Orchid House (40 page)

“Are you okay?” he gasped, pulling her tighter. “If anything happened to you . . . oh, Julia, I've been searching for you every-where—”

“I'm fine. Especially now,” she whispered close to his ear. The strength and warmth of his body made her wish she could disappear inside of him. In the dim light, she saw that Emman was limping heavily, struggling even to walk. “Markus, Emman is hurt!”

Raul was already grabbing Emman and helping him to the back of the truck. Bok jumped in behind him.

“We'll get him help,” Markus said, helping her into the truck and then getting in beside her. Raul climbed in on the driver's side. “Emman insisted upon getting you and Bok out of the woods. We'll take him and the others to the hospital now. Then I'll take you to the hacienda.”

“The others? More are wounded? What happened, Markus?”

“We must go quickly,” Raul said gruffly. His voice softened as he put the truck in gear and they moved forward. “I am very glad you are okay.”

“Thank you. But shouldn't we have Emman up here with us?” She turned to search for the boy through the back window.

Raul shook his head. “He'll want to be with the other men.”

“One of you must tell me—is Amang Tenio dead?”

Both men were silent for a moment, which answered her question. Dread and grief flooded through her. Closing her eyes, Julia leaned back in the seat. Then she looked quickly again through the back window. “What about the other boys?”

Markus took her hand and held it firmly. “There were a few injuries, but Amang Tenio was the only one of ours who was killed. One of Ka Manalo's men shot him. The boys couldn't save him.”

Raul told her what had transpired after that. The rest of the Red Bolo group retreated in the wrong direction and went straight to the advance of the younger men of the Barangay Mahinahon, who were on their own mission of revenge. Very few of the Red Bolos escaped.

“The local police and national army are already investigating. You will be asked some questions.”

But Julia heard very little more. She leaned into Markus. How she longed to rest within his arms for hours or days or even a lifetime.

She let the tears come. Amang Tenio, the wise man she had drunk tea with, who had given her the necklace she wore . . . that man was now dead.

E
MMAN'S LEG ACHED. HE'D BARELY BEEN SHOT; UNDER DIFFERENT
circumstances, he might have been proud of his first battle wound.

They would have forced him to the hospital, but Emman knew it was time for him to disappear. He'd jumped from the truck when it slowed for a turn, and hurried into the foliage in case Bok or one of the other men had seen him. The pain in his leg was nothing. A deeper pain engulfed him, and he was lost within its throbbing truths.

In the deepest part of the night he'd gone to his tree. What a struggle it was to reach his usual branches. There he found a full pack of Marlboro Reds, still sealed, in the crook of the tree where Bok always sat. It was the boy's offering to him, just as Bok had nightly sneaked up to leave a token for Miss Julia. Emman had been jealous that Bok thought of doing that for her. He knew she thought it was probably him instead. But it was always Bok, the kindhearted kid who so often thought of others. And to make Emman feel better, he'd left Emman his first full pack of cigarettes.

But nothing could make him feel better. Ever.

They'd find him at the tree eventually, he knew. And he could never return to the Barangay Mahinahon, not even to get his belongings. His yo-yo was tucked inside his jacket pocket, and he felt guilty even for that and the cigarettes. Why should he have anything good now?

He knew a better hiding place, one he'd found when he was a small boy and his mother died. He often went there to feel safe, and after a time, he was able to go back to the others as if unscathed by it all. Awkwardly he climbed back down and headed for Mang Berto's garage.

Morning came too quickly. He rested against the soft vinyl and wrapped his leg so no blood got on the carpet, even though he had chosen the oldest and least-restored car in the back of the large building. He was both hungry and thirsty, but he couldn't leave this hiding place in the daylight.

Then he heard her voice right outside the car. “Emman?”

He wanted to run.

Instead he cried. He cried and cried, and she held him like a baby. Magnum, P. I. would be ashamed. No private investigator, let alone a warrior or a leader of a guerrilla group, would act this way, and yet he couldn't stop.

“Amang,” he whispered.

Miss Julia was silent a few moments, and he looked up slightly to see the expression on her face.

“Yes, Emman. It is a terrible thing.”

“I failed in my assignment.” He tried to explain in Tagalog, then remembered that she couldn't understand. His choppy English could never express what he wished to say.

“Listen, Emman. You aren't just a man, you are also a boy. And all men and boys make mistakes. Your mistake wasn't the reason for Amang's death. Don't you think God holds all life in His hands? He knows when and where life will begin and end.”

Emman leaned into her arms again, hanging on tightly. How good it felt to be held like that.

“Things are changing at the hacienda, Emman. And it's time you were able to be a boy again, just for a while. Then you can go back to being a man.”

He felt weary, so weary of the weight. “Okay,” was all he could muster the strength to say. And Miss Julia helped him stand up and walk into the light of day.

EPILOGUE

A
life and a homeland. And on a violet evening, a grand fiesta brought hundreds to the lawns, rooms, and courtyards of Hacienda Esperanza.

On the front stairway, the singing of schoolchildren ended to grand applause. Father Tomas gave the opening prayer, and the fiesta began.

Julia found her mother on the upstairs terrace.

“It is exquisite,” she said, leaning on the railing.

The evening light filled her mother's face with a soft glow—Julia had never seen her looking so winsome. Below them, children and adults alike laughed loudly as they played
patentero
on the lawn. The guitarists played a Spanish tune. The yards could barely be seen for the decorations and people. Unlike the day of her grandfather's funeral, when it was all white flowers and table cloths, this evening was filled with color. The arches, eaves, and gates were covered in colorful paper flowers made by the hacienda children. Soft yellow lights wove through trees and wound like candy cane stripes up the palm trunks. The tables closest to the house were already laden with food.

“I was so angry that you didn't come home,” Julia's mother said softly.

“I didn't want to hurt you, Mom. I'm sorry that it did.”

“It wasn't just about you, really, though of course I've missed you. And I deeply regret not coming for the wedding. I've spent a large portion of my life bitter about this faraway hacienda and my father's love for it. And then it stole my daughter as well—with the help of a handsome Filipino attorney. But it was the best thing that could have happened. For all of us. I'm just sorry that it took me so long to realize it.”

Julia put a hand on her mother's shoulder. She and Markus had agonized over the decision to marry without her mother's presence, though she had reluctantly given her blessing. They'd had a small, intimate Filipino wedding . . . meaning everyone from the hacienda, Barangay Mahinahon, and Markus's large family attended. Emman even rose to the occasion and stood beside Raul in the wedding party. Julia's roommate and best friend, Lisa, came from the States, and while it was bittersweet not having the rest of her family there, time was softening the hurt. And now her mother was here, standing beside her. Once again Hacienda Esperanza was a land of hope.

The plantation stretched out before them. The sugarcane fields had been burned as another harvest ended. Mountains and farmlands, nipa huts and fishponds, the road to Barangay Mahinahon, pathways ever battling an encroaching jungle, orchid fields in neat rows, a cove with magical flowers, and all the people of the hacienda and Barangay Mahinahon—all these were brought together into a cohesive whole. The slow restoration had begun.

“It hasn't been an easy year. The volcano and typhoon certainly wreaked havoc on the country. But we've come through it.”

Julia pointed out the coconut man performing below them. He came by occasionally to visit with Mang Berto and for gatherings where he could prove his talent. “I'll get you some fresh coconut milk when we go down.”

She identified some of the people around the hacienda grounds, like Mang Berto and his new assistant, her cousin Francis. They had worked for months to prepare the cars for this event, and the shining beauties were parked at angles on the side lawn of the hacienda, ready to give rides to many who had never been inside a car of any kind before.

“Are you ready to go down and meet some more people?”

“Almost,” Julia's mother said. “I love this view from above.”

Piñatas hung from the trees, and children gathered beneath, eager to collect the candy and toys that would soon spill forth. The sun was setting above the voices and laughter, a violet sky fading into pinks and yellows over an endless green landscape.

“There is Emman,” Julia said with pride in her tone.

She watched him walk with a slight limp that he proudly tried to overcome. He was growing tall and turning into a strong and handsome boy—he had certainly caught the eye of his old jungle buddy Grace.

Emman had a defined inner strength for one so young, even while his struggles over that day in the jungle continued. He was a child turning to a man, and his life had different possibilities now.

“Markus and I have taken him to Manila a few times. He saw his first art exhibit in Makati. And we've had fun going through the treasures of the house.”

The heritage of the Barangay Mahinahon was in the boy's blood. But now, as he went to the fields with Raul every morning and worked with a tutor several evenings a week, Emman mulled over the good of both Hacienda Esperanza and Barangay Mahinahon in his thoughtful mind. He was a young Amang Tenio, she thought.

Thinking of Amang Tenio, Julia felt a fresh stab of longing for his wise words and demeanor that provoked such respect and intrigue in those who had known him.

“Grace and Alice are over there,” Julia said. “Alice is another cousin—Mara's sister. And Grace was once a guerilla fighter, but look at her now.”

The girls worked side by side, setting out food and utensils. They had a strange and sometimes awkward friendship. Grace took Alice into the jungle to explore and get dirty; Alice shared her fashion magazines. At times Grace had to be reminded that she was a lady and not a guerrilla fighter, but she had made amazing academic progress in the past semester of school.

Some villagers and hacienda workers wore traditional dresses and shirts. Julia herself wore a white dress that hugged her figure and had ruffled sleeves, reminiscent of a bygone Spanish era.

“I have so many people to introduce you to and so many things to show you,” Julia said, taking her mother's hand. A rush of joy filled her—the meeting of her old life with the new, the fiesta's return after so many years, the thankfulness she felt to be part of something so grand and filled with spirit and joy. And most of all, the great depth of love between her and Markus.

“Okay, then. I'm ready.”

As her mother stepped away from the railing, Julia took another look at her. In her white puffy -sleeved blouse, flowing skirt, and dangling turquoise earrings, she looked carefree and spirited. “Mother, you look beautiful.”

Her mother's face glowed with pleasure. “Thank you. The island air does wonders.”

As they reached the lawn at the bottom of the stairs, her mother jumped. “A cow!” she exclaimed.

The carabao stretched its long neck to sniff at her mother.

“Mino-Mino came to the celebration,” Julia said with a laugh.

Bok pulled the carabao, whose back was covered with laughing children from both the Barangay and the hacienda.

Aling Rosa carried a large castiron pan of paella to the buffet line, bringing cheers and applause from those nearby. Hundreds more would arrive all through the night. They had come for the Fiesta of Hacienda Esperanza. A fiesta to celebrate those who worked the land and those who loved the hacienda, friend and neighbor, visitor and stranger alike.

The music continued: acoustic guitar, violin, saxophone, drums. Later there would be a cultural dance telling the history of the hacienda, and later still, karaoke and more games. But the grand event would be the eating of the long anticipated Orchid Cake. Julia and Markus had gone to the cove several nights earlier to swim in the water around the rocks and collect the blossoms for the cake.

Julia wondered if the Orchid Cake would have its claimed effect—would new loves be found, alliances made, broken hearts healed, and love finally requited? In any case, she hoped Raul would finally make a definitive step toward Mara. She'd done her best to give him advice, and while he acted annoyed by her “interference,” she'd seen that he usually followed her suggestions.