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

by Sharon Brubaker

  “The Pennsylvania Navy,” she commented quietly.

  “What’s that?” Owen asked.

  “The Pennsylvania Navy,” Sylvia said, “The boaters coming in for the weekend. That’s what Gran and Mom call them.”

  “Look,” she said pointing to the license plates, “The majority of boaters are from Pennsylvania, but there are a lot from Delaware and New Jersey too.”

  “Mom loves to complain about all of them coming into town,” she said.

  “Knowing your mother, though” Marian commented, “she would likely be hard pressed to deny the positive economic impact on the town.”

  Sylvia giggled, envisioning her mother’s face at this comment. “You’re absolutely right,” she told Marian.

  Curiosity overcoming her, Sylvia asked Marian a question that had nagged at her for a while. “How did you and Gran become such great friends?” she asked her. “I don’t remember her mentioning it or ever knowing that you existed for years, since you were in England.”

  Marian laughed as she answered, “Well,” she said, “I think we were trying to break the mold in the sixties. I met your Grandmother at a march on Washington, DC. We ended up near one another in the crowd by accident and found we were from the same area. I was ‘supposed’ to be the model faculty wife,” she said adding sotto voce, “and I wasn’t.” She continued, “Your grandmother was breaking out from under your grandfather’s conservative thumb. I’ll never forget how angry he was when we got arrested at a sit in.”

  “What?” Sylvia asked incredulously, “Arrested? Gran or Mom never told me about that!”

  “Oh, yes,” Marian told them. “It was a peaceful demonstration against Viet Nam, but everyone’s emotions were running high and we were an example, I think. But, your grandfather! I thought he might consider divorce over that! He found out he couldn’t control Holly,” she mused.

  Marian continued to regale them with stories of how she and Sylvia’s grandmother had marched, protested, written letters and worked on various causes.

  Their food came and Sylvia was thoughtful while she ate. Her mother had always accused her grandmother of being a hippy or flower child. True, she fit the part in some ways. Sylvia remembered her grandmother’s long snowy white hair, kept braided, either long or wound around her head. Gran was flippant towards current fashions and always wore comfortable loose dresses, jeans, clogs or Birkenstocks. She hadn’t known of all of her work during the sixties.

  “Penny,” she heard Owen’s voice through her memories.

  Sylvia came back to the present with a jolt realizing Owen and Marian were quietly watching her. “I was thinking about Gran,” she said, “and the life I never knew about.”

  “I’m supposed to ask you about Sunday’s menu,” Sylvia told Marian. “Mom said she would pick up some salmon steaks to grill. Any ideas for the rest of the meal?” she asked her.

  “Would you like me to bring a salad with herbal vinaigrette to accompany your salmon steaks?” Marian asked.

  Sylvia nodded enthusiastically. “That would be wonderful,” she told her.

  “What if I bring some French bread?” Owen offered.

  “All right,” Sylvia said. “Both sound great.”

  “I have a great recipe for a dilled pasta salad if you would like it,” Marian told Sylvia. “It’s very easy to put together.”

  “That would be terrific,” Sylvia said to her.

  When they went back to Marian’s house, Sylvia gathered up the books on the Green Man while Marian looked for the cookbook. She came back and handed it to Sylvia.

  “I marked the page with the Dill Pasta Salad,” she told her. “But, you’ll enjoy reading through it. The ideas and recipes are tremendous,” she said. “It’s too early for dill to be up in the garden, you’ll need to pick it up at the market.”

  “Thanks!” Sylvia said. “It sounds wonderful—and easy for a novice cook like me,” she said.

  “You’ll learn,” Marian said. “Just keep experimenting and having fun with it,” she advised.

  “What are you doing this afternoon?” she asked Sylvia.

  “Probably reading these,” she said smiling and hugging the books on the Green Man to her. “Thank you again.”

  Marian hugged her.

  “Good,” Marian said. “We’ll see you on Sunday.”

  “Sounds good,” Sylvia answered. She looked around and not seeing Owen said, “Tell Owen I said goodbye.”

  “I will,” Marian said.

  ****

  Sylvia settled in with the books and began reading as soon as she got home on her favorite corner of the couch. The Basford book had a brief introduction on her theory of the Green Man. It was filled with incredible black and white photos of Green Men throughout Europe and the Middle East. The Harding book was fascinating too, and built upon his website. She liked his comparisons and theory of how craftsmen traveled from Asia to Europe carving Green Men. Marian had been correct, the Anderson book was wordy, but compelling. She read swiftly, feeling comfortable with the history. She was still seeking an answer to something mysterious. Some of her questions were unformed in her mind. The last chapter dealt with the Green Man and his return in the new age as a symbol to protect the environment. In a way it made Sylvia think of the old Captain Planet cartoons she had seen as a child and the Swamp Thing comic. She wracked her brain, hadn’t there been a Swamp Thing television show? She had seen a rerun and thought it pretty lame and dated. Some would probably consider it campy. She went out to the deck and rested her elbows on the railing. She watched the clouds turn into deep purple islands against a teal blue sea. She was lost in thought of the history, theory and mythology she had read. She felt as if she was on the brink of a revelation, but could not quite get to it.

  “That’s it!” she said out loud and she remembered the Swamp Thing’s costumer. The Green Man that appeared to her reminded her of the large actor that played the swamp thing. He was like that, yet different. ‘Her’ Green man wasn’t in a mask or a costume. His face was more like the carvings she had seen in the books, and a bit like the masks for sale on the internet, only alive and not frozen into mask like silence. That was the only revelation she had. She sighed. No answers.

  She heard and felt a little breeze. Turning her face to it, she glanced at something out of the corner of her right eye. It was the Green Man.

  “Oh, my God!” she said.

  Once again, the Green Man chuckled with a deep, rich laughter.

  “I told you this morning, some people think so.”

  “You scared me!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  It didn’t feel surreal that he was there and she was surprised that it felt ‘normal’ to be having a conversation with this towering green and brown figure. His hand was resting on the railing of the deck. His skin, or whatever it was, looked like polished wood. She had the urge to touch it. She could see the graining along the back of his hand and down his fingers. The brocade-like garment was like clothing, but it wasn’t clothing. It was different. It was overlapped and woven leaves in varying shades of green that lent it a rich look similar to brocade.

  “Just visiting,” he said to her, “and curious as to what you have learned today.”

  “Not much,” Sylvia admitted. “You seem to be a mystery throughout the ages,” she said. “Not to be rude, but you’re ancient,” she told him.

  The Green Man nodded, still looking amused and Sylvia continued, realizing he had a great sense of humor. She smiled a small, shy smile in return to his wry expression.

  “I feel as though I’m missing a link, but I haven’t a clue as to what that link is,” she told him. “Actually, there are so many links between the religions, history, mythology, paganism, environmentalism, literature…” she stopped for a moment.

  The Green Man stood patiently, still listening.

  “The artwork, the renditions are beautiful,” she said blandly, “and some grotesque.”

  “They each have their nic
he throughout history,” he told her. “What else?” he prodded.

  “I don’t know,” Sylvia, said, with frustration tingeing her voice. “An archetype for all?” she queried. “But, how are you a guide, for whom?”

  He nodded approvingly at her questioning revelations.

  “I don’t know what you want from me?” she said with an unusual tone of sarcasm in her voice. “El Khdir guided Moses, for Christ’s sake – not a… a….” she hesitated not knowing how to label herself. “You, Gran and, I think Marian,” she added as an afterthought, “all think I’m someone…,” she trailed off for a moment. “I haven’t a clue as to any ‘gift’ that I might have. I’m just trying to get through the day, the week, my life, for God’s sake! I don’t even know what I want to do with my life, and you’re all hinting at something mysterious and wonderful. This is very confusing,” she complained.

  “Relax,” the Green Man said in a soothing tone. “You do have gifts, but you’ll need to discover them on your own. Your life,” he told her, “is of your own making. Keep seeking,” he said in his deep, now quiet voice and then disappeared.

  “Great,” Sylvia said sarcastically, “I’m supposed to learn and relax from a guru who probably doesn’t exist and is made from leaves. This is pretty damn crazy,” she said to the darkening sky. “Maybe I need to be on Prozac or another damn, fine psychotropic?” she asked the stars and sky. She huffed as she turned to go inside.

  “Oh, Gran,” she said miserably to the room as she crawled into bed. “I wish you were here. I think I’m losing it.”

  Chapter 8

  Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.

  --Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Sylvia had every intention of getting up early and going to the grocery store before her mother arrived the next day, but she overslept. She had had a restless night filled with dreams of talking Green Men from the books. She had been frustrated in the dreams because they were all talking to her and she couldn’t hear what they were saying. “Yap, yap, yap” the bodiless faces talked to her. In another dream she had been walking with ‘her’ Green Man. They were walking down a long road. It looked as though he was comforting her or counseling her. She leaned against him for support. When she woke she still felt the comforting weight of his arm around her. She closed her eyes and could almost smell the spicy green scent that he exuded; see the detail of the leafy brocade on his arm and the life pulsing in the wood-like skin. What had he been telling her?

  The bedclothes were a mess. Obviously she had tossed and turned quite a bit. Pillows were on the floor and the sheet had been pulled out from the bottom of the bed. Sylvia glanced at the clock beside the bed.

  “Oh, no!” she groaned. It was after 9a.m. Her mother would probably arrive in the next hour.

  Quickly she left a brief note on the kitchen table, grabbed Marian’s cookbook and headed for the grocery store.

  After a few minutes of shopping, she vowed she would never go to the grocery story again on a Saturday morning. Screaming babies and fussy, demanding, sticky fingered toddlers whining for every kind of treat imaginable filled the crowded aisles. Sylvia fought to get down aisle after aisle and eventually gave up. She found refuge for a few moments getting coffee at the store’s deli and consulted the cookbook for the ingredients. Hyped up on strong coffee she bravely made her way through the crowded store as quickly as possible. She added some chicken for this evening along with fresh milk and a few other sundry items. Her grocery order was peppered with favorites of hers and her mother’s before she checked out.

  Boating traffic was thick, and it took Sylvia twice as long to get through town than it usually did. Somehow the large vehicles, towing heavy trailers laden with all sorts of boats, wended their way through the narrow one way street through town to get to the local marinas. Groups of tourists roamed the streets hanging onto children as they licked and dripped ice cream from cones and crossed the street without looking. Sylvia nearly hit a group that rushed across the street when their party called to them from the porch of the local crab house. She wished there was another way home and gritted her teeth until she left the town behind. When she turned onto Bayside drive, Sylvia breathed a sigh of relief that she had arrived before her mother.

  She put on hot water for the pasta and brewed a pot of coffee and sat down to read the recipe. It seemed easy enough. She was glad the grocery store had fresh dill available in the produce section. She opened the package and touched the feathery herb. It smelled faintly like the dill pickles and looked like an exotic feather. She almost hated to cut it.

  She added the pasta when the water boiled and set the timer, drained the dill relish and chopped up the fresh dill and part of a red pepper. When the pasta was done, she could put everything together. Marian had recommended putting it together the day before.

  Her mother came in just as she had stirred all the ingredients together.

  “Hi,” she said. “It smells wonderful in here. What are you making?”

  “Hi Mom,” Sylvia greeted her going over to give her a perfunctory hug and kiss. “It’s a dill pasta salad that Marian told me about. I thought it would be great with the grilled salmon tomorrow.”

  “I’ll say!” her mother said enthusiastically. “It will be perfect. Speaking of salmon, I need to get the cooler from the car and get the food into the refrigerator. It’s starting to get warm outside.”

  “I thought I was just hot from cooking,” Sylvia said; now noticing the bright shining sun and the rising heat of the day. “Maybe we should open up more windows to get the breeze through the house.”

  “I’ll go get the salmon and my things,” her mother said. “Why don’t you get the windows?”

  Sylvia covered the pasta with plastic wrap and put it in the refrigerator and went to open the windows. They settled into the living room in front of the open French doors and floor to ceiling windows enjoying the soft breeze. Sylvia looked out at the bay. It was filling up. More and more sailboats dotted the horizon and jet skis and powerboats zoomed back and forth. It would be a busy weekend on the water. Sylvia wondered how the water would be for swimming. Thinking the same, her mother asked if she had been in swimming yet.

  “No,” Sylvia answered her. “I honestly didn’t think of it.”

  “What did you do yesterday?” her mother asked her, curious.

  “Owen and I unpacked and shelved several boxes of Marian’s books that had been sitting in her library since her return to the States,” Sylvia told her. “And then Marian took us to lunch, I came home and read a bit. It was a quiet day.”

  “How are things at the bank?” she asked her mother.

  “The usual frenetic pace,” her mother told her. “But, you know, I love it,” she said smiling. “I hadn’t realized how much I had missed working,” she confessed to her daughter. Instead of grief, her face was happier and more contented.

  “It’s probably therapy for you,” Sylvia told her.

  “Yes, I think it is,” her mother answered her, surprised at Sylvia’s insight.

  “Are you getting hungry?” Sylvia asked. “I missed breakfast, rushing off to the grocery store.”

  “Lunch would be great,” her mother told her. “Why don’t you clean off the table on the deck and I’ll make some sandwiches.”

  Sylvia went out to wipe off the table and chairs of an umbrella covered table on the deck, clearing off some of the pollen with a damp towel. She went in to get cool drinks and utensils and nearly bumped into her mother coming with a tray loaded with all that they needed.

  “I thought we could taste test your pasta salad,” she told Sylvia. “It looks and smells wonderful.”

  “Marian recommended it,” Sylvia told her. “She said it gets better each day.”

  “It’s very good now,” her mother commented taking a bite. “Try some.”

  Sylvia did and found that it was excellent. They ate quietly watching the boats on the water. The heat had risen and the breeze had subsided. It was starting
to feel sultry as they finished their lunch.

  “What’s the plan for the rest of the day?” Sylvia asked.

  “I suppose we should get some wine for tomorrow,” her mother answered. “What did you decide on for the rest of the menu?” she asked.

  “Marian will be bringing a salad with her owns herbal vinaigrette. Owen will bring bread or rolls, we have the salmon and pasta salad,” Sylvia stated.

  “Good,” her mother said. “That leaves getting the wine and some sort of dessert.” She paused, thinking for a minute. “Since it’s hot,” she continued, “what do you think of a sorbet for dessert?”

  “Fine,” Sylvia said.

  “Do you want to come with me to pick up the wine and sorbet?” her mother asked.

  I’ll be happy to come to keep you company and get the wine,” Sylvia told her, but I’ll probably stay in the car while you’re in the grocery store. I had my fill of grocery stores today!”

  “Was it that bad?” her mother asked.

  “Busy and crowded with screaming babies and fussy, sticky toddlers,” Sylvia commented. “The lines were horrendous! Ugh!”

  “I’ll only be a minute,” her mother said when they pulled into the busy grocery store lot after picking up the wine. Sylvia talked her mother into picking up some of the local micro-brew as well, imagining the look on Owen’s face when she would offer it. He had raved at the lager the day before at the pub.

  “All right,” Sylvia said. Sylvia pulled out her book.

  “What are you reading?” her mother asked catching a glimpse of the cover.

  “Remember Marian’s interesting door knocker?” Sylvia asked her.

  “No, not really,” her mother admitted.

  “Well, I was intrigued by it, and Marian loaned me a book about it,” she stated.

  “Oh,” her mother said, clearly not understanding or really caring. Her reading tastes were bent on finances and investments with an occasional gory mystery thrown in.

  Sylvia didn’t care whether her mother remembered the Green Man door knocker or not. She thought it best that her mother was naïve about the Green Man for the moment.