Orchid House
© 2008 by Cindy Martinusen
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Publisher's Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Page Design by Casey Hooper
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN: 978-1-59554-151-2
Printed in the United States of America
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Contents
June 1840
Hacienda Esperanza
Province of Batangas, Philippines
T
hey would never tell a soul.
For how could they explain what drew them out the grand hacienda doors and into the depths of that summer night?
He released her hand and pulled her closer. The house stood silhouetted against the night sky.
“It is finally quiet,” he said with a chuckle. Their adult children and young grandchildren kept the many rooms and corridors filled with life-giving noise and activity. The image of them sleeping brought tears to his eyes.
“We are no longer young,” she whispered, but neither regretted it. The years of love and memories were there between them. And beneath a tropical moon with the earth cool beneath their bare feet, they felt nearly as youthful as the night they found each other during that great Philippine storm.
He took the basket of orchids from her arm, and they walked along the dirt path away from the house. The imposing gates didn't take long to reach, and then they found the property's cornerstone in the moonlight. It was a metal spike, hammered into the earth decades earlier by her ancestor, the One-Armed Spaniard, who first built upon this land.
“You do the first one,” he said, extending the basket. The light pink petals of the orchid seemed to glow in the moonlight.
She took a blossom in her hand and remembered the day she'd found the orchid. She had been at her lowest, but that day turned into the beginning of a life that was more than she had hoped for or imagined.
These orchids were different from all the other ones she'd ever seen, not at all like those that grew in the fields near the hacienda house. Once she'd found a book of varieties, and even there she could not find the orchid now called by her name, in her honor.
“Do you remember?” he said, knowing that she did.
“Do you?” she said coyly.
“I have remembered every day of my life since then,” he said, touching her cheek. “Now go ahead, my beloved.”
With a nod, she bent down and dug at the fertile soil, placing the orchid blossom inside. Her husband bent beside her and covered the flower.
She closed her eyes and made the sign of the cross at her breast and spoke aloud.
“My ancestors built something here, and it has been blessed with growth and prosperity. My husband and our children and I have continued to prosper with many harvests and, more important, with great love and joy even in the years of hardship.
“Now, together we will go to the corners of our land and bury a blossom of this orchidâthe flower that bonded us together. They will not sprout in these places. No one will know what we have done, except You, God Almighty, who sees all things. We do this as a symbol of Your presence upon this land and our request for Your continued protection and blessing in the ages to come.”
She opened her eyes and gazed into the starry sky. Then she grasped his arm with worry in her expression. “There will be times of much adversity. Blood and tears I can nearly smell upon the future.” A wave of panic washed over her.
“Do not fear, my love. We can do nothing but one thing. It is all the more reason for us to ask for divine protection and guidance.”
She knew he was right, and yet how she grieved to sense that pain was creeping along the fringes of future decades or more away.
He took her hands, and they stood. With his strong grasp and steady gaze, she felt her fear and grief diminish.
Then he spoke with the gentle strength he'd shown all his days. “Father God in Heaven. Creator of life, love, mercy, and grace. Bless our children, grandchildren, and our descendents to come. Draw them to know this place on earth and to discover Your will and Your ways. And through the years of hardship to come, sustain them, protect them, and restore again and again.”
Their prayers continued, and peace came as the blessing was complete.
He took her hand. “Let us walk the border and ask God's feet to follow.”
And as they walked, she wondered about all their descendents to come. It amazed her to think of the lives already born from the love they shared. Though some might travel far away and times of adversity would come and go, this land would be their refuge.
This she did not doubt.
June 1991
North Beach, San Francisco
A death and a foreign land.
B
etween the one and the other, Julia moved through the days. Her grandfather was gone; she'd witnessed the months until his final breath. And in two days she'd hop an airplane for Manilaâto a land more alien, though closer to her own heritage, than any she'd yet experienced. No wonder the disjointed feeling persisted.
And on that morning between a death and a foreign land, as an unusually cold wind howled deep and hollow beneath a clear San Francisco day, Julia saw Nathan for the first time in six months. She was hurrying down the street, arms crossed tightly at her chest, holding her thin jacket closed against the wind. As she reached for the door of the Blue Mill Bakery, he pushed it open from the inside. “Julia,” Nathan said, holding the door with his foot. The wind whipped around them.
They had loved this place once. They had loved each other once as well. Now they were nearly strangers, and yet not strangers at all.
“Hi,” came from her lips, then a moment without words. Finally she said, “Still drinking cappuccino, I see.” She looked at the two cups he held. She had not heard if he and his girlfriend were still together. Maybe he was married, for all she knew. Their common friends were few now, and even fewer the ones who spilled details whether she wanted to hear them or not.
“It's black coffee. I ended up lactose intolerant.”
She used to find his sheepish grin so endearing. He was as handsome as ever.
“Too bad,” she said, thinking about the cappuccinos they'd learned to love in the coffeehouses of Vienna. The wheels of change gave such things and took them as quickly. “Does that mean no almond fudge ice cream either?”
He grinned again. “Well, sometimes I can't resist.”
He must have suddenly grown aware that she was shivering and motioned her inside. The scent of yeast, cinnamon, and baking bread surrounded her as the door closed, shutting out the wind but not the chill creeping deep into her bones.
He held the cups awkwardly. “This weather is stunning. What happened to spring?”
Julia glanced through the window to the tree-lined streets that sloped down toward the bay, where sailboats would be skimming happily through the whitecaps. Their old table by the window was empty, she realized. She hoped he hadn't noticed her glance that way.
“I wasn't here for spring,” she said quickly. “Hopefully we'll get warmed up soon.” Then she realized she wouldn't be here for that either.
He set the cups on a table behind them. “I heard about your grandfather. Did you get my message?”
“Yes, Lisa told me you called.” She'd seen his name on a list titled “Sympathy Calls” that her roommate had compiled until Julia returned to her condo. “Thank you for that.”
“Jules,” he said softly in the voice that tugged at memories resting long and buried deep within her. She realized she'd been trying to look everywhere but directly at him.
“I can't imagine how hard it was. Were you with him when he died?”
A woman came toward them laden with a purse, several books, and a large cup of hot chocolate. As she opened the door, the wind sent a dollop of whipped cream right across Julia's jacket. The woman went on her way without seeing the mishap; Julia stood with her arms hovering at her sides, staring as the stain soaked into the material.
Nathan muttered apologies as if he were at fault and grabbed some napkins from the condiment counter. He came toward her, and without thinking Julia stepped backward.
“I'm sorry. Just trying to help.” He handed her the napkins instead.
“It's okay, I didn't mean anything.” She dabbed at the stain and watched it spread wider. “It's just . . . I'm not used to you being close. I'm . . . not used to you at all.”