The Leafing: the 2nd book in The Green Man series

by Sharon Brubaker

  Sylvia drew in a breath as she looked over the parishioners below. Candles were lit at the end of every pew and candelabras cast a golden glow on the walls. Fresh greenery was everywhere. Sylvia had read about the hanging of the greens ceremony in the paper. Pine roping was accented with boxwood and holly. Someone had added star lilies to the arrangements along with bows and gold. Their spicy scent filled the church and contrasted sharply with the acrid smell of the boxwood. This service was a high service. Wafts of clove laden incense added to the medley of scents of the church mingled with the perfumes of the parishioners that floated to their balcony seat. The children’s choir was singing, but it was difficult to hear their soft, sweet voices over the large congregation’s shifting causing sharp, loud creaking of the old wooden pews. A fussy baby crying and someone else sneezing, added to the distraction. Sylvia gazed around and gasped. Her mother elbowed her and hissed a whisper to her to pay attention, but Sylvia ignored her. Staring back at her from the juncture of the roof beams were green man faces. Why hadn’t she noticed them before? They were the classic teute a faille faces that looked like someone peering through a leafy mask. They gleamed in the soft candlelight. Sylvia vowed to return during a daylight service to look at them more closely. Her mother elbowed her again. Sylvia stood to sing traditional carols and tried to pay closer attention to the service, but her eyes kept drifting up toward the roof beams to look at the carved faces. Finally the service ended when the choir sang “Silent Night” by candlelight. Its stark beauty left Sylvia and most others speechless. She shivered at the sight as everyone solemnly filed out of the church with their candles. Outside everyone broke the silence shouting “Merry Christmas” and moved to the parish hall for refreshments. Sylvia and her mother bypassed the celebration and walked silently to the car. When she climbed in, Sylvia closed her eyes, adding the details of the green men from the church to her memory.

  Chapter 3

  Everything has been figured out, except how to live.

  Jean-Paul Sartre

  Her mother thought she had dozed off and said, “Wake up, Syl. We’re home.”

  Sylvia opened her eyes. There was an extra car in the driveway. “Who’s here?” she asked puzzled. “I don’t know that car,” she said squinting in the light from the garage.

  “Let’s check,” her mother told her. “Come on.”

  Sylvia walked up to the car with her mother a step behind her. When Sylvia got up to the driver’s side window there was a huge cardboard gift tag taped to the window and a large bow on the front of the windshield.

  “What? What’s this?” Sylvia said again astonished.

  The tag read “Merry Christmas, Sylvia. Love from Mom.” She read the tag slowly once and then again before she turned to her Mom.

  “Mom?” She asked still incredulous.

  “Merry Christmas, Syl,” her Mom grinned at her daughter’s shock and surprise.

  “I can’t believe this,” Sylvia told her mother and her mother began to laugh.

  “I thought you needed a new car instead of my old jalopy,” she told her daughter.

  “Thank you,” Sylvia said and turned to hug her mom. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  Her mother laughed at her astonishment over the gift. “Here,” she said to Sylvia handing her a key. “Check it out.”

  Sylvia took the key from her mother and opened the car door with a click. Sylvia stepped into the driver’s side and her mom got in on the passenger side. It smelled so new. Sylvia turned the key and turned on the inside lights and looked at all of the buttons. She touched them gingerly.

  “Wow,” exclaimed Sylvia. “How did you do this? When did you do this?”

  Her mother laughed again at her daughter’s utter amazement at such a gift. “Let’s go inside,” her mother said. “It’s chilly out here. I can tell you all about it.”

  “Okay,” Sylvia answered as she locked up the new car and went to unlock the door.

  “Oh, here’s the other key,” her Mom said when Sylvia opened up the screen door. An envelope slid onto the top step and her mom bent down to pick it up. She handed it to Sylvia.

  “Would you please hang up my coat?” her mother asked. “I’m going to make us some eggnog and I’m going to have one cookie as an extra treat tonight.

  Sylvia walked out of the kitchen and hung their coats in the little closet under the stairs. Her mother handed her a cup of eggnog when she returned and Sylvia took a sip of eggnog and coughed hard.

  “Sorry,” her mother apologized. “I must have been a little heavy on the rum.”

  “It’s okay,” Sylvia said, sipping again. “I wasn’t expecting it to be spiked so heavily.”

  She took her next sip gingerly. They headed to the living room and turned on the tree. They sat at either end of the couch and Sylvia took more sips from her drink. The heaviness of the extra rum grew increasingly palatable as she sipped. Her head was pleasantly muzzy and she settled back into the coziness of the couch.

  “So tell me,” she said to her mother. “How did this all come about?”

  Her mother was obviously very delighted at her state of shock and amazement about the gift of the car. She grinned at Sylvia’s disbelief, thrilled she had surprised her daughter.

  “So you want to know how I carried this surprise off?” her mother baited her.

  “Yes!” Sylvia cried with exasperation. Then it dawned on her. Owen had been looking for a new car…or had he? “Owen,” she said looking at her mother. “Was he part of this plan?”

  Her mother laughed again. “Yes,” she said. “He was an integral part of this surprise,” she told Sylvia smugly. “We’ve been in contact quite a bit via email and phone,” she admitted.

  “So he’s not really looking for a new car?” Sylvia asked.

  “W-e-l-l,” her mother answered slowly. “I think he was looking too, but we sort of ‘killed two birds with one stone’ with this venue,” she said using the old cliché.

  Sylvia remembered Owen poring over car ads and dragging her around various dealerships. They had test driven several and for a while she was caught up in his fever of car hunting, but eventually wearied of traipsing to every dealership in a thirty mile radius every weekend for the last few months. She had fallen in love with the new auto hybrids. She had blanched at the price tags and now the realization hit her that her mother had purchased one of the hybrid cars for her. Her eyes met her mother’s with this realization.

  “Mom,” Sylvia began, and tears threatened to reach the brim of her eyelids. “I can’t believe you…” she broke off.

  “I know,” her mother replied gently. “I think everything this year has changed me,” she told Sylvia. “I’ve learned that life is too short to worry about certain things.” She shrugged her shoulders and continued, “So, I cashed in some investments…” she stopped as tears had come into her eyes.

  “Oh, Mom,” Sylvia breathed.

  She rushed to give her mom a hug with tears still at the brink. The telephone rang and her mom got up to answer it.

  “Merry Christmas,” she answered the caller. She laughed again to the person who had phoned. “Yes, yes, she was stunned. She still is, I think,” she stated. Her mother listened for a few more minutes before she handed the phone to Sylvia saying, “It’s my cohort in this crime.”

  “Hi, Syl,” he said, “Surprised?” he asked.

  “Unbelievably,” she stated. “You two are quite something.”

  Owen laughed a rich, warm laugh clearly enjoying Sylvia’s stunned surprise as much as her mom. She could imagine his hazel eyes twinkling brightly as they crinkled up at the corners.

  “Seriously,” he said with a sober note in his voice, “Your mom wanted to make this a very special Christmas.”

  “I think I understand,” Sylvia said and added after a pause, “Now. Did you know she had a mild heart attack in October?” she asked him.

  “What?” Owen was as stunned as Sylvia was a few minutes ago. “Are you serious?�
��

  “Completely,” she told him. “I just found out today.”

  “I had no idea,” Owen told her truthfully. “She contacted me by email in early November. Do you remember how I started looking at the new models of cars?”

  “How could I forget?” Sylvia teased, “It took up every free waking moment of your day and weekend.”

  “I probably drove you almost over the edge with the car shopping thing, didn’t I?” Owen asked. She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “You very nearly did,” Sylvia told him. “But, you made up for it,” she added slyly.

  “Mmm,” Owen murmured. “I remember.”

  They both sighed simultaneously.

  “Those are some memories I would like to relive,” Owen suggested to her, “and soon.”

  “Or, we could make new memories with the one Christmas present I received from you,” she whispered to him as carefully as she could as her mother was nearby and she glanced at the box that contained the scarlet sweater that Owen had given her. Underneath, was the ruby red lingerie tucked away from sight.

  “Ahh…” Owen sighed. “I’m imagining the possibilities…” his voice trailed off.

  In the background Sylvia could hear his mother’s voice ask “was she surprised?”

  Owen sighed, “Hold on,” he said quietly. “Mom wants to talk with you.”

  “Sylvia?” Anne Anderson came onto the line. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas, Anne,” Sylvia returned. “How are you?” she asked politely.

  “I’m wonderful,” Anne said. “I take it you were more than a little surprised?” she asked.

  “Definitely,” Sylvia said. She hesitated a moment as her mom was waving at her making motions that she wanted to talk to Anne. “Mom seems to be anxious to talk to you Anne. So, I’m going to hand the phone over to her. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

  Sylvia handed the phone to her mom. Weariness assaulted her as well as the rum. She leaned back against the couch. The next thing she knew, her mom was shaking her awake and telling her to go to bed.

  When morning came, Sylvia remembered that as a child she would cajole and coerce her parents and grandmother to get up before dawn on Christmas. As she grew older her grandmother would pull her into bed with her and they would snuggle and whisper about Santa Claus until her curiosity would overcome them and Gran would push her out of bed laughing and tell her to wake up her mother while she made coffee. She woke up thinking about those memories and sorrow suddenly washed over her. This would be her first Christmas without Gran. The sorrow was still a dull ache that never seemed to leave. It had lessened in the last few months, but it was not gone.

  Grimacing, Sylvia ran her tongue over her teeth. It felt like the proverbial dirty little sweat socks had covered each one. How much rum had her mother put in that eggnog? With her headache and fuzzy teeth as a barometer, she knew it had been a significant amount. Sylvia threw her legs over the side of the bed and sat up groaning aloud. Her head pounded. She seldom drank anything stronger than wine. Sylvia needed coffee and aspirin. Lots of coffee, but not before she brushed the fuzzy little sweat socks from her teeth.

  In minutes, she was cradling a warm steamy cup of coffee feeling somewhat better. She sniffed its fragrance, sipped and greedily snatched a couple of cookies along with some aspirin as she headed to the living room. Her mom had left the tree lights on in their tradition and Sylvia settled on the couch. She saw a surprisingly large pile of presents under the tree. Puzzled she peeked at the nametags. The one large pile was addressed to her from her mother. Her mother definitely had changed over the last couple of months, she mused. Her history, of saving every penny and only shopping for bargains, seemed to have undergone a complete catharsis.

  She stared out at the water dreamily and watched the early morning light play on the water. The snow had stayed and just topped the grass to make it look white. The bay was a slate blue and looked cold. One of her neighbors had placed a Christmas tree at the end of their pier and its lights shown dully in the morning light. She was so lost in thought that she nearly dropped her coffee cup when her mother filled the doorway wishing her greetings of the season.

  “Merry Christmas, Syl,” her Mother said as she walked over to the back of the couch and dropped a swift kiss on the back of her daughter’s head. Her Mom lifted the coffee cup gently out of her hands and went to refill it and get a cup for herself.

  “Merry Christmas,” Sylvia replied when her Mom returned a moment later. Mary settled into the other end of the couch and held her coffee in one hand. She gently ran her finger around the rim with the other, in her familiar habit, then she, too, stared at the tree and the bay for a moment.

  “How long have you been awake?” her mother asked.

  “I guess about a half an hour or so,” Sylvia replied. She looked slyly at her mother and said, “I woke up just after Santa’s elves put those tiny little sweat socks over my teeth. Gee, Mom, could you have put a little rum into the eggnog?” she questioned her sarcastically.

  “Sorry, Syl,” she said. “I guess I got a little heavy handed. Do you have a hangover?”

  Sylvia rolled her eyes, “Y-e-a-h, only a little bit of one. Fortunately, coffee, aspirin and Christmas cookies have come to the rescue.”

  Sylvia got up and picked up the gifts for her mother and put them on the couch next to her.

  “I started opening first last night,” she told her. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Her mother opened up the gifts and admired the scarf, jewelry and the new leather briefcase Sylvia had purchased for her. Then she opened the gifts from Marian and Owen and his parents.

  “Marian always goes overboard, doesn’t she,” her Mother murmured as she admired the beautiful hand knit sweater Marian had given her.

  “I think she picked that up on one of her trips with Jon,” Sylvia told her.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” her Mom answered. “Have you heard from her?”

  “Just that they arrived safely,” Sylvia told her. “We actually need to go and check the house later today. Owen will be back tomorrow and I’m unofficially the house sitter right now.”

  “That would be fine,” her Mother replied. “Now it’s your turn,” she said and she got up to get Sylvia’s pile of gifts.”

  “Mom, you already did too much with getting the car,” Sylvia admonished.

  “Don’t worry,” her mother told her. “These are just some little things to go along with the car.”

  Sylvia laughed when she opened up a package of Armorall wipes to clean the car, a bucket and sponge, key chain and other car items.

  “Thank you,” she told her mother. “They’re wonderful.”

  “Here’s one last gift,” her mother said gently as she handed Sylvia a small box.

  Sylvia opened the box to find a beautiful ring of overlapping circles in mixture of white, rose and yellow gold and gemstones. Sylvia gasped at its beauty. Gently she removed it from the box. It nearly hummed in her hand with the weight of the ring.

  “It’s…” she felt at a loss for words and glanced at her mother whose eyes were filling with tears.

  “She wanted to give it to you herself,” her mother said, choking up with tears.

  Sylvia let the tears fall too.

  Her mother sniffed and went to get a box of tissues. Blowing her nose loudly in the kitchen she returned with the box of tissues and handed them to Sylvia.

  “I fussed at Mother about this,” she said. “You know too much money. She had it commissioned by a local jeweler who knows a young goldsmith near Chadds Ford and…” her mother filled up with tears again. “I picked it up last month,” she finished.

  Sylvia handed the box of tissues back to her mother before she put the ring on. It was too big for her ring finger, but she put it on her middle finger where it gleamed.

  “It’s unbelievably lovely,” she told her mother. “Thank you.”

  Her hand felt heavy with the unaccust
omed weight. It sparkled on her finger. She was stunned—first by her mother’s generosity and secondly by her grandmother’s gift from beyond her grave. They sat silent for a few minutes each in their own thoughts. The ringing of the phone brought them back to reality.

  Startled, Sylvia answered, “Merry Christmas.”

  “Hello, Sylvia!’ Marian’s cheery voice came through the phone. “Happy Christmas, as they say in Merry Old England. How are you?”

  It was good to hear Marian’s voice. Waking her from her melancholy, Sylvia bubbled on about the car and the gift from Gran.

  “No diamond from Owen?” Marian asked slyly.

  “No,” Sylvia said firmly. “No diamond. But what about you?” she returned the comment.

  “Not exactly a diamond,” Marian said mysteriously.

  Sylvia heard something she had not heard in her friend’s voice before. Unsure what to say, she told Marian, “Here, you can talk to Mom. Please give my best to Jon.”

  Sylvia handed the phone to her mother who greeted Marian with a cheery “Merry Christmas!”

  Sylvia went to the kitchen to warm up their coffee while Marian chatted with her mother. Her Mom had barely hung up the phone when it rang again. This time it was Owen and his family. After holiday greeting had been exchanged, she looked forward to hearing Owen’s voice.

  “I miss you,” he said to her once she got on the phone.

  “Miss you too,” she replied. “It’s empty here without you,” she told him.

  “Only until tomorrow,” he assured her. “I’m leaving right after breakfast, and with good, clear roads I should be there by late afternoon.”

  “Good,” Sylvia said.

  They chatted a few more minutes and hung up the phone. Her mother had gone upstairs to get dressed for the day and Sylvia found her in the kitchen preparing the turkey breast.

  “If it’s okay with you,” she said to her daughter, “We’ll skip lunch and just have a lupper.” Lupper was a meal between lunch and dinner, a term Sylvia had coined with her grandmother when she was young. “Linner” was another if it were to be more formal. Sylvia couldn’t help but smile and agree with her Mom. They both lazed around for the day as the turkey breast cooked in the oven. With her Mom’s heart smart cooking, Sylvia let her Mother complete the dinner, as her own suggestions were much higher in fat than what her mother was allowed. It was a quiet Christmas and Sylvia couldn’t help but think it was best as both mother and daughter had been thinking of Gran and missing her this year. They walked together, bundled up against the cold and the incoming bay breezes, but did little talking. Back at the house, her mother heated some milk and added vanilla and sugar. Hot vanilla milk had been a tradition that her grandmother had started. She had often told Sylvia that it was melted clouds.