“He was the only one who drank them?” I ask.
“He would allow a few others, after he’d tested the brew. Most of our teas come from him.” She points at the cup in my hand. “Including that one. That’s why he’s known as the tea man. He didn’t just invent the peace and ritual teas.”
He did invent those, though, through a trial-and-error methodology, until he had the right blend with ingredients found close by. There’d been other formulations, according to Josie, but he’d wanted one with easily accessible components.
“Did he have any obvious expertise in botany or medicine?” I ask.
“Hendricks was obviously very well educated.” She gives a gentle smile, dark eyes softening with old affection. “He reminded me of a college professor, and I would worry when he went so far into the bush. But he knew what he was doing, both out there and with his teas.”
“Did you get a sense of why he was developing teas with … medicinal effects? Was it a … hobby?”
She looks at me and then bursts out laughing. “You mean was he the kind of guy who grew weed in his backyard and mushrooms in his basement?” Her dark eyes glitter. “I wasn’t born in the settlement, Casey. I did my share of pharmaceutical experimentation down south.” She catches her niece’s confusion and pats her back. “You missed out on many things, child. For better and worse, and I’m not sure which that is. A little of both, I suspect.”
Josie turns to me. “You’re asking whether Hendricks was a hobby grower. Maybe even a small-time entrepreneur. My laugh may have answered the question. He was as far as I can imagine from the type. Like I said, he reminded me of a professor. A hot professor.” Her brows waggle. “But a professor nonetheless. Science major with a liberal arts minor. Serious and academic. He would drink the tea to relax, but only sparingly. So why create it? Boredom.”
She settles back and sips her own tea. “He had a mind that needed constant stimulation. While he insisted that he’d been an office worker, I suspect he was a scientist. I have a couple of degrees myself.” She shrugs. “I was restless, couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do. So I know the type, and I know the feeling. He was looking for something he didn’t find in Rockton and didn’t find here. He bored easily and creating teas became his pet project.”
“You said he created most of your teas—the regular brews and the narcotic ones. Did you feel as if the peace tea and ritual tea were his goal? That he was looking for something more than a soothing afternoon brew? Or did he stumble on them by accident, and it was the community who wanted those perfected?”
“Hard to say. We might have shared a bed, but Hendricks was not an easy man to read. Nor was he one to share his thoughts. We argued about that. I took offense. Accused him of thinking the color of my skin meant I wasn’t smart enough or educated enough to converse on his level. That wasn’t it, though. We talked about many things, big ideas and esoteric trivia. Just nothing personal.”
Another sip of her tea before she continues. “I’m not sure whether he intended to create the peace tea, but he seemed happy with it. We had a few residents who wanted to ban it. They worried about reefer madness—the fear that marijuana would turn people into lunatics. He argued against that, with enough facts that told me if he wasn’t a practicing scientist, he definitely had the education for it. The other tea, though? He wasn’t as happy with that.”
“The ritual tea? The hallucinogenic one?”
She makes a face, and I hurry on with, “I mean the tea that induces visions.”
Josie laughs. “My expression didn’t mean I was offended by the use of the word ‘hallucinogen.’ When it comes to our faith … Well, down south, I went to church for the picnics and the luncheons and the singing. The sense of community. My church wasn’t fire and brimstone. It was love and peace and mercy. That’s what I wanted, and it’s what I have here. If there is a force in the world that I think deserves our respect, it’s nature, so I’m good with that. I’m just not … as wrapped up in the specifics of our faith.”
Nancy nods, and Josie leans against her briefly, murmuring a word or two I don’t catch. A shared moment of understanding.
Then Josie continues. “Hendricks didn’t like the ritual tea. I don’t think he’d have shared it with us except … Well, the original formulation didn’t affect him in that way. It only caused a stronger euphoria. Others experienced mild hallucinations, so he tried to rescind it, but people already knew the recipe. After he was gone, they strengthened the hallucinogenic qualities.”
“How strongly did he argue against it?”
“It concerned him, but not enough to do more than impart educational warnings about the dangers of hallucinogens.”
“How soon after that did he leave?”
“Quite soon. He perfected the first tea, tinkering a bit, mostly with the taste. Once it was done…” She shrugs. “He lost purpose. He’d given us several drinking teas and the ritual one, and after that, he seemed at loose ends. Within a month, he was gone.”
TWENTY-THREE
I ask more questions about Hendricks. I presumed that was a surname, but it seems to have been the only one he divulged. I get a physical description, too. That part confuses Josie. It’s been over thirty years. Am I hoping to find him? No. I just want all the details I can get.
I have another question after that. One designed to zero in on the genesis of the hostiles. When the “wild people” first appeared, were any of them recognizable former members of the Second Settlement? This is not the first time I’ve asked. The elders avoided my questions with platitudes about how everyone has a right to choose their own path in life.
This is how their commune views hostiles. These aren’t savage settlers lurking on their borders. They’re just “wild people” with a different belief system and traditions, and we are in no position to judge them for it. It’s a lofty ideological goal. A bit hypocritical, I’d argue, considering their views on homosexuality, but people often argue equality for one group while failing to see how they’re denying it for another.
In this case, there’s a weird blinkered vibe to it, too. Like knowing your neighbor beats his wife and kids, but not reporting the abuse with the excuse that it may be a “cultural difference.” The settlement adopted a “live and let live” attitude while failing to admit that the hostiles are dangerous and growing their ranks through kidnapping and brainwashing.
So I ask the question while knowing there’s nothing I can do if they block me. Nancy and Tomas have a more realistic view of the hostiles—having befriended a former one—but that doesn’t mean Nancy can overcome her background to speak where the elders wished silence.
Nancy looks at her aunt with obvious discomfort. Josie sips her tea, her gaze fixed in the distance, and I think this is my answer. Then she says, slowly, “Some of the early wild people were former members of our settlement. I realize the elders object to you knowing that, but they haven’t forbidden it. Nancy has spoken to me about her friend, pushing me to see that the wild people may be in need of help in a way we didn’t realize. In a way that makes the other elders uncomfortable.”
Josie sips her tea again before continuing. “Down south, I had a cousin who took his own life, and my family insisted it was heart failure. To admit the problem would be to face our own failure to help him. The same principle applies here. If we are reluctant to admit a link between our settlement and the wild people, it is because we fear we are responsible, if not for creating them, then for treating them as fellow settlers, composed only of willing members, and turning a blind eye to anything that would suggest otherwise.”
Josie wraps her hands around her cup. “They began as a group of settlers. Three of our own had left peacefully, and we traded with them. Others joined them. From Rockton, I believe. We expected the group would become a third settlement, and that seemed to be their intention. Then…”