The Greening: a novel of romantic suspense...with a touch of magic (The Green Man Series Book 1)

by Sharon Brubaker

  Sylvia sat down with her mother at the small drop leaf table, smoothed the placemat with one hand and traced around it with the edge of her finger mimicking her mother’s pattern of tracing the edge of her coffee mug while sipping her coffee.

  After a few moments, Sylvia broached breakfast. “Do you want something to eat?” she asked her Mom.

  Her Mother glanced at her and shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “I’m not really hungry.”

  There was something about her mother’s tone that caused Sylvia to cock her head and stare at her. Her Mother ignored the stare, got up to get more coffee and sat back down again and looked rather grim, Sylvia thought.

  “I’m not sure where to start,” her Mother said faintly, staring at her coffee cup.

  “What do you mean?” Sylvia asked puzzled.

  “This may be a surprise to you,” and she paused, “but Gran left this property to you,” her Mother informed her. Her mother glanced up and looked into Sylvia’s eyes.

  “What?” Sylvia asked incredulously as she was now suddenly very much awake.

  Her mother nodded, “You heard me,” she said, the grim expression set firmly on her face now.

  “But,” Sylvia interjected and then stopped. She didn’t know what to say. Her eyes swam confusedly with unshed tears and with a medley of emotions at what her mother told her.

  “You know Gran,” her mother began, “and her New Age sort of thinking. She felt that you needed some time and some where—to find your path, or gift or something. That’s what Gran said,” her Mother told her with a slight bitter edge to her voice. “She knew you didn’t have any career plans…” her mother broke off halting the sarcasm that had oozed into her tone.

  Sylvia’s choice of a Liberal Arts degree had prepared her for little and had always been a point of argument between them, but Gran had always been supportive that she would find her ‘gift’ as she often told Sylvia. Gran had argued with her mother that the Liberal Arts degree gave Sylvia a background in several things and that really, in the end, it didn’t matter. She knew her mother expected her to go into banking as she had after her father died, but Sylvia couldn’t stomach the thought of being with all of those suits. She had never known her grandfather. He had died before she was born. Her father had followed suit with his Type A personality and had a heart attack when she was nine.

  It was after her father died, that her Mother started working her way up the banking ladder and found that she loved it. Sylvia had absolutely no interest in banking or finance. The thought of the business track in high school and college made Sylvia’s blood curdle. Instead, Sylvia had been shipped to Gran’s house for holidays and summers. She felt she had grown up more here than in the pristine suburban home she and her mother shared outside of Philadelphia. Now she wondered if it had been a point of jealousy between them. Her mother looked as though she was counting to one hundred before continuing and gaining control over her emotions. It was a strategy she often used.

  “I thought I would help you clean things up and get some of Gran’s things packed for charity,” her Mother said changing the subject, “and then I can return in a few days to get things straightened out with the lawyers.”

  They sat again in silence, allowing Sylvia to let the news sink in.

  Finally her Mother said, “You could sell it, you know. You could invest the money and you would be set for retirement.” She paused for a moment and said uncomfortably, “I had always thought to rent it out,” she told Sylvia, “you know, for an extra income property.”

  Sylvia tried to control the emotions on her face this time as she knew this was a typical reaction and thought of her Mother – the almighty dollar winning out. She was surprised, too, by the slight touch of bitterness that had risen in her mother’s voice. But, Sylvia couldn’t bear the thought of selling Gran’s home.

  Her voice squeaked a little as she answered, “I love it here, I couldn’t sell this place, I…I” she stammered and stopped not able to continue for the lump in her throat.

  Her mother sighed heavily and stared down at her coffee cup still running a finger around and around the rim. Apparently she was at a loss for words or did not want to start an argument with Sylvia.

  Sylvia stood up and took her coffee out onto the deck. She couldn’t think. The morning light was pearly and the bay a powdery deep blue. Its rippling water exuded calm and she stared for a long time. This house had always been a haven of peace for her. Gran insisted on it, often proclaiming the quiet neighborhood a ‘paradise.’ From upstairs she heard a door slam shut and the sound startled a great blue heron that had stood silently watching for its own breakfast. It took off with a complaining “Kaa-aack” in its rusty, scraping tone. Sylvia giggled involuntarily and relaxed a little and breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want her mother to come out to lecture her. Her own house! This house. It was one of her favorite places in the world. A spot of excitement grew in her. Looking out at the bay, she silently thanked Gran for her wonderful gift.

  Chapter 2

  Hold onto what you believe,

  Even if it is a tree which stands by itself.

  Hold onto what you must do,

  Even if it is a long way from here.

  Hold onto life,

  Even when it is easier than letting go.

  Hold onto my hand,

  Even when I have gone away from you.

  --Pueblo Indian verse.

  Sylvia stepped back into the house and warmed her hands on her coffee cup poured from a fresh pot her mother had made. Cocking her head she listened and heard the shower and decided to look at the mask again. Sylvia gasped when she saw it. Instead of one leaf, it was now covered in leaves—tiny, perfect oak leaf shaped leaves, almost like a wreath. Sylvia picked it up and held it to her face to peer through the two eye-like holes. It gave the room a greenish cast. It was almost like looking at the wavering white-hot haze in the summertime, but this haze had a green cast to it and it made the air shimmer and move as she looked through the eye-like openings. Sylvia stared out of the window and saw a flash of greenish white light, but jumped when she heard a shrill “Eeek!” Turning, with the mask still up to her face, she saw her mother standing in the doorway looking horrified.

  “What is that?” her mother asked with distaste clearly in her voice.

  Sylvia took off the mask from her face, and rubbed at the tingling sensation that remained where it had touched her skin.

  Wonderment tinged her voice when she said, “I found it outside yesterday and thought it was interesting,” Sylvia answered her Mother. “It’s sprouted these incredible leaves,” she told her.

  Her mother looked at it and asked, “It’s not poison oak is it?”

  Sylvia hadn’t thought of that, but definitely would not admit it to her Mother. She briefly wracked her brain trying to remember what poison oak looked like.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Sylvia said. She placed it carefully back on the bookshelf.

  A knock at the kitchen door made them both jump. Her mother went to answer it and Sylvia leaned against the doorway from the hallway into the kitchen. It was Mrs. Peters from down the street, bearing a plate of muffins. Her mother had frequently referred to the woman as the local gossip.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “I thought you would like some of these.”

  “Thank you,” replied her mother. “You shouldn’t have,” she said politely and offered for Mrs. Peters to come in for a cup of coffee.

  “Oh, no thank you,” she said. “I’m on my way to church and I thought I would drop some muffins off to you. I need to deliver some to old Mr. Brown just down the road. He has liver cancer you know and he won’t last much longer. Another funeral soon,” she said shaking her head sadly.

  The silence hung uncomfortably for a moment, as Mrs. Peters realized her faux pas, until Sylvia spoke up. “Thank you for thinking of us,” she said.

  Mrs. Peters smiled and waved gaily as she went back to her car. Sy
lvia took the muffins from her mother and breathed deeply. “These smell wonderful,” she said. “I think they have chocolate chips in them.”

  Sylvia went to refresh their coffees while her mother pulled out plates and napkins.

  “I know you don’t like her very much, Mom, but it was nice of her to do this,” Sylvia said, “and these are a treat.”

  Her mother nodded in agreement refraining from an acerbic comment on the neighbor.

  “I suppose we should pack up Gran’s clothes for charity today, so that you can move some of your things in,” she told Sylvia when she had finished the muffin, “since the house and its contents are yours, lock, stock and barrel. You might as well keep all the household goods and sort through them at your leisure,” she suggested.

  Sylvia nodded in reply, not trusting her voice. The reality of Gran’s death shot through her like an electric current. She put her things in the sink and went up to shower. When she was dressed, she found her mother hovering in the doorway with some boxes. Her mother packed dresses and clothing from the closet while Sylvia emptied drawers folding nightgowns, lingerie and sweaters into the boxes. She pulled out one of her favorite sweaters of mottled green, blue and brown hues and kept it aside for herself. It had been a favorite of Gran’s and Sylvia held it up to her cheek. Sylvia placed it at the head of the bed and continued to pack. They worked silently and methodically together.

  The telephone rang, startling them both. Her mother reached to the bedside table to answer it. It was Marian calling to invite them to her home for lunch. After chatting briefly, her mother gratefully accepted the offer for a much needed break. Her mother stacked the boxes neatly in a corner of the room and labeled them for charity.

  Marian had given her mother directions to her home a few miles south of Gran’s house bordering state park land. Sylvia’s mother turned up a sandy tract that read “Oak Forest Lane” on a small sign. Small, white “Private property” signs bordered each side of the tract and “No Hunting” banners were blazoned on trees as they slowly drove up the road.

  Her mother stepped on the brake quickly, jerking them both forward in their seats and exclaimed, “Just look at that house!”

  Sylvia craned her neck to look around a small skirting of trees to see a magnificent home. It was the largest modern built log cabin home Sylvia had ever seen. It had a huge wrap around front porch and gorgeous windows reaching from the first to the second floor.

  “This is quite the private, little community,” her mother remarked. “I wonder who lives here.”

  They passed a couple of other magnificent homes, driving slowly and gawking while following Marian’s directions that led them to the end of the tract. Marian’s house dated back to the mid-19th century. The two stories of Georgian red brick had some of the original windows. A bricked terrace off to the side had obviously been added, yet looked tasteful with its black wrought iron furniture. True to the name of the street, there were oak trees surrounding the property with a large, obviously ancient oak in the side yard. A fenced meadow bordered the side and back of the house with the forest edging it. Sylvia wondered if it had been a farmhouse at one time.

  When they approached the front door, Sylvia stopped in her tracks staring at the bronze knocker of a strangely carved head with leaves disgorging from its mouth and eyes. Sylvia stared at the blank wooden eyes for an extended moment. She thought it looked familiar, but wasn’t sure why. Tentatively she reached for the knocker and knocked softly.

  “Oh, Sylvia,” her mother said exasperatedly. “Marian will never hear that.”

  Her mother took the knocker and rapped loudly on the large oak door. It was a moment before Marian opened the door while Sylvia continued to stare at the knocker. Her mother gazed around impatiently until they heard footsteps approaching the door.

  “Come in, come in,” Marian said as she answered their knock and led them into a large main foyer filled with an antique sofa, mirror and drop leaf table.

  “I thought it would be cozier to eat in the kitchen,” Marian said as she led them through a formal dining room into a huge country kitchen complete with fireplace and a small love seat to sit on.

  “Can I help you with anything?” her mother offered.

  “Oh, no,” Marian answered. “I have everything under control. Have a seat.”

  They sat at an oak table with huge claw and ball feet. It gleamed in the light of a small fire crackling in the stone fireplace. Sylvia looked around the room. Warm mustard yellow walls filled the kitchen with light and warmth. Oak cabinetry was everywhere and Sylvia was surprised to see Marian open what looked like cabinet doors and see the refrigerator. She had only seen the like in high priced home magazines. Braided rugs were placed at comfortable intervals on ceramic tiles that looked like roughly hewn multi-colored bricks. The overall effect was sunny and peaceful. Marian brought over a tureen of soup. When she lifted the lid of the tureen, Sylvia stared. The soup was orange and definitely not a tomato-y orange.

  Marian chuckled at her expression. “Carrot,” she said. “Curried cream of carrot to answer your questioning face,” she continued and smiled in the direction of Sylvia.

  “Hmmm, it’s delicious,” her mother, remarked when she tasted the soup that Marian had ladled into shallow bowls.

  Sylvia took a tentative taste and was surprised that she liked it. She loved curry, but had never ventured to try it in anything other than Indian or Oriental food. Her face gave away the look of pleased surprise.

  “Good,” Marian replied, “I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my favorites,” she commented at Sylvia’s look of surprise. She passed a plate of whole grain bread and thinly sliced ham for sandwiches.

  “I know it’s silly of me to have a fire this late in the year,” she remarked, “but, it keeps the chill off in this big old house,” she said. “And it has been an extremely cool spring,” she remarked. “Don’t you think so?” she asked them.

  They chatted about the weather for a few minutes until Sylvia’s mother mentioned her amazement of the private community and the gorgeous homes on the lane.

  “Yes,” Marian agreed. “It’s a nice community. It’s quiet and most of the residents want it that way. Most of them travel frequently and are seldom here to enjoy their homes. Sometimes I think we should call this “Restless Oaks,” she chortled at a private joke.

  While they were eating dessert, Sylvia excused herself. They were reminiscing about her grandmother and Sylvia didn’t want to listen. She excused herself and stepped out from the kitchen door to the patio. The air was cool in the shade of the enormous oak. Sylvia moved into the warm sunlight. The meadow was filling with green. Sylvia wondered where Marian’s property ended and the state forestland began. An opening in the trees looked like a path. It seemed to beckon to her. Inadvertently she started to walk to the forest path when her mother’s voice pulled her back to the present.

  “Syl,” she called. “It’s time to go.”

  Sylvia slowly turned and saw her mother and Marian standing on the stone patio. The windows on the house seemed to blink at her in the sunlight. Feeling as if she was in a dream, she blinked back at the house and at her mother as she walked towards the two women.

  “I’m sorry we need to eat and run,” she heard her mother’s voice tell Marian. “But, I’m afraid I need to get back to the city. I’m going back to work tomorrow.” She continued voicing her frustration of juggling to get things packed up, the house cleaned and getting back into the swing of work.

  Sylvia approached them and also thanked Marian for lunch.

  Marian turned to her and smiled. “I’m glad you could come,” she said. “Will you be coming back soon?” she asked Sylvia. Her voice seemed to radiate calm and peace.

  Sylvia nodded but her mother answered.

  “Mom left the house to Sylvia,” her Mother told her. “We’ll need to settle things in the next week or two. It really needs a good cleaning…” her voice trailed off as Sylvia interrupted.

&
nbsp; “I thought I could bring down some things in the next day or so,” Sylvia said. “But, I’m not sure what I’m doing yet.”

  “I could spare some time to help you out if you would like,” Marian answered.

  “Thank you,” her mother answered before Sylvia could. “I know I’ve been dying along with Mother the past few months,” she stopped and sighed. “I’m almost relieved it’s over and I’m anxious to get back to work. I know I’ll feel better knowing Syl had someone to touch base with,” she said.

  Startled by her mother’s statement, Sylvia felt a spark of anger. Her mother was glad that Gran had died? She was shocked and couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

  “Give me a call when you come back,” Marian told Sylvia. She gave her a hug and looked at her quizzically. As petite as Marian was, she took Sylvia’s shoulders and forced her to turn her attention to her.

  “It will be all right. It’s hard to understand right now,” she almost whispered. “You both need your time, space and way to grieve.”

  Sylvia nodded mutely in response and went to the car where her mother had already turned over the engine. Sylvia climbed in silently and gave Marian a small wave goodbye.

  Chapter 3

  I arise today, through strength of Heaven,

  Light of Sun, Radiance of Moon,

  Splendour of Fire, Speed of Lightning,

  Swiftness of Wind, Depth of Sea,

  Stability of Earth, Firmness of Rock