Blood Moon Redemption

by Judy DuCharme

“I won’t let it happen again. So sorry.”

  Teresa excused herself, leaving Tassie to her thoughts.

  Walking over to the window, Tassie studied the gray sky. Well, no blood moons tonight.

  A knock came on the door. Tassie turned. The glass window revealed it was the senior partner. She quickly put Hector Woodley out of her mind and opened the door.

  “Mr. James, I have my closing arguments almost complete. Would you like to look them over?”

  Tassie loved being able to take walks along the water on her lunch hour. It happened only a couple times a week as lunch time often involved meeting with a client or discussing cases at a local restaurant with the bosses. When not engaged in work, she would sit on a bench near the fountain at Grant Park and eat her lunch.

  She had done this with her dad many times when she was little. Her mother would pack a sandwich lunch and they would walk along the lake and then wait on a bench for her dad to join them on his lunch break. To this day, a sandwich lunch on a bench near the fountain tasted better than any meal she could have in the classiest restaurant in the world.

  She had to close her eyes. It was part of the ritual. Her dad would say, “Tassie, close your eyes. Now, if you could go anywhere in the world where would it be?”

  At first, she named Hawaii and China and Switzerland, but she finally came to the only answer she would give. “Right here with you, Daddy.” He would squeeze her, give a hearty laugh, and then kiss the top of her head. After kissing her mother on the cheek, he would head back to the court room.

  Yes, right here with you, Daddy, even if you’re eating lunch at home right now with Mother. This is my favorite place, my happy place.

  “You look very happy, Tassie. You must like it here.”

  Tassie startled. There was Santa Claus, Hector Woodley. She stood quickly. “Mr. Woodley, it’s a free world, and you have every right to be here, but I do not have to converse with you.”

  “Tassie, you’re right, but I would so appreciate a few minutes of your time. Have you been studying the four blood moons prophecies?”

  “No, I have not. My mother loves that. Perhaps you should talk to her.”

  “Israel is key to what is happening in the world and how world policies and politics will proceed.”

  “I’m sorry. This doesn’t really apply to me.”

  “Don’t you see, Tassie, the Israelis are coming to God.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. The Jews are already known for knowing God.”

  “True, but now they are finding their Messiah, truly knowing ‘God with us’.”

  “With us? You mean with them.”

  “Immanuel, the name for Jesus. It means ‘God with us’.”

  Tassie paused. She looked down and scuffed her foot against the concrete. “Well, that would certainly be a big change.”

  “Yes, Tassie, my point.”

  The fountain, thirty feet in diameter, sparkled in the sunlight. Dancing streams of water created small rainbows that shimmered in the afternoon sun.

  “I don’t believe it, though. There’s no evidence. I’m a Jew, but that’s just my background. It’s not who I am. I’m not a Christian, so I don’t relate to Jesus. And, I’m dating a Muslim and none of this pertains to him.”

  “It most certainly pertains to Omar.”

  Contempt swept through her. Why am I even talking to this man and how can he know Omar’s name? “How so?”

  “You know how to investigate.”

  Tassie clenched her fists. This little man . . . “Of course, I’m a lawyer.”

  Hector took a step closer to Tassie and lowered his voice. “Then do the background check on Omar.”

  “You have got to be kidding!” Tassie almost hissed.

  “You might be surprised, Tassie.”

  Tassie shook her head. “I’m surprised I’m standing here talking to you.”

  “It’s a wise choice on your part.” Hector reached out and patted her hand.

  Tassie quickly crossed her arms. “Whatever.”

  Suddenly, Tassie felt chilled. She hadn’t noticed the breeze that picked up until now. She kept her arms wrapped around herself and resisted looking at this strange little man in front of her. Memories of her fifth-grade substitute teacher reminding her to quit acting superior to the other students floated into her mind. That had been a tough year. She loved her teacher but when she took maternity leave, the class had Mr. Woodson.

  Geez, it was Harry Woodson, and now it’s Hector Woodley.

  Her teacher, Mrs. Cousins had understood her, recognizing her high intelligence, guiding her into challenging projects and reading material. And, when Tassie got out of line, as she often did, Mrs. C. could just give her that look. How did she do it? That look told Tassie she understood but had to bring it down at the same time. Mr. Woodson would stand in front of her and say Tassie’s name. She knew it meant ‘settle down’ but she resented it. If Mrs. Cousins hadn’t come back when she did, Tassie doubted she would be a successful lawyer today.

  Why am I going there? She glanced back to Hector. He actually resembled Mr. Woodson. “Are you . . . ?”

  A small smile creased his face and his eyes twinkled.

  Santa Claus. Mr. Woodson had made her think of Santa Claus, too, except when he was getting after her attitude.

  “Tassie.” He turned his head slightly. “Don’t slip into superiority.”

  Tassie shook her head and groaned. He’s back.

  She lifted her chin and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes again. “Okay, what do I need to do?”

  “Investigate Omar, do a background check.”

  “Why?”

  “You need to see his connections back in Syria.”

  The breeze grew stronger and she wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. “He already told me he has family in Syria. What of it? People are related to people all over the world.”

  Hector shifted his feet, ran his hand over his beard. Mr. Woodson was looking at her again, giving her an assignment she felt was beneath her.

  “Be careful, Tassie. He has powerful connections influencing oil in the Middle East.”

  She gave a rueful laugh. “What Middle Eastern Arab doesn’t have strong connections to oil?”

  “Follow the oil, Tassie. There are bigger, more subversive things going on than anyone here knows about.”

  “Oh, please. Some subversive plot? Why am I even talking to you? I need to go.”

  “Be the investigator you are.”

  Tassie spent the whole walk back to her office trying to put her conversation with Hector Woodley and her memories of that teacher, Harry Woodson, out of her mind. It was difficult.

  Back in her office, Tassie dove into her current case, trying to put the disturbing encounter with the scraggly old man out of her thoughts. Her case involved a Jewish man, seeking mediation in a potentially ugly custody battle. Her job on this one was background investigation. It was what she did well.

  Mr. Goldman arrived shortly after she returned from lunch and lost no time in describing his situation. His wife had moved to the States from Israel. Her grandfather was part of an oil company drilling for oil in Israel. The man had spent all of his own money as well as money he’d been able to get from the Israeli government. Apparently, he had at least one friend in high places. He also had Christian financiers in the States. They thought oil in Israel fulfilled some Biblical prophecy.

  As Tassie listened to Mr. Goldman, she felt like Hector was also sitting in the room. She glanced around expecting to see him. Crazy.

  Mr. Goldman continued, “My wife’s grandfather was about to close down the company. It would have created a lot of debt for all those involved financially: the Christian groups, the Israeli government, and my wife’s family. We were embarrassed, and Sally didn’t even want anyone to know who her grandfather was.”

  “Okay.” Tassie waited. That’s it. They went bankrupt and now Mr. Goldman doesn’t want to carry any of the
debt.

  Goldman sighed. “But he hit oil. It wasn’t a big strike, but everyone thought they could at least break even.”

  Tassie shifted in her seat. We Jews are storytellers. I just want the facts. This is like listening to my mother.

  She took a sip of her coffee and then smiled at Mr. Goldman. Don’t offend the client. Polite, gracious, listen. She put her pen to the notebook and looked up.

  Mr. Goldman droned on. “Well, within two months a well already drilled, one that had not produced before, began to produce. It provided enough revenue to drill one last place. The family wanted him to stop. They would break even. Don’t risk more. But her grandfather was not that type. He’d been high military. He was a calculator, a risk taker.”

  And probably not a storyteller. Please, Mr. Goldman. Tassie kept her face down as she took notes. She would reveal her weariness with the story if she looked up. She silently willed him to finish the thing, so she could get to the custody issue.

  Mr. Goldman spread his hands. “Her grandfather said he had a dream. A dream.” He shook his head. “Can you believe it? Everybody’s livelihoods on a dream! What, you ask, was he thinking? I ask that question myself. I don’t know the answer. And what was the dream? That I can tell you. He saw the location of a new well. It was where some old Israeli map showed Asher dipping his toe.”

  “What? Who? Asher?”

  “Jewish prophecy. Moses telling the children of Israel about their futures. It was the tradition of the patriarchs before they died, and it’s recorded in the Torah.”

  Tassie nodded but did not reveal her own Jewish roots. Not necessary. Don’t get involved.

  “So, what is that story? I tell you, that’s a story in itself.” Mr. Goldman wiped his forehead with his hand. “Anyway, he felt he had to drill this one last well. He had drilled in this area before. Did he know the map from the Torah? Yes? Yes, of course yes, but this was more specific. They did their soil samples and it looked good, but what they got was almost a gusher. Somehow, they kept it out of the press for a while, or else nobody thought much of it. All the surrounding nations had the oil advantage. Israel was a small gamer in oil. No one really expected much.”

  Tassie remembered hearing reports of Israel’s oil, but it sounded laughable. The consensus was that Israel couldn’t be an oil power. Not when the little country was surrounded by such giants in the oil business.

  “Israel’s government became more involved, as did the Christian financiers, yet they somehow managed to keep it under the radar. We didn’t even hear about it. But then my wife’s aunt began letting Sally know that this was growing far beyond expectations. More oil wells, more drilling, more profit.”

  Mr. Goldman took a breath. “Because they want to keep this undercover, they want only trusted family members in the business. So, Sally’s aunt offered her a position in the company.”

  “Not you, though, Mr. Goldman?”

  “Oh, yes, me too. You think I don’t belong to the family? Of course I belong, but the job is in Israel. Me, live in Israel? What are they thinking? It’s dangerous there, no? And I like it here. I like my job here.”

  “So, bottom line, your wife wants to move to Israel and take your daughter, and you want to stay here?”

  “Yes, of course, yes. My daughter, Josie, what a joy she is to me. She is happy here, and she doesn’t want her mom to leave. Do I want her mom to leave? No, of course not.”

  “Leave, as in go to Israel, or leave, as in divorce?”

  “Well, go to Israel. My wife isn’t thinking divorce, but my wife has made up her mind to go and insists on taking Josie, the joy of my heart.”

  Tassie picked up her cup of coffee. She shook her foot as she often did when her legs were crossed. Don’t get involved, Tassie. Just gather the facts.

  “You know, mothers are usually granted custody.”

  “Yes, yes, I know, but I can’t let Josie leave the country.”

  “When did Sally move here from Israel?”

  Mr. Goldman sighed. “When we got married. We met when I traveled to Israel on business. I’m in marketing for a fine arts and relics gallery.”

  Probably knows my mother. I might need to recuse myself.

  “So, you couldn’t transfer to Israel?”

  “You know, yes. Yes, of course. I’m Jewish in case you haven’t noticed.” He chuckled, then groaned. “But, just because I’m Jewish doesn’t mean I love Israel, may I not be struck with lightning.”

  Tassie smiled. I get it.

  “I love my wife. She loves me, of course, but I think she loves Israel more than me.” He looked down and clasped his hands together.

  “Well, often in custody cases, the custodial parent can’t leave the state, at least for a while.”

  “She never became a U.S. citizen. She’s still an Israeli, and because of that, so is Josie.”

  “I see. The senior partners will strategize with you on all the ramifications. I’m here mainly to lay out the background. You’ve been very thorough, Mr. Goldman. Is there anything else we should know?”

  He wrung his hands and then rubbed his chin as he looked over at the window. “Yes, yes, perhaps. This is a bit odd, but because my company deals in relics this caught my attention. Problem is, Sally doesn’t know I know this. Is this trouble, yes? Yes, I think it is.” Mr. Goldman wiped his forehead again with his hand. “I picked up her phone the other day by mistake and swiped it open. Her emails came up and it was open to her aunt’s latest email. Sally’s grandfather, her aunt’s father, had revealed more about finding the location.” He stopped and studied the room and the surface of the desk. “You are recording this, no?”

  “No, Mr. Goldman, no recorders, just taking notes.”

  “Of course. Of course.”

  “Would you like me to record this.”

  “Oh, God forbid. Forgive me, no recording.”

  “All right, no recording.”

  “They were out surveying and did a little digging. They unearthed a glass bottle sealed with wax and fully intact. Inside was a tassel, probably from a prayer shawl.”

  Tassie coughed. The blood drained from her face and light-headedness took over. I’m going to pass out.

  She reached for her cup but had no strength. The story of the tassel is true? How can that be? She tried to stand but was too woozy.

  “Are you okay?” Mr. Goldman jumped up to steady her.

  Tassie sat back down. “I’m okay, okay. Forgot to eat breakfast today.” It was a lie. “Continue, continue.”

  “You’re sure? Can I get you something, yes?”

  Tassie shook her head and signaled for him to go on. “The relic.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “Well, apparently, this bottle with the tassel came on the boat with Christopher Columbus.”

  Tassie looked up. Mr. Goldman’s hands were shaking.

  “I know. I know. It’s like an urban legend, but it’s an Israeli legend. Somehow it represents God’s provision in tough times, so Sally’s aunt and grandfather think this is a sign of God’s plan for them and for Israel. I’m sure that’s why Sally wants to return. She thinks it’s the safest place to be. But do I think that? No, of course not, no. I think she’s crazy. However, what do I know of relics? They bring in a handsome price, yes? Of course yes.” His eyes lit up. “A very handsome price, indeed.” He shook his head. “But, I am not supposed to know about it. I mean, Sally hasn’t told me this. I can’t tell my company. I would like to, yes. Even if she told me, she would think I was only interested in making money. Big money.” He sighed.

  “I’m obviously not a therapist, Mr. Goldman, but have you considered going to Israel with her for at least a while to see if it would work, and then . . . ?” Tassie left it open.

  “And then . . . I could find out more about the bottle, yes. And then . . . ”

  “You love your wife and daughter?”

  “Yes, of course yes. I can’t bear the thought of losing Josie, and I really do love Sally.”
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br />   “It’s an option.”

  Mr. Goldman drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair and stared out the window.

  “So, you think the relic is bigger news or bigger profit than the oil?”

  Mr. Goldman didn’t answer right away. Tassie actually looked around the room, half expecting to see Hector sitting in the corner.

  “Of course it would be bigger for my company. I think the oil is bigger for Israel, but there is significance about the relic that’s connected to the oil. Like it promises Israel great provision and protection. Sally’s uncle, husband to the aunt, is a rabbi, and so he’s studied this. And then there’s something about . . . ” He caught himself. “Well, I think you’ve gotten the background, yes. I want to keep my daughter here. She was born here. She’s happy. My wife is an Israeli citizen and actually can go if she wants, but I should get a portion of the oil proceeds.”

  “Yes, yes, the financial end. So, you would want alimony support from your wife. She’ll be making more than you?”

  “Okay, that’s the rub. She technically will take an official amount less than what I make, but she’ll be a part of this great windfall.”

  “I think that can be proven, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course, yes, and my daughter deserves it, even if I don’t.”

  “You make a handsome salary, no doubt.”

  “I do, but she’ll make a lot more.”

  “In another country.”

  “I don’t know the laws.”

  “Nor do I, at the moment, Mr. Goldman, but that is what this firm does, and we are good at it.”

  “But, see, the relic plays into this. Sally doesn’t know I saw the email.”

  “Do you think it matters?”

  Mr. Goldman sat up straight. “Oh, I do. I don’t follow or depend on prophecy, but I do know the stock people put into that and into relics. It’s part and parcel of relics and archaeology. It influences and becomes almost self-fulfilling because the people buy into it and work harder to make it happen. Because of my business, Sally may not want me to know.”

  “But it would be a way for her to get you to move to Israel, wouldn’t it?” Tassie wondered if she could ask these questions when she was simply the background investigator. I’m getting involved. Not good. But I have understanding because I’m Jewish. Probably why they put me on this.