Bleeding Green (8 page)

Chapter 14

R
ain fell in a steady drizzle. A low pressure system added to the heavy, weary feeling Brodie was fighting. She wanted to be strong for Laurel.

The window on the second floor of the hospital displayed a gray world that was smothered in mist. Evening was swallowing day.

“You need some rest.”

Brodie turned her head to see Laurel’s eyes reflecting the cobalt blue of the sea. Her gaze was clear and alert. She sat on the edge of the bed, placing her hand on Laurel’s arm.

“How are you feeling, my dear?”

A smile turned up one tiny corner of Laurel’s mouth. “You need some rest.”

“Do I really look that bad? Here I thought I’d dressed in your favorite outfit and I even put lipstick on!”

“Yes,” Laurel widened her eyes in a flirting gesture. “I noticed several minutes ago. You have been looking out that window, hugging yourself, as if you were concentrating on reading the symptoms of the weather to predict the future!”

For the first time in several days, a real chuckle resonated from Brodie, as she threw her head back.

Laurel studied the long creamy neck. Beautiful. Brodie Black at age fifty was simply exquisite. “So, my Queen, will I be punished? I didn’t make it to your chambers the other night.”

Catching the appreciative look in Laurel’s eyes, Brodie gave her arm another firm pat and stood up. “Don’t you fear, my dear. The time will come. We will continue when you so rudely departed and left me in agony.” She gave a slow sensual wink. I’m going to pull that fabulous hospital chair over here. From the look in your eye, you are feeling a little perkier. Yes, I agree. I do need some rest. But the time for that will come. Right now, I want to be by your side.”

“Oh, Brodie! What would I do without you?” Laurel exhaled a deep breath through her nose. On the inhale, she said, “What is that marvelous smell? I thought I was in a hospital!”

Indicating the window ledge, Brodie said, “You have fans, my dear! The largest bouquet full of Chinese lilies and yellow roses is from the park. It’s as fragrant as a bottle of Chanel!”

Brodie stood and walked to the bursting window ledge. Several bouquets were turning the room into a sweet-scented flower garden. Or a funeral parlor.
Depends on your state of mind,
thought Brodie.

She picked up a single-stem, red rose in a clear vase. Holding it out to Laurel, she said, “This is the flower you might want to keep all your life. Shall I read the card?”

Laurel looked at Brodie’s face, trying to figure out why there were tears gathering in her friend’s brown eyes. She held up her hand, “I can read it. How do I lift this bed up?”

Brodie showed her the button on the handrail of the bed. Delight swelled her chest! Laurel was acting so much better.

Laurel read the card, “From one ranger to another, Bill.” She looked at Brodie.

“Bill is the guy that found you in the closet. He discovered your phones in the woods and followed the drops of blood to the chase door.” Brodie stopped for a moment. Her composure slipped a tad. “I don’t know what you remember, but from Bill’s description, it was a scene from hell and scared him to death! If it wasn’t for the timing in Bill’s finding you …” Her voice trembled and trailed off into nothing.

Laurel shut her eyes tight. Tears leaked out. “I remember all of it. I remember being bent backwards until I thought my spine would break. I remember the stench of his breath. I remember feeling so cold. I thought I was dying.” She opened her eyes. “I would have died, if left in there much longer, right?”

Brodie nodded in agreement. Sadness swamped her face. “If Bill Olson hadn’t found you when he did, yes, you would have died, Laurel. It’s a miracle that you are still with us. You lost a lot of blood.”

Gently, Laurel touched her index finger to a red, rose petal. “Blood. I remember the blood. Slick and sticky, all around me. My blood. I was so scared.”

She stared at the flower. Her gaze said that her mind was far away. In another place. A bad place.

Not being able to bear what she thought, Laurel was remembering. Brodie broke the spell by grabbing a small basket off the bedside table. A white, flour sack dish towel covered the contents. She nudged Laurel’s arm with the basket.

“Janice LaPlume sent this for you.”

Laurel tore her gaze from the red rose. She looked at the basket and handed the rose to Brodie. “I want to talk to Bill.”

“How about tomorrow? He asked to come and see you. I told him he’d better hurry as you are doing so well, I think they will be kicking you out of here soon!”

Holding the basket on her belly, Laurel pointed to a stuffed St. Bernard cuddled between the bouquets. “I suppose Jackson sent that?” She grinned at Brodie.

“Amelia asked me to put that in your room. Your daughter said you would need Jackson near you, so that you would heal faster.”

“Yup, that girl knows me. I do need that bumbling bundle of fur. I hope they release me tomorrow. Do you think there’s a chance?”

“I think there’s an excellent chance. The last doctor in here said that you might be able to go home tomorrow, as long as you come to his office a couple of days later. He needs to keep tabs on the wound in your back. Although, it’s lookin’ mighty good so far, it needs checking.”

“Deal!” Laurel unwrapped the basket. The wonderful aroma of fresh bread mixed with the scent of flowers. There was a small recycled plastic container, reminiscent of holding a sauce from a carry-out restaurant, full of whipped butter in a corner of the basket. Her stomach growled.

Brodie’s mouth watered. When did she eat last?

“I heard that!” Laurel said. She gave Brodie a cheeky look. “Shall we eat?”

Chapter 15

“
W
h
o-Cooks-For-You,” called the barred owl. Nestled in a pile of quilts, Laurel watched the large gray-brown, puffy-headed woodland bird through a pair of Zeiss binoculars. He often perched on a distant longleaf pine, a nocturnal predator waiting to devour a fat little mouse, large insect or a smaller bird. Sweet memories of the same owl over the past two years, singing his familiar song just before dark warmed her heart. She had brought the call to her mother’s attention many evenings. Although, Mary Lois didn’t always remember that she had just heard the same call the evening before, sometimes she did. She would smile and say in a soft voice, “Oh yeah, there’s that owl again!”

Laurel smiled as she snuggled deeper into her nest. She stroked the appliquéd white quilt her mother had made many years ago. A multi-colored tree design, each piece of fabric chosen and hand-stitched. Quilting had been a passion for Mary Lois. Any type of handwork was a joy for her to tackle, a way to express love to those dear to her. She had trouble saying the words, “I love you,” but she poured love into handwork. Laurel often wondered if this was part of her mother’s German heritage—German mixed with the Christian beliefs that Mary Lois had grown up with as a child. Submission. Pride was a sin. Expressing love? Laurel had never quite figured that one out. She just knew her parents had never verbally expressed those three words to her.

Brodie fixed a lair on the screened porch for Laurel to enjoy the soft central Florida November evening. She converted a teak steamer lounge chair into a comfortable bed. The rainy weather from two days before pulled a cold front behind it that cleared the air. To all the Snowbirds from up north, this so-called cold front would be balmy summer weather. For the year-round residents, it was a taste of fall, brief as it always was. Usually, Florida had two seasons, as most of the state was either semitropical or tropical—hot and muggy or hotter and muggier.

As a DEP employee, Laurel coveted the need to protect the natural resources of the state. Most of the tourists came to the beaches or Disney. She, herself, had been very naïve about the tremendous diversity in the ecosystems, the natural habitats, and the wilderness that was fast disappearing to development. Due to her many classes and trainings within FPS, she had developed an understanding of the magnificence of Florida’s natural habitats. Unlike her mother whose passion was gardening and handwork, Laurel knew her heart was tied to the land. Gardening fell into that area, gardening with native plants to help protect the Floridan aquifer—Xeriscape landscaping, matching the right plants with existing site conditions and using plants that occur naturally to cut down on watering and fertilizing. Ninety percent of all public water supply in Florida comes from underground sources, primarily the Floridan aquifer. Each day billions of gallons are pumped from the aquifer. The rate at which the groundwater system refills or recharges is far less. Florida receives approximately fifty-six inches of rain per year. The aquifer is a natural storage area for water in very porous rocks and caves underground and one of Florida’s most vital natural resources, as well as the source of drinking water for more than 90 percent of the state’s population. On an average, Floridians, use about 4.6 billion gallons of groundwater per day. Groundwater is a part of what can be called the oldest recycling program.

Jackson lay next to the chair, his faithful duty to be near his mom. Everything about him said he understood that she had been hurt and was weak. As large as he was, he was as gentle as a lamb. Snuffling in his sleep, he opened one bleary eye as Laurel rubbed his ear.

She smelled the fragrance of the hot spiced cider just as Brodie walked through the porch door. In her hand was a large brown ceramic mug of Laurel’s favorite comfort brew.

“I would have brought you a glass of Glenmorangie, but figured this might be better suited for a patient.” She handed the steaming mug to Laurel.

“Recovering patient, I might add.” Laurel quirked an eyebrow at Brodie and continued, “Where’s yours?”

“I’ll get mine in a minute.” She plopped into another matching steamer chair. “Feel like talking?”

“You bet! What’s the subject?”

“Judgment and superstitions.”

Laurel peered at her friend. She respected Brodie’s calm, serene view of life. She could empty her mind of judgments and remain calm when others around her would fly into a tizzy. Unlike herself, Brodie could view things with interest and dispassion. Laurel knew her own tendencies were to respond first and think later.

“The cold, snowy time we drove through the night to get to your mother’s bedside before she died. Do you remember the email you received from that man in The Meeting?”

Laurel kept a steady gaze on Brodie. “Of course, I remember. My phone beeped and let me know I had an email. Hideous timing. What is it?”

“I’ll get to that in a minute. First, look at all the stars coming out.”

Laurel squinted through the screen porch and saw several stars twinkling in the darkening sky.

Puffin slunk by Jackson with slow, measured steps. The dog kept a bleary eye on the cat. With a graceful leap, the fat feline landed in Brodie’s lap.

“We are seeing photon emissions made millions of years ago. These stars are thousands of light years away. At this very moment, we are looking back in time. Thousands of years back in time!” Incredulity and excitement gave Brodie’s voice more gusto than normal. She stroked Puffin’s back as he rumbled his pleasure with deep purrs.

“Yes, I know, my dear. I was thinking along those very same lines when I stood in my family’s freezing cemetery just before I returned here. It’s amazing. Even more amazing is our ignorance about such things as a human race. We tend to accept what we’re told and live our whole lives with beliefs that we just hooked into as a child and some of us never really explore any further.” She shrugged her shoulders, as she continued. “I’m ashamed of how acceptingly blind I was for so many years. But, then again, I didn’t have a reason to question. Life was safe. Those three words are what keep people, specifically women, from exploring the world. A certain way of living that promises safety and acceptance.”

Laurel struggled to sit a bit straighter. “I remember not long ago, giving a presentation to fifth graders.” She looked at Brodie as her mouth turned down at the corners. “You know, one of those programs that we act delighted to give but we usually try to pawn off on another coworker.

“The kids were all excited about a mastodon’s bone that was on one of my PowerPoint slides. This bone had been discovered at the confluence of the St. Johns River and Blue Springs Run. Of course, the kids know a heck of a lot more than I do about the dinosaur period, which was about sixty-five million years ago, compared to a relatively close era that lasted from five million to five thousand years ago when mastodons and mammoths roamed this part of the world—my point being time. Time! Christians are so quick to explain millions of years away by creationist ignorance—ignorance of science that is in museums around the world. Most creationists have a difficult time accepting that our universe has been in existence for over thirteen billion years and this earth for over four billion years. Much of this discrepancy of time is explained by the view that between verses one and two in Genesis there could be millions of years—the “Gap Theory,” a story of re-creation. To quote: verse one, ‘In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.’ Verse two, ‘The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.”

She looked at Brodie in the almost dark porch. “Queen Elizabeth II just attended a ceremony celebrating the 400
th
anniversary of the King James Bible. Often considered the most influential book printed in the English language, this is the absolute infallible book that The Meeting bases all their beliefs in—
God’s Word.”
She paused to take a breath. “You are leading me to talk about superstitions aren’t you?” She saw the response on her friend’s face. “Hah! It’s working, darn you!”

Brodie reached over to pat her arm. “Oh, don’t stop! You are doing so well!”

A screech flew out of Laurel’s mouth. “Now, you’re patronizing me.”

“No, no, I’m not, even though it might seem like it. I’ve just been pondering the judgment visited on you by that particular group of people. The phone call you received from the man or ‘Brother’ to use their lingo. His questioning into your personal life so The Meeting knows whether to eat with you or continue the shunning. I think it all stems from superstition and the inability to forgive due to their embracing the Bible. The writings that produced this document is the book they choose to live their lives in accordance with.”

“Writings that produced this document?” The query in Laurel’s voice begged an answer.

“When the Old and New Testament were bundled together in a twelfth-century manuscript, which is historically one of the worst manuscripts, I might add. What most people never hear or know is that there is not a single shred of the original document known to exist.”

With a sudden gesture of her hand, Brodie sliced the air and said, “Enough! I’m getting way too involved in a subject that demands a lot more information to substantiate anything I’m saying.”

“I think I know how to keep this simple,” said Laurel. “A belief system that is guided by a book, albeit, the Holy Scriptures, is the end of all soul searching. The Bible has the answers for any and all problems that mankind might encounter during their journey on this earth. To even come close to questioning such a 400-year-old sacred book is blasphemy.”

Brodie said, “I believe all humans have a genetic tendency—a need to relegate the unknown to superstitious beliefs. The world is full of devotees to pass on received dogma. The three largest belief systems are Christianity, Islam and Hinduism. In all three of these faiths, there is a major need to proselytize. Each of these groups claims that their faith is the one true faith. Jews come in at the tail end and are the smallest group. Then you have skeptics, agnostics and atheists.”

“So the God that is spoken about here in the United States most often is the God of the Protestant faith. But the God of the Koran is Allah and so on.”

“True.”

A silence stretched between the two women until Laurel stirred, shifting her blankets.

Musing out loud, Laurel said, “I wonder how it came to be that the Scandinavian countries are the happiest people on the globe. They are more content, have little violent crime, well educated, good health care, excellent care for the elderly and so on.”

Brodie answered, “Perhaps due to the fact that over eighty percent of the populations accept evolution.”

Laurel agreed. “Perhaps. Perhaps the Danes and Swedes are more caught up with giving than they are with converting. Converting other ethnicities to buy in to whatever belief they are pounding into their skulls… and hearts.” She dipped her chin under the edge of the quilt then lifted her head. “This reminds me of a quote from John F. Kennedy: ‘Everything changes but change itself.’”

With a push out of the lounge chair, Brodie dislodged Puffin who had been enjoying her warm lap. She walked to the door to enter the living room and stopped. Turning her head to face her partner she said, “All that you have been saying, Laurel, is so very much like another quote from Robert Louis Stevenson. ‘To know what you prefer, instead of humbly saying “Amen” to what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to keep your soul alive.’ By severing yourself from that group you might have lost the security and acceptance that you once had, but you have grown as a person. A human being that knows how to be kind. Learning how to trust again is what I see as a challenge for you.”

A tinkling, jangle of a cell phone echoed through the still of the night.

Brodie answered the call.

Laurel half-heard the conversation from her friend’s low-melodious tones.

After rustling around in the kitchen, Brodie returned to the now dark porch. “That was Ranger Bill. He wants to drop by in the morning. Said Lawrence would be with him as well.” She struck a match and held it to a small bright orange aluminum bucket that held a citronella candle.