Poisoned Petals

by Joyce; Jim Lavene

  “I think she might be a little colicky. You might try giving her a little chamomile tea. It shouldn’t take much, just a few teaspoons in a bottle. It will help settle her tummy and calm her down. My son had colic, too. It’s terrible. They gave me a sedative for him that was too harsh. Chamomile worked for him. Be sure to use bottled water to make the tea.

  The nurse called the woman’s name from the doorway. The anxious mother thanked Peggy.“I’ll try it if what they say doesn’t work. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Take good care of that beautiful baby.” Peggy smiled as the mother disappeared behind the door that led to the examining rooms. The door had to be opened from the inside to allow patients to enter. She watched and waited as several of the people from the bus accident were called back.

  She glanced at her watch. It had already been more than an hour since she heard about Luther being found in the garden. Anything could be happening. She had seen enough of death in recent years to realize it crept up without warning. Maybe Luther was fine. Maybe he wasn’t. She didn’t want to take that chance.

  When the next group of patients went through the electronic door, she was right behind them. She respected that hospitals needed protocol. She really did. But life slipped away too easily. She had to see Luther now.

  Walking down the long hall that led to the examining areas, she passed dozens of relatives waiting for word on a family member’s condition.

  The examining areas were small cubicles closed off with green cotton curtains. Quiet weeping came from behind one of them. A child screamed and cried behind another. Busy nurses and doctors walked past her. They looked at her but didn’t ask why she was there. If she was back there they figured someone had to have let her in.

  The smell of chlorine and other cleaning solutions was strong. A young man ran past her with an empty hospital bed, nearly knocking her over. The place was an overcrowded maze. How was she ever going to find Luther?

  She skirted around a nurse’s station when the phone rang and a young woman in green and blue scrubs answered it. It gave her an idea. It might not work, but it was worth a try. Luther carried Darmus’s cell phone in his pocket to make the transition easier for people who wanted to get in touch with him. If he still had his clothes on or near him, she could hear the phone ring and use it to locate him.

  She’d laughed with Darmus about the ringer he gave her. It was the Beatles’ “Octopus’s Garden.” He said it reminded him of her. Her ringer for him was the “Garden Song.” Their love of plants was their first bond. Darmus became involved in politics as an extension of that love just as she opened her garden shop in the same spirit.

  It didn’t help to think about Darmus. His death saddened her more than she let on to the people around her. Paul and Steve wanted to her to stay home and take it easy. She couldn’t. She needed work to keep her from thinking about what happened. It was too fresh in her mind, especially at the end when she wasn’t sure if she were going to make it out of the house alive.

  Peggy took out her cell phone and called Darmus. Luther! How many times do I have to remind myself? The faint electronic sound of his cell phone answered hers. She followed the sound, despite the other distractions, and finally located it behind one of the closed green curtains. She pushed aside the curtain and found Holles Harwood, Darmus’s, then Luther’s, assistant. He was standing over a bed with a form covered by a white sheet.

  “No!” She rushed into the tiny space. “He can’t be dead. What happened?”

  Holles looked up, his handsome face white and drawn. Peggy thought of him as a humorless young man who was sometimes a little sulky. She only saw him occasionally if she met Darmus at his office. His dark hair was perfectly styled and his clothes were always immaculate. He’d been with Darmus for at least five years.

  “Dr. Lee? Where did you come from?”

  “I want to see him.” She stepped closer to the bed and started to grab the sheet.

  “Not like this.” Holles caught her hand. “You don’t want to see him this way. He wouldn’t want you to. He must’ve been out in the garden all night. The insects . . .”

  Peggy felt a sob catch in her throat. She felt like a hypocrite. She never liked Luther. But it wasn’t just him. It was his death coming so closely on the heels of his brother’s death. “What happened? Was it his heart? Did he have a stroke? Was it the cancer?”

  “They don’t know yet. I’m not even sure he was alive when they found him. I was here when they brought him in. He was already dead.”

  He held out his hands, and Peggy put hers into them, remarking, “You got here quickly.”

  “I was in the area, thankfully.”

  “I can’t believe it. I talked to him last night. He was fine.”

  “I know.” Holles bent his head. “Let’s pray over him. He was a good man with a good heart. God has called him back to him. We have to let him go.”

  Peggy prayed with him. She bent her head and closed her eyes. But all she could see were images of Darmus and Luther in her mind. When they were both young and vital in college, the day she first met them. The fire. Darmus dying. Luther asking for her help with Feed America. Talking to him about Darmus’s memorial on the phone.

  “I don’t want to interrupt,” a young orderly said. “Take all the time you need with him. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  Holles lifted his head, his blue eyes steady. “We’re ready. Luther was strong in his faith. We have to be strong and believe he’s gone on to be with his savior.”

  Peggy’s rational mind agreed. There was no use standing and crying over a dead body. Luther was gone like Darmus was gone. Everything that made him special and more than a piece of flesh was gone, too. But emotionally, she wanted to throw herself on that body beneath the sheet and cry until all her tears were gone.

  She put her hand on the chest area. “Good-bye. I know there are wonderful gardens where you are.”

  “We’re ready.” Holles nodded and held Peggy’s hand.

  The orderly moved to roll the bed out of the room. “I’m sorry for your loss. You can take his personal effects with you if you like.”

  “I’ll take them.” Holles picked up the small bag that contained Luther’s clothes.

  Peggy stood to the side as the orderly moved the bed out of the cubicle. Luther’s hand slipped out from under the sheet and dropped against the side of the bed. Something fell from it and dropped on the gray tile floor. It flashed in the overhead light, then rolled away under the sheet that closed off the cubicle.

  Peggy got down on the floor and chased it as the orderly moved away with the bed that squeaked going down the hall. She followed the quickly moving object until she put her hand on it. It was a ring. Darmus’s gold wedding band. The outside was etched with the figure-eight symbol of eternal life. What was Luther doing with it?

  She looked up and found she was underneath another hospital bed. The man in the bed looked down at her. “Sorry.” She smiled at him as she got to her feet. “My friend lost something.”

  The man didn’t reply; he just stared at her. She found the opening in the curtain that separated the cubicles and walked back to find Holles.

  “What was it?” he asked.

  She held up the wedding band. “Why would Luther have had it?”

  Holles shrugged. “Maybe he liked carrying it with him. Darmus died recently. Maybe it gave him solace.”

  “Why would he have taken it to the garden with him? I mean, why wasn’t it in his pocket?”

  “Who knows?” Holles easily dismissed her questions. “I don’t see anything remarkable about it.”

  “Maybe not. But it seems odd to me.”

  He took a deep breath. “Darmus always told me that once you had an idea in your mind, someone had to use a crow bar to pry it loose.”

  “Sometimes,” she admitted, looking down at the ring in her hand. “I suppose that’s true. And sometimes, it’s a good thing. This feels wrong to me. I want to know how it happen
ed.”

  Peggy made Holles sit down in the waiting area so she could pore over the contents of the bag they’d given him. There was a blue T-shirt with Feed America emblazoned on the front. As she held the shirt Peggy noticed there was something in the pocket. She pulled it out and stared at the wilted flower. It was a hyacinth, probably one Darmus planted in the garden. In the language of flowers, it meant sorrow.

  There was also a pair of jeans that didn’t look big enough to belong to an adult and the watch the church had given him, inscribed on his twentieth anniversary. It was all in the bag along with his wallet. She looked through it. Driver’s license, credit cards, pictures. Nothing seemed to be missing. His shoes and socks were on the bottom.

  “Satisfied?” Holles asked her.

  “I guess so.” She sighed as she replaced all the items in the bag.

  “People die, Dr. Lee,” he told her. “It’s sad only if you don’t realize we’re all going back to God. It’s a happy reunion. There’s nothing to cry about.”

  She got up and stared at him. “I’m sorry for causing such a fuss. I guess I just can’t believe he and Darmus are both gone.”

  He stood beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I know. He was the only one left of his family. Both brothers were an inspiration to the world. I was proud to know them. Now we have to let Luther go and move on. Keep his name and his good works going.”

  She hugged him, crying into his rumpled dark suit coat even while another, analytical part of her brain said he sounded like he was running for public office. “I know you’re right. I just need some time. Darmus’s memorial service isn’t even planned. Now this. We’ll have to plan Luther’s, too.”

  “I know Luther wanted you to give Darmus’s eulogy. I don’t want you to have to give one for Luther, too. We can split it. I’ll do Luther’s. Would that help?”

  “Yes, it would.” She wiped her eyes with her hand and managed to smile. “Thank you, Holles.”

  “I’ll take care of everything and let you know when it’s set.”

  “I’m sure it will be awhile. The police will probably want to do an autopsy on his body to find out what happened.”

  “Maybe. It won’t be that hard to tell if it was a stroke or a heart attack. It should still be over quickly.”

  Peggy agreed. “He managed to pull himself together so well these last few days. He told me last week he thought he was going to die. He seemed so much better after he got here. I thought he was going to make it after all.”

  “He had some serious health problems. He told me the chemo left him with a damaged heart. He did the best he could with the time he had.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “He wasn’t going to slow down or give up a single inch, I think. Admitting he was sick would’ve been terrible for him. I learned in the few days we had that Luther was a proud man. He wanted to carry on his brother’s legacy.”

  “Pride has nothing to do with being ill. He should have told me.”

  “I agree. I’m sorry.”

  They parted at the parking lot. Peggy took the bag with Luther’s few possessions. She’d have to let the church know he was gone.

  She watched Holles run through the rain to his car and leave the hospital parking lot. She knew she should leave, too, but she couldn’t even make herself run to the Vue. She took her time, walked, and was soaked when she got there.

  Peggy sat in Steve’s car for a long time looking at the white bag that contained Luther’s clothes. Ambulances rushed in and out from beneath the hospital’s wide canopy. The rain fell harder, and walkers scurried to find shelter. She didn’t realize how long she’d sat there until she noticed that it was dark.

  So this is what it is to grow old, she reflected on a melancholy bent. Your friends die. Your husband dies. The world changes and goes on without you.

  She was trying to keep John’s memory alive. There was the little plaque by the Potting Shed door, and the part of the Community Garden dedicated to him. All those things she did to keep him part of her life. She and Luther intended to do the same for Darmus. Now those plans were gone, too. Nothing stayed the same.

  Her cell phone rang in her pocketbook. It was Steve. He probably wanted to know where she was; she had left him with her parents for eight hours. People died, but life went on. The world wouldn’t be the same without Darmus and Luther. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  “I was worried about you.” Steve’s voice was husky and quiet on the phone. “I heard about Luther’s death on the news. I’m sorry, Peggy.”

  “Me, too.” She fought to hold back new tears. “Is everything okay there?”

  “Yeah. We ordered pizza for dinner. Everyone is watching the History Channel right now.”

  “Thank you so much for staying with them.”

  “Are you coming home? Do you want me to come and get you?”

  She laughed. “I have your car and the keys for my truck. That might be difficult.”

  “I can ride your bike if I have to. It’s not that far. Sam heard about Luther, too. He’s here with me and Paul.”

  New friends, her mind whispered through her grief. That’s what happens. Life goes on and brings new friends and new loves. The seasons of life change, but flowers still bloom in the spring. The sun rises every day. Seeds are planted, and new flowers grow.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. “I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

  “All right. I’ll give you ten with traffic.”

  “Thanks, Steve.” She put away her phone and started the car. Life was too short at any age for the people you loved to die. Luther would be missed, but he wouldn’t be forgotten.

  5

  Cattail

  Botanical: Typha latifolia

  Family: Typhaceae

  This plant is found worldwide in swamps and bogs, along roadways and railroad tracks. All parts of it are edible. Native Americans have used it for generations for food and to weave baskets. A glue can be made from the stem. The pollen is used in fireworks.

  WHEN SHE GOT HOME and saw her family, Steve, Sam, and Paul waiting for her, Peggy started crying all over again. It distressed everyone so much that she forced herself to stop. She had to explain to her parents who Luther was and why he was important to her. She had to explain why she’d never brought Darmus home to meet them.

  But there really was no good explanation. It just never happened. Either they were away or Darmus was busy. Paul had a baseball game or John had to work. It was always something.

  “Are you hungry?” Steve asked quietly at her side.

  “Not really.” She sniffed. “But some tea would be nice.”

  “Chamomile, right?”

  “Yes. Thanks. With a touch of borage. It’s in the blue canister on the cabinet.”

  “Sit down,” her mother advised. “You’ll feel better.”

  Peggy didn’t remark, as she once would have, that sitting or standing, she’d feel the same. Some of that rebellious spirit she had as a child left her when she got married, had Paul, and grew more mature. Maybe her parents didn’t have all the answers, as her literal redheaded version of herself had once accused them. But she didn’t, either. It took a long time to see the truth.

  “How did it happen?” Sam asked. “I saw Luther at the garden yesterday. He looked okay to me.”

  “Holles thinks it might have been a heart attack. He said Luther had been hiding a heart condition so he could continue Darmus’s work. They probably don’t know yet what happened. I assume they’ll do an autopsy on him.”

  “Thank God he wasn’t a victim of violence.” Cousin Melvin snorted into sudden wakefulness. He had sleep apnea that caused him to fall asleep anytime, anywhere, when he was still for more than a few minutes. “That would be a terrible way to die.”

  “I don’t think he was,” Peggy reassured him. “I don’t know anyone who would hurt him anyway.”

  “There’s a lot of gang activity in that area,” Paul to
ld them. “It was one of our concerns about putting the garden on Seventh Street in the first place.”

  “I’m sure the officers would have told Holles if Luther was injured or murdered.” Peggy took the fragrant cup of tea from Steve with a watery smile. She felt it all start to bubble up in her again. If she didn’t find something else to think about, she wasn’t going to stop crying that night.

  “It’s a terrible thing anyway.” Her father put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry you lost your friend, Margaret.”

  Her lower lip trembled, and Peggy pushed herself to her feet. “I appreciate everyone’s concern, but it’s over. We have to move on. Has Paul showed you my plants in the basement yet?”

  They all looked at her as though she’d turned green and grown an extra head.

  “Margaret,” her mother reminded her, “grieving is a natural part of the process.”

  “It might be,” her daughter acknowledged, “but I’m not going to walk around blubbering because Luther and Darmus are gone. They wouldn’t like it any better than I would.”

  Her father nodded. “Okay, sweet pea. You can show us your garden if you want to.”

  It sounded conciliatory to her, but she wasn’t going to press it. She felt like a piece of sponge cake that had been left out in the rain. Inside, she was slowly crumbling but fighting not to let everyone else see it. Her hands trembled and her legs were unsteady as she led the way downstairs. Sam turned on the lights as they went down the old wood staircase that swept into the basement.

  Peggy was always better here. This huge room was the heart of who she was. In one corner was her large pond where the new cattails she planted were growing. They were a new breed and were heartier and able to grow broader spikes and thicker roots to divide. The cattail was almost completely edible. It was possible to make a flour substance from the tops and boil the roots like potatoes. In an increasing effort to help feed the poor of the world, Peggy had joined a group of botanists who were encouraging and expanding the number of native plants that could be grown as food.