was eating a mango of her own the “uncivilized way.”

Across the lawn, a curious sight caught Julia's eye. Five small boys were sitting in the arms of a huge tamarind tree. They were laughing and pointing at Julia and Lola Gloria.

“Ah, the boys are pleased that, at least in eating a mango, we are as barbaric as they are,” Lola Gloria said, dabbing her fingers with a napkin.

Julia noticed that on their shoulders the children carried what appeared to be over sized rifles—she hoped they were sculpted from wood. They dwarfed the small bodies that bore them. The vision was such an oddity that it was almost comical. She went to the veranda railing for a better look.

“Those aren't real guns, right?” The rifles looked very real, resembling stocky World War II rifles from old war movies.

Lola Gloria poured some water over their hands and found several more linen napkins for them to clean up. “No, they are wooden. The boys of the Barangay Mahinahon train with wooden guns until their coming of age. Then they get a real gun and begin their service.”

“What service is that?”

“Oh, all that will be better explained by Raul.”

One of the boys, a round, healthy-looking one wearing a red shirt, waved at her. They all stood in the branches or clung at odd angles on the tree.

“Hi, good morning!” shouted a boy in a striped shirt.

Julia waved back and shouted, “Good morning,” after which the children just stared at her, smiling expectantly, making her uncomfortably embarrassed.

I can't very well carry on a shouting conversation from way up here
, she thought. She excused herself by calling down, “'Bye.”

The boys waved with their guns on their shoulders and shouted, “Good-bye!”

The rest of her breakfast consisted of eggs sunny-side up, bacon, and rice. Julia was surprised by how much she enjoyed the white rice with the eggs, and was nearly finished when the sound of a vehicle approached the hacienda.

“That will be Markus.” Lola Gloria clapped her hands and smiled widely. “I can't wait for him to meet you.”

“He's this early?” Julia hadn't expected the lawyer to arrive for several more hours. “What happened to Filipino time?”

“Markus is unfortunately a little too like you Americans. That boy is always on time or early, and he does not relax half of what he should. Come downstairs and let's greet him.”

As she rose to follow Lola Gloria back to the railing, Julia noticed drips of mango on her yellow-and-white sun dress.

They leaned over the balcony and saw the top of Markus's shiny black hair. He'd stopped on the pathway, and several of the boys came running across the lawn with giant smiles at the sight of him.

An older boy whom Julia had seen earlier stepped out of the jungle and stared in their direction. He wasn't much older than the others, but his demeanor made him seem more mature. Ah, she remembered that one. He'd been with the strange old man with the rooster when she'd first arrived.

Julia's attention returned to Markus, who was handing something to the kids. He then called a greeting to the older boy. The younger boys ran with their hands cupping what appeared to be candy. Once they reached the older boy, they all turned and disappeared into the jungle.

“We're up here,” Lola Gloria called down to Markus.

His quick footsteps up the veranda stairs brought a surprising tremor through Julia's fingers and the coffee cup she held. And then he was there, smiling and exuding a carefree strength she hadn't expected from the hacienda lawyer—a relaxed sort of confidence.

“
Magandang umaga
,” he said, kissing Lola Gloria on the cheek. Then he raised his head and paused long, apparently assessing her. A quizzical expression came over his face.

He was certainly good looking—she'd give Lola Gloria that—with his smooth brown skin and deep brown eyes.

“What?” she finally asked, when he continued to stare.

“I apologize. Standing there, you appear very much at home for a woman in a foreign land. I did not expect this.”

Julia felt both uncomfortable and pleased by his encompassing gaze. “What makes it surprising—because I'm an American or a woman or both?”

“Certainly both.” A smile played over his lips as he spoke. “An American woman at the hacienda is most unusual—you might be the first, in fact. For a second there, I was sure you were the true doña of Hacienda Esperanza.”

Seeing Lola Gloria watch them with such obvious delight, Julia grew more serious. She stretched out a hand and said, “I'm Julia Bentley. I assume you are the hacienda attorney, Markus Santos.”

He opened his hands and glanced down at his khaki slacks and black polo shirt. “So even though I dressed casually, I have
lawyer
written all over me?”

“Well, you don't fit the look of anyone else at the hacienda. And Lola Gloria did say, ‘That will be Markus.'”

“Lola Gloria, you are always giving me away.”

The older woman laughed.

“Yes, I am Markus. At your service, Julianna. Or is it Julia?” He bowed, disregarding the proper “Miss Julia” that most everyone used with her. Yet it wasn't arrogance that Julia sensed in him; rather, a strange and even comfortable familiarity.

“Julia is fine,” she said, though she liked the way he'd said Julianna.

“Would you like something to drink?” Lola Gloria offered.

“Does Lola Sita still make
buko-pandan
?”

“Of course, though you just missed my sisters. They have gone to the village.”

“Mahjong?” he said.

“Yes, my sisters are addicted. But I will go down and get you buko-pandan—I am not so inept in the kitchen as that.” Lola Gloria smiled at Julia as she descended the stairs and left them alone.

Markus walked to the railing of the veranda. “It has been a while since I've been to Esperanza. The beauty never fails to surprise me. I live in a world of concrete and exhaust pipes most of the time.” His eyes swept the yard toward the western orchid fields and remained there a few moments.

Julia came up beside him. “The orchid fields could be beautiful again,” she said.

“Yes. With some attention, they would flourish quickly. But the hacienda requires so much work already that Raul is unable to attend to them as well.”

Julia wanted to say more about the orchids, but the way Markus watched her as she gazed over the lands distracted her.

“Do you always stare so much, Mr. Markus Santos?” she said with humor to alleviate her growing discomfort. He had the kind of eyes that appeared to read everything about her.

“I apologize, and will apologize in advance for future staring. But no, I don't always stare so much. I'm not accustomed to beautiful women with fair skin, light hair, and blue eyes. It is very rare to see eyes of blue in the Philippines. Anyway,” he said, suddenly looking uncomfortable himself. “Yes, I do apologize—I'm a professional . . . usually. We will discuss the legalities of the hacienda soon. First, I have one bit of unexpected news, I am sorry to inform you.”

“What is it?”