You got to the house by driving through the suburban development that had been erected on the portion of the land that Hendrik and Bel had sold. At the end of a curving subdivision street the trees closed in over a road that had suddenly reverted to gravel, and a slow crunching drive through a tunnel of dark green led to a gate flanked by ornamental lions. The gate wasn’t locked. Willem felt the truck gaining a few all-important inches of altitude as things opened up and the sun illuminated stripes of orange zinnias flanking the driveway. Bel had established the tradition of planting these every year. In Indonesia before the war, Dutch colonists and loyal Indos had grown them as a symbol of national pride. In America they were a ubiquitous garden plant. The symbolism of the color would be lost on most people here, but Willem of all people knew what it meant.