The Lemon Orchard

by Luanne Rice

  “Tell me what do to,” Julia said, striding over from the house.

  “Julia, no,” he said. “The smoke will burn your eyes.”

  She smiled and shook her head.

  He tried again. “Julia, it might not be safe. They told us this fire is moving quickly. Feel the wind?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s strong.”

  “Sixty miles an hour.”

  He had promised her everything would be okay, but now, seeing the red sky, he wasn’t so sure. The fire had been declared Level 2, maximum emergency, and if it cleared the next peak, Casa Riley and surrounding properties would be evacuated.

  “Did you talk to your uncle?” Roberto asked.

  “Yes. He told me to leave—all of us.”

  “I think that is a good idea. The fire department might evacuate us soon. You go now just in case, and I’ll stay until they come.”

  “I’m staying with you,” she said. She looked back and forth along the gully they had dug. The backhoe had scored the earth, left bare dirt where before had been rosebushes and morning glories. One area was confined by boulders and too narrow for the heavy machine, so Serapio was attacking it with a pickax.

  She grabbed a shovel from the pile the workers had left. He hesitated. She was the owner’s niece, she didn’t have to do this. He watched her pull yellow garden gloves from the back pocket of her jeans. He had seen Señora Riley wear them to clip roses.

  Julia carried the shovel over to where Serapio was digging, and went to work on the trench. Serapio beamed at her—his face was black with soot, just like Roberto’s probably was. Roberto took off his red bandanna and soaked it in the water tender, then went to Julia and tied it around her neck.

  “Pull it up over your face,” he said. “Around your mouth and nose. It will help you breathe.”

  She did. Reluctantly, he left her there, climbed onto the backhoe, and went back to extending the fire line. Every time he turned to look over his shoulder, he saw her digging as hard as any worker, casting the dirt in a pile behind her, moving with an insistent rhythm.

  Sirens sounded down the mountain, and the tanker planes flew back and forth overhead. They swept up water from the Pacific, dumped it on the fire. A sheriff’s car from the Lost Hills station came up the hill, parked in the turnaround. The officer got out and started waving his arms.

  Roberto shut down the backhoe, climbed down to see what he wanted. Julia was already there, talking to him.

  “Man, you can’t use that equipment right now,” the sheriff told Roberto. His nametag said Hernandez. “You want a spark to set off the orchard?”

  “Okay,” Roberto said, feeling embarrassed, chastised in front of Julia. But she seemed not to notice.

  “What about the fire?” Julia asked. “How bad is it?”

  “Over twenty homes lost so far. I came to tell you to get ready to evacuate,” the sheriff said. “We’re starting to contain the fire in the next canyon, but you are smack in its path.” His radio crackled and he silenced it.

  “We really have to leave?” Julia asked.

  “It’s the best idea, ma’am.”

  Roberto felt chills run down his spine. They’d had fires in Mexico, set off by dry lightning strikes. He’d seen what a wildfire could do to acres of farmland, and that was without the special conditions set up by the Santa Monica Mountains. Señor Riley had told him the day he’d offered him the job.

  “The winds come in the fall,” he’d said. “They blow through the canyons to the sea, and after a hot summer, the chaparral is pure dry tinder. If a fire starts, the Santa Anas will push it all the way to the sea. It follows established wildlife trails—like the ones we have crisscrossing the orchard. And the fire won’t stop until the winds stop blowing.”

  “We had fires in Mexico,” Roberto had said.

  “So you know what to do.”

  “Sí. Dig fire lines, put out the flames the best we can.”

  Riley had laughed. “Yes to the first part, no to the second. The local fire station will deal with the actual fire. Your job is to prepare for the worst, then get out safe before the fire comes. See those trees?”

  He’d pointed to the tall, broad, ancient live oaks, their branches curving and curling all the way down to the ground, their trunks scarred black.

  “Those trees caught fire in both ’70 and ’78. We’ve been lucky with the house, but we lost the orchard once. The main thing, Roberto, is we don’t want to lose you or anyone here. That’s rule number one.”

  “Gracias, señor,” Roberto had said.

  Now helicopters were flying overhead and the sky was darkening with smoke.

  “Time to go,” the cop said.

  “But the orchard,” Julia said.

  “Julia, we have to get out,” Roberto said, taking her arm.

  “Hey,” Officer Hernandez said, “don’t panic, we have seventy engine companies on the fire and it’s partly contained. Just get in your vehicles and go.” Roberto caught him eyeing the black Tundra. It had barely passed inspection the last time, and his tailpipe was held on with baling wire.

  “What is it?” Julia asked Roberto.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Let’s get Bonnie. Serapio!”

  Serapio also had his eye on the sheriff, who was walking around the two trucks. Roberto’s was at least registered and insured. Serapio could be in real trouble because his was neither.

  “Don’t worry, man,” Hernandez said. He was stocky and broad with a moustache, probably a Mexican lucky enough to have gotten papers. Or maybe he’d been born here. “I’m not giving you shit on a day like this. Just get out of here safe, okay?”

  Julia had registered Roberto’s alarm and was running toward the house to find Bonnie and the car keys. Roberto took off after her, not wanting to let her out of his sight for a second.

  The canyon let out a howl, as if monsters had come alive. Roberto turned to see flames leap a thousand feet into the sky. The line of fire advanced like a lit fuse, across the nearby ridge, moving so fast Roberto could feel the heat.

  “Go!” he yelled to Serapio. His friend ran to his truck—Hernandez was in his patrol car, on the radio, calling for help, but sirens were already sounding nearby.

  If he didn’t get Julia out of here right away, the fire would block their driveway. He tore into the house, up the stairs to her bedroom. There she was, on her knees, halfway under the bed. He didn’t ask, just knelt beside her and looked.

  Bonnie was huddled as far back along the wall as she could get. She was panting hard, her whole body trembling.

  “I can’t get her to come out,” Julia said.

  Roberto stood, walked around to the other side of the bed, nearest to where Bonnie was lying. He picked the heavy wood bed up with one arm and reached for Bonnie with the other. Scooping her against his chest, he felt her shivering uncontrollably.

  “Move fast, amor,” he said to Julia.

  She nodded and he nudged her to run, and he followed her down the stairs. Sirens screamed up the hill, and Bonnie whimpered in terror and squirmed to get out of his arms.

  “Shh,” he whispered to calm her. “Estas tranquila, niña . . .”

  They exited the house into billows of smoke. Flames licked the rock cliff just north of the fire line, fifty yards from the first row of lemon trees. Fire engines came from two directions: the driveway, and the unpaved fire road to the northwest.

  Helicopters hovered just overhead, and Roberto felt the rush from the rotors and blinked against all the dust and dirt stirred into the air. The smoke was thick, black as night. He adjusted Bonnie and tried to put his arm around Julia, to keep her close.

  Bonnie yelped, scrambled from his grasp, and took off.

  “Bonnie!” Julia yelled. “Come here!”

  Firefighter
s swarmed through the orchard, wearing heavy coats, helmets, and breathing equipment. Roberto saw Hernandez and pushed Julia straight at the him. But she tore free of both of them and ran straight into the smoke, after Bonnie. Roberto was right behind her.

  He sat beside Julia and tried to catch his breath. He had thought both she and Bonnie were lost. Running through the black smoke was a nightmare—he could hear her voice but couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from. He knew every inch of the orchard; he’d walked through it on the darkest nights. So he trusted his own compass, and the feel of his feet on the ground, and made sure he got between Julia and the cliff.

  Bonnie had such good instincts. Moisture from the sea below swept up the hillside from the beach and provided a narrow strip of clear air along the cliff path. The old dog was panting, pacing back and forth right along the edge. Out over the ocean, the air was clean, except for one thick plume of smoke. Behind them was a wall of it. Roberto was ready to take off his shirt, cover her eyes and run her back to the truck when they heard Julia calling.

  At the sound of her voice, Bonnie barked. She didn’t even hesitate, but bolted back into the orchard toward Julia. Roberto caught Bonnie and stood with her in the clearing along the cliff. They waited for Julia, but she didn’t come. Roberto felt frozen with fear. Had she fallen, passed out?

  He picked up Bonnie and held her tight, willing her not to fight him. Walked back into the smoke, getting his bearings, calling Julia’s name.

  “Man, get the hell out of here,” a firefighter said.

  “I have to find Julia.”

  “Give me the damn dog,” the firefighter said. “And get your friend and get going.”

  The animal part of Roberto’s brain took over. He heard Julia keening, and although the noise and smoke threw her voice in a million directions, he went straight for her. She had stumbled into the middle of the orchard, surrounded by wind-rattled trees. Water from the fire hoses dripped from thick green leaves as if they’d just had a heavy rain.

  She fought him so hard, he wasn’t sure she knew who he was, or where they were. He couldn’t remember what he said to her, but he picked her up and walked her toward the emergency vehicles.

  Julia

  Bonnie was in a panic. She knew what people couldn’t know and felt what humans couldn’t feel. The day Jenny died, Bonnie had done the same thing: hidden under Jenny’s bed, to get away from the sirens and sorrow and death of the girl she’d loved most in the world. Back then Bonnie was a young dog, and Julia was too lost in her own grief to worry. She’d just set food and water at Jenny’s bedside, then sat leaning against the wall, a few feet away from where the dog was hiding.

  Julia wasn’t thinking now, just running blindly after Bonnie. Bonnie was her only living link to Jenny. For five years Julia had thought that if she lost Bonnie, she’d want to die herself.

  The land felt uneven beneath her feet. She tripped on a furrow, caught herself just before crashing into a lemon tree. She heard water spraying, the crank of the firefighters’ hoses.

  “Bonnie!” she called, choking and coughing in the smoke.

  She stopped to listen for Bonnie’s barking, but heard nothing but the terrifying noise of the wind, fire, and emergency crews. An animal rustled through the rosebushes, off to her left near the coast path.

  “Bonnie!” she cried, and then she felt arms around her waist, pulling her away from the sound. She smelled scorched hair and skin.

  “Julia,” Roberto said. “Come with me.”

  “I don’t want to! Not without her.”

  “She’s fine,” he said.

  “No, she ran . . .”

  “We have her,” Roberto said.

  Julia shook her head, not believing him, straining to run toward the path.

  Roberto picked her up, and she began sobbing into his shoulder. He moved fast, as if his feet knew the way, because she knew he couldn’t see a foot in front of them. He held her head so her face pressed against his neck, to keep her from breathing soot and ash.

  “Te amo, Julia,” he said roughly, his voice almost too hoarse to speak. They got to the driveway, packed with emergency vehicles. An EMT rushed to them, put an oxygen mask over Julia’s face. The pure oxygen made her light-headed; she turned to look at Roberto and saw him standing right beside her. Bonnie was tethered to a fire truck with a rope.

  “I love you, I love you,” Julia said, but she wasn’t sure who she was saying it to.

  Roberto crouched down, held her hand. He’d saved their lives. He gazed at her so gently they might have been alone in the orchard, not surrounded by emergency crews. She smiled at him, and her eyelids began to flutter. She had wanted to die, and now she didn’t, but she couldn’t stay awake.

  Now, lying on a gurney in the driveway, Julia opened her eyes and saw Roberto still watching her.

  “Hola,” he said.

  “Hola,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re my heart.”

  “You’re mine.”

  She raised her head to make sure Bonnie was still there, and she saw her lying right next to the gurney where Julia could almost touch her. But something was different—it was quiet, almost hushed. Some of the emergency personnel were gone, and the air was free of smoke. She glanced around. The house was intact, the lemon trees still standing, the entire scene coated with fine white ash. The lawn, the trees, the rocks, the lemons, the stone walls, and the tile fountain: everything looked as if it were covered with snow.

  Julia looked up and saw blue sky.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “You sleep for a long time, amor.”

  “How long?”

  “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

  “What about the fire?”

  “The wind stopped blowing,” he said. “The canyon and our fire line kept it away from the orchard just long enough for the wind to die.”

  “The fire’s out?”

  “They’ve contained it, but with the wind gone, it’ll die much faster.”

  The police and firefighters were starting to depart. Their cars and trucks maneuvered out of tight spots on the narrow, hilly driveway, beep-beep-beeping as they went in reverse. Julia sat up. She gave Roberto her hand and he helped her to her feet. She wobbled slightly, then steadied herself.

  Sheriff Hernandez walked over to them.

  “Well, that was a miracle,” he said.

  “Close, right?” Roberto asked.

  “Whew,” Hernandez said, exhaling and pointing toward the north ledge. “Look—you can see the rocks are black where the fire cleared the top. We all saw it coming, thought this place was done for sure.”

  “And the wind stopped,” Julia said. Her throat ached; her voice was hoarse. The sheriff nodded.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Casa Riley was the last stop on the way to the ocean. You were spared. You still might want to leave.”

  “Do you know about Lion Cushing’s house?” she asked.

  “He’s on Turenne Road off Topanga Canyon, right?” Hernandez asked. “The fire missed them completely.”

  “Oh, good. He always leaves when there’s a fire in the area. I’ll let him know.”

  “He knows,” Hernandez said, laughing. “He has the direct line to my boss. The L.A. sheriff is a big fan of his.”

  Julia smiled—that was Lion. “Thanks for everything you and everyone did,” she said.

  Julia, Roberto, and Bonnie walked back into the house. The thick walls and leaded casement windows had kept the smoke out, just as they had in previous Malibu fires. Julia put down a fresh bowl of water for Bonnie. She lapped it up while Roberto wet a towel and rubbed the soot off her fur.

  “She could use a bath,” he said.

  They gave her one in the downstairs bathroom, filling the tub with warm wat
er, lifting her in, and giving her a shampoo. Roberto seemed completely at ease, lathering up Bonnie’s fur, rinsing her with a pitcher from the kitchen. The bathwater turned black, so they let it out and filled the tub again.

  Bonnie kept shaking herself off, getting them wet, making them laugh. Julia was used to it, and she loved seeing Roberto’s reaction. Bonnie had always loved her baths. When her coat smelled clean, they rinsed her one more time and let her out of the tub and used every towel in the bathroom to dry her.

  “She feels better,” Roberto said.

  “She does,” Julia said. They watched her go to her bed in the corner of the kitchen, circle once, and lie down. She rested her head on her paws.

  “This is how I know the fire is really out,” Roberto said, nodding toward Bonnie. “Because she can relax. She senses everything.”

  “Like when she was so scared, under the bed?”

  “Sí. But also when she made her way to the cliff—the only place she could breathe.”

  “She did?’” Julia asked.

  Roberto held her face in his hands, looked into her eyes. “Yes. But when she heard your voice, she ran straight back into the smoke to find you.”

  “You saved us, Roberto,” she said.

  “I love this dog,” he said. “When she ran, it helped me get to you. I knew you needed me.”

  You needed me. Julia felt those words on her skin. She hadn’t let herself need anyone, or even want someone, in such a long time. Roberto held her close, kissed her. They headed for the stairs, walked up together, side by side, to take a shower and wash the fire off of them.

  When they got upstairs, walked into her bedroom, Julia heard her cell phone beep. She glanced at the screen, saw that John, Lion, and Jack Leary had called. Everyone but John could wait.

  “Roberto,” she said.

  “Sí?”

  She handed him her phone. “Will you please call John?”

  “I’m sure he wants to hear from you and know that you are okay,” Roberto said.

  “You can tell him that,” Julia said. “You’re the orchard manager, and you should call.”