My pal from high school gave me an appreciative look. Some of her confidence returned. “What we have to do is, we have to find a couple more feral trees that are resistant to the disease. If they’re resistant. Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. That’s only the first step, because-well, there are a lot of factors. DNA testing might show there’s a significant difference between… Hang on a sec.” She reached, changed radio frequencies, and contacted Immokalee Regional to advise them we were inbound.
“Call your obstetrician,” I said when she was done. “We’ll talk about it on the way.”
Choking Creek. The name settled into my head as we landed.
The waiting room at Immokalee Pediatric Clinic was full, but the receptionist hurried us in when she heard our story. Unfortunately, people sitting near the window heard, too. Roberta’s doctor wasn’t on call, so a staff M.D. took her to a separate examining room while a male nurse tended to me.
“I’ve never seen a python bite,” he said. “You sure it was a python?”
“Unless you know of another snake that’s fifteen feet long and tries to crush you…” I reached for my phone. “I might have a picture.”
I did. It was a blurry shot framed by the seaplane’s window. The nurse, looking over my shoulder, said, “Holy shit. That looks more like the Loch Ness Monster. They swim with their heads up?”
“Those trees in the background,” I said, “are black mangroves or buttonwoods. See how thick the trunks are? That gives you some idea of the size. The snake’s girth, at least. This isn’t the one that bit me. This one’s bigger by about half.”
“My god. Mind if I see that?” The nurse took the phone and zoomed in, saying, “I weigh a little over two hundred pounds, and this thing could swallow me whole. Did you contact the sheriff’s department or the FWC? You should. A snake that targets people needs to be destroyed. Where, exactly, did it happen?”
Until then, I had considered the possibility that, by seeking medical help, I might have to reveal the location of my uncle’s secret spot. “East of Marco Island,” I said. “All those islands look the same. It would be hard to say for sure.”
That seemed to satisfy the nurse. “In the Everglades, yeah,” he said. “I’ve read pythons have killed off just about everything, so I guess we shouldn’t be surprised, huh? You know-surprised they’re going after hikers. Or were you fishing?”
“Exploring,” I said, switching off my phone. “Our mistake was trying to wade ashore.”
He changed gloves, lowered a magnifying visor, and focused a lamp on my bicep. “Hmm… looks more like a bobcat tried to sink its claws but couldn’t get a good hold. You’re one lucky girl, know that? I’ll numb you up-a debridement brush is no fun, believe me. When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
Roberta was still with the doctor when I was done, so I decided to wait in my SUV. A woman who looked too old to need a pediatrician followed me out. Gray-haired, dressed for golf in shorts and a yellow blouse. She was animated and chatty, which seemed okay because she did volunteer work as an advocate for migrants who came annually to pick tomatoes, melons, and citrus. “I couldn’t help overhearing what happened,” she said. “A python, of all things. My goodness, that had to be terrifying. What I worry about is children who live on the outskirts. Some parents let them run around wild-or they’re both working and can’t afford child care. How far from here did it happen?”
The woman was pleasant, articulate in a probing, gossipy way, but she cared about a segment of the population that, for most, remains comfortably invisible. In my eagerness to reassure her, I let my guard down and slipped into an easygoing seesaw of questions and answers. I didn’t realize my mistake until she said, “I sure hope Mrs. Daniels is okay. Was she bitten, too?”
“You know Roberta?”
“My husband’s family has been in the citrus business since I don’t know how long. She wouldn’t remember me. My husband-Elmer Lee Ogden is his name-we were both widowed and met only two years ago. Now we split our time between my condo on Marco and his ranch. I have to admit, when he told me Immokalee, I cringed, which only proves how little I knew about Florida. It’s some of the most beautiful country you’ve ever seen. Why don’t you come visit some afternoon?”
She produced a card. Abigail was her name. We chatted a while longer, then she returned inside to check on a teenage mother she was helping.
I didn’t mention the woman until Roberta was in my SUV and had assured me she was okay. According to the doctor, there was no need for an emergency sonogram, her Monday appointment would do.
“Elmer Ogden has the biggest grove south of the Tamiami Trail,” she said. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Did you tell her why we were down there?”
“No, just that we were exploring. But her husband might wonder why you were involved. I didn’t say exactly where, of course.”
“That, I would keep secret-but you don’t think we can keep the rest secret, do you? I’m a plant pathologist, not an expert on rootstock. There are at least half a dozen people I’ll need to ask questions or for advice. They won’t know how to help unless I explain myself. And we need to visit some groves before you start collecting. In fact”-she reached for Abigail’s card, which I’d placed on the console-“Mr. Ogden might be a good place to start. He’s a gentleman, very countrified in a sweet way, but don’t let him fool you. You don’t get rich on a thousand acres of cattle and citrus without being smart. He’s stubborn, too-stubborn enough to not cut down his pioneer citrus just because some bureaucrats ordered him to do it.”
I asked, “Is that true?” I was thinking of another stubborn man, Harney Chatham.
“It’s what I’m hoping. Every grove in Florida has some sign of psyllid infestation. If there’re pioneer trees on Ogden’s property and they show the same resistance as your grandfather’s citrus, that means something. Healthy feral citrus on an island doesn’t. Not for certain anyway. Could be the insects haven’t found those trees yet.”
“In central Florida,” I said, “there are a lot of stubborn men and women who come from old-time families. Particularly between Arcadia and Sebring. There are big stretches of wild country, so we might have to rent the plane again. I’ll make a list of names. Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Interesting,” she said. “It didn’t cross my mind, but I like the idea. Mostly what I’m thinking is, this might be my one chance to make some real money. Enough for a college fund and to pay off the mortgage-maybe even pay off my college loans. I took today as a sick day and I’ve got the weekend off. I want to keep after this thing.”
“You still owe money for school?”
She winced in a way that pained me. “Almost a hundred grand to get my Ph.D.-that’s double what I make in a year. Now with the baby coming? It’s wishful thinking, I know, but how many people claim to have a great idea but don’t follow through? We might be on to something, Hannah. I really think there’s a chance. So, yeah… visit every old-time grove you can find.”
In a determined way that was familiar, she added, “We’re already here. Why not call your new friend, Abigail Ogden?”
I did, but not before saying, “I’ll call everyone I know, but we start tomorrow. First, I need a long shower to get the stink of muck and snakes off me.”
FOURTEEN
It had been fifteen days since I’d heard from Kermit Bigalow, and a week since Roberta had exited her sonogram appointment with a smile on her face. A lot had happened, most of it good, so my guard was down, and it seemed okay when, on a windy Sunday morning, Kermit’s name flashed on my phone.