Orchid House (19 page)

She smiled as he quickly raced away with the other boys following close behind.

Darkness had fallen, and the shadows loomed above the few lights in the back courtyard. Strangely, her “bodyguards” did make her feel safer as they followed her at a distance.

“What wonderful work done today,” Lola Gloria said as Julia entered the kitchen to the scent of something cooking.

Her stomach growled, and she realized suddenly that she was hungry.

Everyone gravitated to the hacienda kitchen. The formal dining room was used only for special occasions, otherwise the Tres Lolas, Raul, Mang Berto, and Aling Rosa, and now Julia took their meals on the back courtyard or in the kitchen squeezed around the table. One end was often covered with cutting boards and discarded ends of vegetables and fruits, the stains of meats, and dusts of flour.

Markus was already there, muttering and washing his hands in the sink with his head downcast.

“What are you saying?” Julia asked, coming beside him to wash the mango stickiness from her fingers as well.

He took a bar of soap and then her hands, gently lathering her fingers and hands and arms up to her elbows. She wondered if he too felt what she did at such an intimate touch. As he rinsed her hands under the cool water and handed her a towel, the glance he gave her made her suspect that he did.

Lola Gloria handed Julia a glass of tea. “We will eat in just a few minutes.”

Above the kitchen table were baskets, copper pots and pans, strings of chilies and garlic. In the corner was a large brick oven with open shelves filled with wood. A long shelf held clay pots of different sizes, castiron pots and pans, a jar filled with bamboo implements, a stone grinder, and other kitchen utensils. The few modern appliances, like the matching black blender, food processor, and mixer, shared a shelf with primitive wooden bowls and spoons.

Mang Berto entered from outside at the same time that Raul walked in from down the hallway. When Raul spotted Markus, he smirked and said something in Tagalog.

“Oh yeah?” Markus shot something back that included the name
Mara,
which shut Raul up quickly.

“Did you see the American contribution to our supper?” Lola Gloria asked.

Aling Rosa pulled a large steaming pizza from the oven with a massive wooden spatula and set it in the center of the table.

“Pizza!” Julia exclaimed.

“Yes, cheese pizza, with extra cheese and sauce. Your grandfather used to cook for everyone his famous pizzas. It was a favorite treat for us to have. My sisters went to bed early; they were sad they would miss eating pizza. But it's lucky for us, because we'll have more to eat! Do not tell then I said so, but those two sisters of mine do eat a lot of pizza.”

The sauce had a sharp tang of rosemary, and fresh basil had been cut in strips for the top. Julia's arm rested against Aling Rosa's, but neither pulled away. The touch of her arm, the warmth prevalent in the room brought an ease that Julia hadn't felt in a long time. Though she couldn't talk to Aling Rosa, the woman smiled at her often. Her face glowed when Mang Berto would touch her arm or kiss her cheek—which, Julia noted, was quite often.

Raul took a bite, and a long string of cheese hung from his mouth despite his attempts to break the strand; it became more tangled around his fingers. He grunted with a slight grin as they laughed and teased him.

Markus sat back and patted his flat stomach. “Captain Morrison gave much to this land, but nothing better than his pizza recipe.”

Mang Berto touched a napkin to his lips and then dabbed his wife's chin affectionately. “There is a saying that food is good for man's soul. It is history of our hacienda to heal through food.”

“Hacienda Esperanza should have a cookbook,” Julia said.

Lola Gloria looked at her in surprise. “But yes, there is a hacienda cookbook. I must show you. We put it away for safekeeping, and oh, where was that hiding place?”

She rose from the chair, and Julia noticed the older woman's hands shaking with age as she started opening cupboards. “Your grandmother, Doña Julianna, compiled the recipes from all the generations of hacienda cooks. Especially from Elena the Cook. Ah, you do not know that story either, I suppose?”

Raul frowned. “You grandfather did not tell you?”

“My grandfather and I were closest in his final months, but not before that. He mostly told war stories and of getting back to the Philippines.”

Raul took another piece of pizza. “The hacienda stories are the history of the land and are part of your heritage. Elena the Cook and Cortinez, I have heard of her since my childhood. It is said that her cooking saved the hacienda from ruin.”

“How did she do that?”

“You will have to hear the story.”

“Tell me then.”

Raul shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Lola Gloria and Markus as if for help.

Markus said smugly, “Go ahead, Raul. Tell us the story of Elena the Cook and Cortinez.”

“Me?”

Lola Gloria nodded and continued her search through the cupboards.

“Well, I will begin it, but Lola Gloria will tell it best, or even Markus. It was told to me that Elena the Cook was not even a cook for many years. But first, also, that she was not a beautiful woman in physical appearance, but her heart and personality had such beauty that it surprised those close to her when a visitor commented upon her awkward features.”

Raul moved uncomfortably in his chair and touched his greasy fingers to the linen napkin on the table.

“She also discovered the flower, and there was Cortinez, but he was before the flower. And the senator who saved the hacienda.”

Julia and Aling Rosa glanced at each other.

“There was something about a sister,” Raul said. “Let me think how to start.” He leaned back and pinched his brows together. “It is difficult to translate.”

Lola Gloria stopped her search. “Would you like me to tell the story?”

“Yes, and I will have a San Mig instead.”

Everyone laughed, and Lola Gloria sat back in her chair. She folded her hands together and smiled in thought, the corners of her black eyes wrinkled. “Raul began all wrong.”

Markus and Mang Berto laughed at that.

“Do not insult me because I have not the gift of storytelling.” Raul went to the fridge for a beer.

Aling Rosa rose and kissed Raul on each side of the face to console him, while Lola Gloria paused and settled back into her seat.

“Elena the Cook was not young when she first came into the kitchen,” Lola Gloria began. “When she was a child, her mother refused to let her cook or help with household chores. Such things were for the servants. Elena was the daughter of José y Guevarra.”

“Yes, that is how it begins.” Raul leaned back in his chair with his bottle of beer and stringy pizza.

“Elena's mother, known for her pride and cold precision of house rule, held within her the insecurity of poor birth and low breeding, which she disguised with an facade of elegance and sophistication. She had a great fear that her lack of education would be detected, so she never wrote letters of correspondence, not even a shopping list, for fear of what her crooked letters and poor grammar might reveal. This was a time when the hacienda was in its youthful elegance.”

Raul finished another piece of pizza, then again leaned back and rested his hands on his stomach. Markus watched Julia as Lola Gloria spoke. And Julia felt a sense of the story rising, as if the hacienda itself was being transformed back into a time of elegance and pride.

TWELVE

S
chooled by the best tutors in the Philippines, instructed by an etiquette coach, and dressed in the finest linens imported from Paris and Madrid, Elena was raised in sophisticated fashion. Her fiesta to celebrate her coming out was the grandest affair with guests coming from as far away as Manila, and seven of her father's business associates from China. No one had seen such an extravagant party, which was exactly what Elena's mother intended.

“Elena's father kept a stressful watch of the books and crunched the finances to accommodate his wife's profligacy. One year an entire field of sugarcane went to her own clothing expenses, and Elena's father was forced to cut the wages of the field-workers. The wife's expenses and debts were taking their toll, and Elena's father was unsure what else he could cut to save them from ruin.

“A docile child, Elena did not rebel against her mother's rule. An excellent student, a cherished girl of the servants, she had a quiet gentleness that some mistook for lack of intelligence. But she was anything but that. Her features were plain, but held such warmth as to seem beautiful to those who observed her.

“Elena's younger sister, Alexa, was much more beautiful, but a great frustration to their mother. A renegade child—oh, I will tell of that girl's story on another day. Alexa was a child of the wilderness, running with the children of the jungle and visiting the squatters
,
fishing and hunting with the boys, diving from the rocks and bringing home abalone and sometimes a few oysters with rare pearls, which are very hard to find.

“Elena loved her sister greatly. She, how you say, covered up what their mother would consider grave indiscretions. Alexa enjoyed infuriating their mother and endured punishment, even the harshest beatings, with a smile. Elena would cry, but her sister hid her tears behind laughter that only caused the beatings to increase. So this was the household in which Elena grew up.

“What nobody knew was that since childhood, Elena had a secret.” Lola Gloria leaned forward, and the hush in the room amplified the dramatic pause.

Julia glanced at Markus, who by now was as engrossed with the story as she was. His expression asked,
What? What was the secret?,
though Julia knew he must have already heard this story, and more than once.

“This secret,” Lola Gloria continued, “was something the young woman could not express, not even to herself. Now, Julia. You may not believe me when I tell you this at first. But it is true. And even if you don't believe now, you will eventually. You have the blood of Elena within you, and you will not doubt any of this.”

Lola Gloria's eyes held her intently.

“So what was Elena's secret?” Julia asked.

The older woman nodded as if seeing that Julia was duly prepared. “The secret was actually a gift. As a child, Elena could not have guessed that it was unique only unto herself. Alexa was the one who told her not to tell others about it, that it was rare and unique. Just as Alexa understood the ways of the wild and had her own gifts—that will be told another day.

“Her secret was this: whenever Elena came near another person, she could capture a great sense of them, an understanding that could not be defined.”

“A sense of them?” Julia asked.

“It was greater than just knowing if, let's say, a cheerful visitor was inwardly sad. Instead, this knowing came in the form of smells and colors. When young men courted Elena, this instinct of people, though unrefined, would distinguish character in an individual. From the men who came for her family money, she caught scents of bitter herbs, rotting fruit, or even once of a type of fish whose smell curled the hairs of the nose. Those young men who came out of duty, around them Elena could distinguish something missing that she could only equate to drinking tea without enough sugar. Others with major character flaws had a heightened odor that overpowered the good scents, as if the chicken adobo had too much garlic.

“There was one young man who loved her quickly for the peace of her presence. He reminded Elena of wood smoke and honey. But the boy was of low standing, and so her mother refused him outright. After that, Elena rebelled for the first time by disregarding every wealthy suitor that her mother was excited about. As a finely groomed man took her through the gardens, Elena would give her refusal outright, much to her parents' utter frustration.

“The full magic of Elena remained dormant for many years. Its release happened quite by accident. An honored guest had come to the family table—a diplomat from Manila, who had journeyed the day to discuss a business proposition with Elena's father. No one knew of the hacienda's financial difficulties, and her father hoped the senator might help him in a business venture that might save their finances.”

Julia noticed Markus watching her with interest as the story unfolded.

“The table was lavished with the best hacienda recipes, but much to the distress of Elena's mother, the poor politician enjoyed very little. Señor Emory had been gravely ill for some months and had not yet recovered. His political position was in jeopardy and demanded that he work harder. He had come to Hacienda Esperanza seeking support and partnership with one of the most powerful families in the lower provinces.

“The long journey had proven a great strain, and more than food or conversation, Señor Emory wished for a thick blanket and warm bed. But manners prevailed, and he struggled to remain focused on business wrangling and polite conversation. Elena's father talked endlessly of a new type of ship that could open new exports to more distant locations while Elena's mother fidgeted endlessly, watching every bite the senator took while deciding how to reprimand the cook without her temper costing the house-hold another member of their staff. Elena sat docile and quiet, observing them all.