Orchid House (32 page)

“Didn't you say the hacienda has a cookbook of its own?” Julia asked.

“Oh, yes indeed, you must see it. It is one of the treasures of the house, only—sometimes I forget where I put it for safekeeping. And then the other day, I found it and meant to show you.” She went to the shelves and started searching again. “You know, Iha
,
sometimes our best treasures are right in front of our very eyes, and yet we nearly miss them altogether.”

“Is that it at the end?” Julia asked, pointing to the spine of a book without a title at the end of the long shelf.

“Yes, it is! I guess sometimes we need others to help us see the treasures.” She laughed and reached for the book. The cover shifted, loose on the spine. “We know the hacienda recipes by heart. I haven't cooked directly from one of the recipes in here since I was a girl.”

She set the fragile book on the table, and the women circled around it, speaking in such excited tones that Julia wished she could understand them.

“Funny how we never look at this treasure, and it's right here with us every day. Go ahead and look inside.”

Julia carefully opened the cover, and Lola Gloria translated the inscription inside:
For the family before and the family to come. Eat well and bring the past within you. Made in love.

On the second page, a drawing of a young woman had been pasted with the name Elena Barcelona and date 1825 below it. Elena the Cook did have plain features as her story told, but there were both kindness and mischief in her gaze. How Julia wished to see her laugh and smile as she worked on some healing culinary concoction.

Next came a family tree. Long names and dates of births, marriages, and deaths. She spotted Ramon Miguel, the One-Armed Spaniard, in the lineage.

Then came a blank page with only the words
Sa Simula.

“That reads “beginning, in the beginning.” These are the earliest recipes here. Many of the ingredients and measurements we would not know now.”

As she turned delicate pages, Julia noticed that the cookbook was divided into sections by the eras of the hacienda. She thought of Hacienda Esperanza as its own entity with a birth, childhood, youth, adulthood, middle age . . . perhaps now it had come into old age. Was this the final age of the hacienda? Or could the land truly be renewed to a new life and era, turning back the clock?

Suddenly the lights went off again, and with sighs and light-hearted complaints, they returned to the lamplight as the storm continued. Julia pulled the lamp close as she paged through the book; the lolas resumed chatting and sipping cups of chocolate. They had all become accustomed to the howling storm outside, the rain on the windows, except when an occasional louder blast hit the house. Inside the cookbook Julia found decorative borders and sketches of ideas for presentation. The author had also been a decent artist, but some of the pages were worn so thin the ink had faded beyond deciphering.

“Well, this house is filled with mysteries,” Lola Gloria said. “Iha, you have not even explored all the rooms in this house.”

Lola Amor was leaning over Julia's shoulder as she paged through the book, and suddenly she pointed and gave a cry of excitement.

Lola Gloria looked. “The Orchid Cake.”

The other women covered their mouths in excitement.

“It is the most revered dessert of the hacienda, but it has not been made in decades.”

Julia recalled her grandfather's note.
The secret is in the orchid.

“It's the orchid from the story of Elena the Cook and Cortinez and their secret cove,” Julia said. “The cake that they ate at the fiesta and never ran out of it.”

“Oh yes, see, you are learning the stories,” Lola Gloria said with a proud smile. “There was a man when we were very young, before the war, who knew the cove of Elena and Cortinez. He worked in a position much like Raul's. He would bring the orchid, and we would always have the cake.”

Lola Gloria glanced at Lola Sita. “My sister was too young for him at the time, but she was so much in love with him. He was killed by the Japanese.”

“Oh.” Julia didn't know what to say.

Lola Gloria put a hand on her sister's back. “He was a good man. Very brave. He was one who saved our lives, and he met the young Captain Morrison during the war. It is a story I will tell you one day. But since his death, no one has found the orchid, though a few have searched for it. After the war, the annual fiestas were held for a time. The cake was made, but we used other orchids beside the Elena orchid. Of course, the magic was gone.”

The other sisters spoke together in rapid tones.

“We believed Captain Morrison would find it. Or Raul. Or Markus. Or one of Amang Tenio's men. When we were younger, we ventured ourselves to the cove to find it. My sisters believe that if the orchid is found, the hacienda will be redeemed once again. Only God knows if the hacienda's future will include the Elena orchid or not.”

Around the recipe someone had drawn borders of leaves, the hacienda house, a river, and a dotted path to where the plant was supposedly located. A picture of a small orchid was also drawn in the lower corner.

Lola Gloria leaned back, and the wooden chair creaked louder than the wind outside. “I suppose you would not know the story of the Orchid Traveler. You see, Elena's orchid was someone else's long before Elena was born, even before it came to the islands of the Philippines.”

Julia smiled, realizing that another story was beginning. Aling Rosa poured her a cup of warm chocolate, and she settled back to listen.

“The first man upon the land was a savage traveler, a primitive native from an island people somewhere in northern Indonesia or Malaysia. Some say he was from farther away, perhaps Australia or Japan, or even the tip of the South American coast—but I think that is all exaggeration. But even a primitive man may find himself in love—in this case, with the chieftain's daughter.

“As children they would play among the coral caves, collecting shells and watching the bats pour from their darkened upside-down slumbers as evening turned to night. But ever since her ritual ceremony into womanhood, the chieftain's daughter had avoided the young warrior so determinedly that it only inflamed his love. He would do anything to have her as his beloved wife.

“The chieftain, however, sought a marital treaty with a neighboring tribe, hoping to secure peace after years of skirmishes. When the young warrior sought the chieftain for his daughter's hand, he met with scoffs and insults. ‘What can you offer the tribe by such an alliance?'

“The entire tribe mocked him for such initiative. He went to the coral caves for three days. When he returned, he walked through the huts, where all his fellow tribesmen stopped in their work of making stone arrows and spears to watch him and went to the chieftain.

“‘I will have your daughter as my own,' he announced. ‘If you marry her to any other man, I will kill you and him and take what is mine. I will be gone for a time and a time after that, but I will return and you will give her to me. I will have something to offer the tribe when I return.'

“No one spoke, not even the chieftain. The young warrior's fierce determination impressed them to silence.

“As he walked away, he saw the flap of the girl's hut door stir, and for the briefest moment saw her eyes upon him. It was all he needed to endure what was to come.”

Lola Gloria stopped and took a sip from a drink that Lola Sita had placed before them without Julia even realizing it.

“The young warrior set out in a boat of his own making, first scouring the coastlines as he moved from island to island. At times he went inland upon those strange lands and searched for food or fished along the foreign coves. He saw other primitive tribes and once stayed a week with a group of friendly villagers, speaking through drawings and hand motions. At his side he wore a pouch, the contents of which no amount of curiosity or coaxing could persuade him to reveal. And every night without fail, the man dreamed of pink flowers with a touch of yellow climbing up a rock cliff—and also of a door flap and a glimpse of brown eyes upon him.

“During this time, the chieftain's daughter would walk to the coral caves every morning. She would pause on the shore and stare long at the horizon. Sometimes she stayed overnight in the caves, which worried her father at first, but then he ignored it because of more pressing matters at hand. Two warring tribes had formed an alliance.

“The chieftain's greatest foe came asking for his daughter in marriage to form an unshakable treaty. Despite the rationality of such a political move, the chieftain hated the other man. He loathed the idea of marrying his daughter to such a vile man, who treated his other wives with disdain and cruelty. And in his mind he continued to hear the parting words of the young warrior every night before he closed his eyes.

“At long last, after a change of many seasons, the young warrior turned toward home, ready to claim his bride. When he arrived at the island, it looked just as it had when he'd left it. His steps were determined, as they'd been two years earlier. He carried in his hand an orchid blossom to where the chieftain sat in his chair staring out to sea. But the chieftain would not look at the flower or at the man.

“It was then that the young warrior gazed around and saw that the tribe was half what it had been, and none of the warriors remained. The children and women looked starved and haunted. He crouched low to hear the chieftain's hoarse whisper.

“‘You would be dead also if you had not left us.'

“‘Where is she?' he asked.

“‘She is dead.'

Julia's face fell, and Lola Gloria smiled and patted her arm.

“The warrior stood. ‘Where are the ashes of her funeral fire?'

“‘There are none. He took her, and she is dead.'

“‘I will find her yet.' The warrior stood and looked back to the sea. His legs still felt weak on solid ground. ‘Why did he not kill you?'

“‘He has. Is this not the worst death of all?'

“The young warrior had not slept in many days in his determination to return to the island. He went back to the beach and turned his canoe over, still dripping wet and swollen from the months of sea. Neither man nor boat would rest that day. As he prepared to heave the boat into the water, a young boy ran down the steps to him.

“‘Where are you going now?'

“‘To find her.'

“‘But they say that she is dead.'

“‘She is not dead. I will find her.'

“The boy looked at him. ‘You are right,' he said. ‘She is not dead. She lives at the coral caves, though only her mother and I know this. We fear her father will give her to the chieftain if he knows she lives. The warriors of our village did not die in battle—at least, not battle with flesh and blood. They died in a battle against the gods of the storm—the sea, the wind, the sky. A monsoon came while you were gone. The chieftain believed it was a curse sent by you or the other chieftain for his delay in sending his daughter.'”

The house shook suddenly with a torrent of wind and rain as if for emphasis. The other sisters laughed and muttered nervously as Lola Gloria continued.

“The young warrior ran quickly to find her. She was waiting at the cave opening, her long black hair dancing in the breeze off the sea. Above her, pink orchid petals dangled from the vines.

“The warrior took her hands and told her, ‘In my dream, I was instructed to take the petals of this very flower and leave them all over the many coastlines. After a time, I would return, and where I found the vine growing and flowers blossoming again, that would be our new land. I have found that place. It is a long journey, but we must go and begin a new life there.'

“The young woman said, ‘I, too, have dreamed while in the coral caves. I was told to prepare for your return, and you would take me to a foreign land to begin a new life. I am ready.'

“From the village, they brought the boy, the girl's mother, and a few others. The chieftain refused to leave and died alone on the cliff top gazing toward the horizon. And as you have guessed, the land of the hacienda was first inhabited by these young lovers. One of their descendents married a child of the One-Armed Spaniard.

“They arrived at the hidden cove that Elena and Cortinez discovered later. They came to this land with nothing. Do you know what it is like to have nothing?”

“No, I suppose I do not.”

Lola Gloria smiled then. “They did not either. Because in fact, though they came with few earthly possessions, they truly had everything.”

The other women, though unable to understand the English telling of the tale, had been lulled into a comfortable silence while Lola Gloria spoke. Lola Amor dozed in her chair as Aling Rosa and Lola Sita set dough to rise near the warm brick and adobe oven.

“Darling Iha,” Lola Gloria said, putting her hand over Julia's. The old woman's hands, covered in age spots, felt soft and sure. “All these stories are a part of you, because you are part of the hacienda. We are the generations, the hands and feet, the heart and the soul, the blood flowing through a land that has been on a long journey and all of us with it. The heart has been missing for a long time. A new heart has come to bring life once again. You, my child.”

Julia didn't respond. How could she explain that she couldn't stay?

Suddenly she became aware of a pounding sound from without. It had been going on for a while, she now realized, but with the howling and crashing of the storm, they hadn't recognized it for what it was: someone was knocking steadily on the front doors.

Aling Rosa caught on at the same moment and put out her hand and shushed them sternly.

As a group they jumped up and crept from the kitchen, oil lamps in their hands.

Julia held the lantern high to see the visitor standing outside as Aling Rosa opened the large wooden doors. The young man's hair and face were drenched in rain, his clothes muddy and sticking to his body. The Tres Lolas hung back, huddled together, while Aling Rosa demanded to know what he was doing there.