Orchid House (20 page)

“In the midst of the dinner tension between the bone-weary senator and the distraught mother, the house butler entered the formal dining room practically on tiptoe. It was critical, he said, that he speak to the don at once. And yet it was Elena's mother who recognized the urgency upon the butler's face. Perhaps the cook had used spoiled meat or sullied herbs. She excused herself from the table and motioned the butler to meet her outside the room.

“‘Alexa,' the butler whispered, and the mother's face drained to a gray pallor.

“The girl had been diving off the rocks above the cove. She'd collected as large a basket of oysters as had ever been seen. In the back courtyard, she and the boys of a jungle village were opening each giant oyster and discovering a treasury of shimmering pearls. The hacienda workers had gathered and cheered each little find. Even the kitchen staff had rushed to the yard to join the spontaneous fiesta.

“While the butler knew Elena's father might find relief in such unexpected fortune, he suspected that the distinguished senator might look unkindly upon a family with such a renegade female.

“At the dining table, Elena had long been aware of the senator's suffering. She'd thought to ask the kitchen staff to bring the gentlemen some coffee or tea, but as yet, none had returned to clear away the dishes or offer after-dinner beverages. Elena herself fidgeted more and more as the scent of overripe fruit grew strong in the room. Finally, she could take the senator's discomfort no longer.

“She interrupted in the middle of her father's description of the fastest ships on the South Pacific. ‘Sir, our honored guest, may I get you some coffee as you and my father retire to the study?'

“Elena's father gave her a surprised and disapproving expression, but the senator's relief was quite evident even to him. The older man sighed and relaxed his formal stance as if taking off a heavy pack from his shoulders.

“‘Dearest child, some coffee would be quite soothing. I have not been well, I'm afraid. It is with effort that I come here this day, though I am most grateful for the gracious welcome. Please give your mother and your cook my deepest apology. My appetite has long suffered. I sadly recall the days of enjoying such a feast as this.'

“‘There is an afghan in a basket beside the sofa couch, if you wish, sir,' Elena said in a manner that would not offend.

“And then for the first time in her life, except to pass through to the back or pass an instruction from her mother to the house staff, Elena entered the kitchen. She stood at the doorway, over-whelmed and awed by what she saw. The baskets, canisters, drying herbs hanging from long hooks beside the pots. There was no one else there, and Elena didn't know how to make coffee or even where the coffee was stored.

“She opened cupboards, clay pots, and gunny sacks. The colors and smells of the different foods, like the earthy smell from a bag of beans, the quickened rush of cane vinegar, the brilliance of ground yellow turmeric, the scent of the sea from the clam shells in buckets on the floor, all delighted her. For several minutes Elena forgot the task that brought her there as she explored the scents and flavors, the answers to what she sensed in people and had rarely distinguished individually. No wonder she was so often drawn to the gardens, smelling and exploring. With the different smells, different people came to mind.

“When she came across a jar of ground cinnamon, Elena remembered the ailing senator. Upon the stove, she found the coffee kettle already percolating and steaming hot, and she knew the kitchen staff had not long been absent.

“As she checked the percolating coffee, that feeling of the older man came over her. Elena dropped in a pinch of the cinnamon, then searched the spices for something else. She touched her fingertip into the dark powder of the red pepper, then stirred her finger into some cream from the ice box.

“‘Why would I do such a thing?' she asked herself, but somehow she knew that he would greatly enjoy it. One more pinch of cinnamon, the cream added to the black brew, then a single drop of citrus juice and two dashes from other unknown spices.

“Elena gave the grateful politician his cup and saucer, noticing the blanket over his lap as her father continued his monologue, now on Australian traders. Then the face of her mother appeared in the open window behind the senator's head. She motioned for Elena to have her father come outside.

“Over an hour passed before they thought again of Señor Emory. To their distress, they learned that he had returned to Manila. Elena's mother vowed to lock Alexa up, send her to the convent, or ship her away to a foreign country and marry her off to the first man who saw her arrival.

“The next day, the politician was back at their door with his wife.

“‘I awoke with the dawn and felt a youth about me that I haven't felt in years. What kind of coffee did your marvelous daughter serve? I believe it cured my ailment at once. From the first sip to the last drop, I felt a strength and cure come over me. Could your daughter make more of that coffee? My wife has suffered from an ailment of the womb since the stillbirth of our son, and she is in pain quite often.'

“It was a turning point for Elena and for the entire hacienda. The senator's wife also felt improvement after drinking a lemonade with a surprising dash of yellow curry that Elena chose to make instead of coffee. Word spread. Her mother had no choice but to allow Elena into the kitchen. She trained beneath the hacienda chef until the old woman happily turned the kitchen over to the younger woman's able hands.

“Her fame grew until the hacienda staff would drive away people and require appointments. They were paid in chickens, fruits, livestock, and sometimes actual money. Elena's healing powers were not always completely effective, but none left her kitchen without some sense of renewal. The family's debts were soon repaid, and the hacienda gained capital through gifts and payment.

“And then Elena met Amerel.”

“Amerel?” Julia asked. “I thought the story was about Elena the Cook and Cortinez.”

“So it is. But perhaps this is a tragic tale. . . .”

T
HEY TEASED HIM AS IF HE WERE ONE OF THEM. AND FOR THE
first time in a long, long time—at least two weeks—Emman enjoyed every bit of it.

He was their leader now, and that fact had not yet sunk in—at least not with his friends. Emman was a man, a leader, and he'd kissed the hand of the beautiful Miss Julia.

The joy rushed through him, made his legs want to run so fast or make him laugh or shout. And so their teasing made him laugh as he hadn't done for some time. They were on duty for the night, and a game of hide-and-seek became part of that duty. Emman joined in, happy to run and hide and search out captives.

Miss Julia was safely inside the house, right on the other side of the courtyard and hacienda walls, so they could play in the waning moonlight. He had kissed her hand, and her skin was, well, it was a little sticky, he had to admit. It tasted a little like mango from the work he'd watched her do all evening with the other women. That sissy, cityboy Markus had worked with her, but surely Miss Julia—

“You're supposed to come looking for us!” Grace said, arms crossed at her chest.

“I am, I was giving extra time.”

“No, you were thinking about Miss Julia again. Everyone knows you're in love with her.” Grace's dirty face was scrunched in disgust and accusation.

“Oh, what does everyone know? I was put in charge of protecting her, that's all.” But Emman realized the words were exactly right.

He was in love with Miss Julia.

THIRTEEN

L
ola Gloria begged off from the story and passed it to Markus, instructing him to tell it correctly and fully while she went off to bed. “I'm too old to stay up after such a day. But do not lose this story, Markus, you understand? A story must be finished in its time.”

Raul excused himself as well, and Markus and Julia sat alone in the very kitchen where Elena the Cook once created her miracles.

“So who is Amerel?” Julia asked, surprised at how alert she felt after the long day.

“This was my favorite hacienda story, except perhaps for the Carabao Named Rio Grande. But we'll save that one for another day. Okay, Amerel . . .” Markus rubbed his eyes and pushed his hair back. “I hope I do get this all right, or I'll be in big trouble.

“Amerel was a man described as beautiful—not that I would usually call any man beautiful.”

Julia laughed.

“But this is the story, and I have promised Lola Gloria I will tell it as accurately as possible. Amerel was described as beautiful because his features were of masculine perfection. He was known throughout the province not only for his good looks but because of his incredible charm with the women.

“It was during the Christmas fiesta in the village, and Elena had baked several pastries, candies, and cakes. As Amerel walked the booths, with several girls following in his wake, he stopped for a piece of cake at Elena's booth.

“The first bite stopped him with a shudder from his mouth through his toes. His second taste nearly caused him to burst into tears as he remembered his childhood with vivid recollection and longing. As he thought of his years since, of all he had squandered in extravagance and promiscuity, a guilt rose within him so strong that he considered seeking the village priest. But by the final bite, Amerel experienced the honor of a man who'd come home a war hero, and he suddenly longed to do something of greatness.

“He had to know who had made that cake, and he quickly returned to the food stands, sending the other women away. When Elena had given him the cake, Amerel hadn't even noticed her. Now he found her stand near the courtyard dance floor where she was packing up a tray of
yema
—a Filipino candy—to return to Hacienda Esperanza. Amerel felt a spontaneous urge, much to the shock and devastation of a dozen or more young women, to drop to his knees, and he asked Elena for her hand in marriage.

“‘My cake made you do this?' she asked. Elena, like all the other young women of the hacienda, town, and beyond the borders of the province of the Batangas, had dreamed of Amerel at one time or another. But she had never entertained any real illusions. Now, as Amerel waited on his knees before her, the band hushed, and all held their breath to hear her response.

“Elena was in a time of weariness, tired of sleeping her nights alone and longing for someone to share her recipes as well as to love and be loved for who she was. Though the scent of oleander came to her—a flower that is beautiful but poisonous—Elena chose to find the fragrance inviting. ‘This is not proper, Amerel. But yes, I will marry you.'”

Markus paused a moment. “Are you tired, Julia?”

“Yes, but I want to hear the rest. Are you too tired?”

He answered by taking her hand and leading her outside. Then he carried two of the chairs to the center of the courtyard, gazing up at the sky from time to time before setting them down.

“We can see the stars best from this spot,” he said, holding her chair as she sat. “Now you will hear another side of the story. For you see, Amerel had a younger brother named Cortinez.”

“Ah, the younger brother, eh?” Julia looked up into the night sky.

“Yes. Unlike Amerel, Cortinez had loved Elena for several years before she'd become known throughout the province. As a child, he had dreamed of a plain-faced girl who had healing in her hands. He would watch Elena in the market and during Mass. Once he went to the hacienda courtyard and waited in a line of peasants who were there for healing recipes, but he rushed away when his turn approached.

“Cortinez knew of Elena's mother, how important money was to her. He had little to offer, being the second-born son without inheritance or wealth of his own and only a small shop where he carved furniture from nari-nari wood. And so he joined an expedition guiding Chinese traders into the jungles of Northern Luzon. They searched for a rare gold ore that he hoped would give him the financial backing to ask for Elena's hand. He was gone two years.

“During the final month of his expedition, while recuperating at a seaside village, a chance coincidence brought a former schoolmate into port on a ship with a broken mast. That was how Cortinez learned that his brother, Amerel, had at long last chosen a woman to become his bride. It was his very Elena.”

“How terrible,” Julia said with a sigh.

Markus smiled at that, then continued. “Indeed it was, and poor Cortinez took that night to drink away his defeat. But all he could think of was Elena.

“Now the beauty of Amerel was combined with a broken character, which is always a dangerous recipe. Except for those honest moments while eating Elena's recipes, Amerel was arrogant, conceited, and if cornered into insecurity, cruel. When Amerel and Cortinez were children, they had seen a girl beaten to death by her father. Cortinez tried to stop the man, was beaten himself, and was the first to run for help. Amerel, a year older than Cortinez, watched the scene until the girl's blood had carefully soaked into the earth. No one accused him of cowardice, but Cortinez was praised for his bravery even though the girl died. But neither boy would speak of the event after that night.