Good Medicine

by Bobby Hutchinson

  “I need to learn so much more about your culture,” Jordan admitted. “I read the books you suggested, but they focused on the history.”

  “History is what we’re trying to get back to, because life worked for us back then. But it ain’t easy. The world has changed so much. Listening to the stories our elders tell is the best way for you to learn. There’s a dinner at the community hall Saturday night, lots of food and conversation. You should come, everybody will be there.”

  “What time?” She saw the look on Christina’s face and laughed. “Just give me a ballpark figure.”

  Christina shrugged. “Come when it suits you.”

  “You’re a big help.”

  “Probably around six-thirty or seven would be good.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be there.”

  “My brother Silas has written a lot of articles about our ways. He’d be a good person to talk to. He understands both cultures. See, his father’s white. Silas lived with him in Vancouver from when he was little until about six years ago.”

  “You said he’s a writer.” Jordan had seen Silas several times these past few days, at the small grocery, walking along the dirt road through the village, in the clinic talking to Louie. He’d nodded politely, but he never made a point of talking to her the way others did.

  “Yeah.” Christina hesitated, and then added, “He’s also a healer.”

  “He’s a healer?” Jordan was amazed. “I know he comes by to see Louie often, but I had no idea, I mean he must…does he…he probably resents the fact that the council hired me.”

  “Not at all.” Christina shook her head. “He believes, as I do, that there’s a need for all types of healers in the community.”

  “He’s not very—” Jordan stopped herself from adding friendly. She was talking about Christina’s brother. “He seems to keep to himself. I’d love to talk to him, compare notes on medical techniques.”

  “Silas is a loner,” Christina said. “He’s caring and compassionate, but growing up half-and-half was hard on him. He doesn’t trust easy. It took a long time for me to establish the sister-brother thing. We had to get to know each other as adults.”

  “Why do you think he came back?” Jordan knew she was being nosy, but she couldn’t help herself. The man interested her.

  “He didn’t plan on staying, I know that much. He was doing research for his Ph.D. thesis on modern science’s approach to medicine versus indigenous healing, and he spent a lot of time with Grandmother Sandrine. She was an amazing healer. Anyhow, he spent the winter here. In the spring he went back to Vancouver for a couple days, but he’s been here ever since. He hardly ever goes as far as Tofino.”

  “This would be a good place to hide out, if you wanted to.” Which of course was exactly what Jordan was doing. “Is your grandmother still alive?”

  Christina shook her head. “Grandmother Sandrine passed two years ago. Ninety-six. She was sharp right up until the week she died. An amazing storyteller.”

  “I’m sorry I never got to meet her.”

  “I’m sorry she’s gone—I miss her like crazy. She was so much fun. Silas wrote down some of her stories—he might let you read them.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Jordan suspected it would never happen. Silas didn’t exactly seem like a big fan of hers.

  “Why don’t you ask him? He’s coming to the dinner Saturday night.”

  “Why don’t you ask for me? I’m scared of him—he never smiles.”

  “I’ll tell him you said that.”

  “Don’t. I’ll ask him myself.”

  “Good. Nothing ventured, nothing won.”

  “Do you do a lot of counseling? Because your technique could use work.”

  Christina stuck out her tongue.

  THE DINNER HAD BEEN FANTASTIC. Seated between Rose Marie and Grandmother Alice, Jordan was enjoying watching the villagers as they mingled over coffee and dessert. And then she saw Silas making his way toward her through the crowd. Suddenly she felt a tinge of nervousness.

  She’d seen Christina buttonhole Silas a few minutes before. Now she understood that Christina had laid down the law.

  Go be nice to the doctor.

  Silas moved with a quiet grace, and because of his height he stood out in the crowd. He stopped beside Jordan. His long hair was neatly parted and caught back in a leather tie, the white streak standing out dramatically.

  “Doctor Burke.” He inclined his head in a brief nod. His voice was deep and soft. “We met before, I’m Silas Keefer.”

  “I remember.” As if I’d forget. And what was the polite term for addressing a healer? Jordan had no idea. Uncomfortable with him looming over her, she pushed her chair back and got to her feet. She came just past his shoulder, which made him a good six-four or-five.

  “Nice to see you again.” Smiling easily—she hoped—Jordan held out her hand.

  “Doctor.” He took her hand and held it.

  “Jordan, please.” His grip was firm, his hand dry and slightly rough. She was shocked at how hot his skin was. Waves of heat seemed to radiate from his palm to hers. She drew her hand back and folded her arms, feeling awkward and aware that everyone in the immediate vicinity was trying too hard not to look at them.

  “Christina says you’d like to read Grandmother Sandrine’s stories.”

  “Yes. I’m trying to learn as much as I can about the First Nations people.”

  “I’ll drop them off for you.”

  “That would be great.” She could sense that he was about to turn and walk away.

  “Christina tells me you’re a healer,” she blurted, with all the finesse of a Mack truck. “I thought—that is, I wondered—would you like to talk sometime?” She was stammering. She was an idiot. “Talk about healing,” she amended, heat scorching her face.

  Oh my God, did he think she was coming on to him? A relationship was the last thing in the world she wanted. Garry was one relationship too many. She honestly did just want to talk about their approaches to treating patients. Didn’t she?

  He was looking into her eyes and for the first time since she’d known him, he smiled. An enigmatic smile that revealed wonderful strong white teeth. That made him unusual among the adults of Ahousaht, since the village had no dentist.

  Here she was with the most physically attractive man she’d seen off the silver screen, and all she could think about was his teeth?

  And Garry. Whatever physical response this man stirred in her reminded her of the husband she’d loved—and grown to hate. She’d heard about rebounds, and she wasn’t about to go there.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “WOULD YOU LIKE SOME COFFEE, Jordan?” Silas gestured to two huge urns set up on a side table. “I’m heading over that way, you want to join me?”

  “Thanks.” She fell into step beside him. “Louie seems to be recovering amazingly well. He’s up already, getting around on crutches.”

  Brilliant, Burke. As if the entire village doesn’t already know that.

  “I’ve never seen anyone heal that quickly. He must have an extremely strong immune system. Or else the air here should be bottled and sold as an elixir.”

  “Nah, you just did a great job sewing him up.”

  They’d reached the coffee machines, and he filled a mug and handed it to her. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black, thanks.” He took his the same way. “You’ve been treating him, as well, though.” It was just a hunch, but the more she thought about it… “Maybe that’s the reason he’s breaking records.”

  “Or maybe Roberta’s driving him nuts and he can’t wait to get back to work.”

  His expression didn’t change, and it took Jordan a second to realize he was making a joke. My God, the man had a trace of humor. She pretended to consider his words, and nodded.

  “Yes. We really do need more study into the effect of negative incentive on recovery.”

  “My thought exactly.” He motioned to two empty chairs, and they sat across from each other
at an empty card table. Jordan sipped at her coffee, propped her chin on one hand and decided to take a chance.

  “You do know that you have me totally intimidated, Silas Keefer. You write books, you cause wounds to heal practically overnight, you probably paint masterpieces and design rocket ships in your spare time.”

  “Only very small ones. Working undercover for the government doesn’t leave a lot of time for hobbies.” He was smiling again, his deep-set green eyes twinkling. His lashes were enough to make any woman sick with jealousy. “And what do you do when you’re not being Doctor Burke, Doctor Burke?”

  “You mean for fun?” Helen had asked her that in their last session. It had been so long since Jordan had done anything except work and worry about Garry.

  “I read a lot. I used to love swimming. And painting. Years ago, I took some art classes in watercolors—not that I’ll ever be an Emily Carr. At the moment, I’m trying to learn to cook on my trusty woodstove. Rose Marie has promised to give me lessons.”

  “Mom’s a good teacher. And she’s an excellent cook. She taught me, teaching you’ll be a snap after that. Boiling water was a big milestone for me.”

  “I’ve gotten as far as lighting the stove, that was a major hurdle. By the way, where do you buy kindling? I’m running out.”

  For the first time, she actually heard him laugh out loud. “I’ll order some for you, they’re a specialty item. I take it you’ve never had a personal relationship with a woodstove before.”

  “I grew up in the city. Flip a switch, turn on a burner, cancel the above and pick up the phone, which I’m adept at.”

  He shook his head. “Not skills that’re going to stand you in good stead in Ahousaht. It takes a little while, but pretty soon you’ll get used to doing things the hard way. And the surroundings make up for it. Done any exploring yet?”

  “I haven’t had time. Christina told me there’s a wonderful trail with routes to three beaches. I thought I’d give that a try soon, maybe on Sunday, if nobody needs me and it’s not raining.”

  Too late, she realized that he might misconstrue that as an invitation.

  He nodded. “The Wild Side Trail. It leads through miles of old-growth forest. Some of the women got together a few years ago and bullied the government into funding it. Attracts lots of tourists. You’ll probably be called on to treat more than a few sprained ankles and strained ligaments before the summer’s over, maybe even a broken leg.”

  “That strenuous, huh? I’d better get in shape before I tackle it.”

  He made a quick up-and-down survey of her chinos and blue T-shirt. Apparently this Renaissance man was also a typical male. Startled by his obvious appreciation, she looked away.

  “You’ll manage fine. But the wooden planks are slippery when wet. Warning signs are posted—people just don’t pay attention.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m not exactly an athlete, myself.” She was relieved that he hadn’t offered to come with her, yet disappointed when he drained his coffee and got to his feet.

  “Good luck with the cooking classes.” He shrugged into his battered black leather jacket, gave her a half salute and was gone before she could say goodbye.

  Jordan sat for a few minutes while her heartbeat slowed. She wasn’t prepared for the way Silas made her feel. The man was a walking aphrodisiac. And here came Christina, with a younger version of the same. She sat in the chair Silas had just vacated. The tall teenager hooked a spare chair, spun it around and straddled it, cowboy-style.

  “I want you to meet my baby brother, Patwin Crow. Patwin, this is Doctor Jordan Burke.”

  “Hi, Patwin, good to meet you.” Jordan smiled at the young man.

  “Pleasure,” Patwin said with a polite nod.

  Jordan studied him. There was a lot about the boy’s appearance that reminded her of Silas: shining long black hair tied at the nape of his neck, sculpted cheekbones, aquiline nose, strong indented chin. His eyes were black instead of green, but he had the killer lashes. There was something about his sullen expression and the set of his jaw, however, that made Jordan think he wasn’t very happy at the moment.

  Christina said something in their language, and he responded in a deep, soft, uninflected voice. Shaking his head, he got to his feet.

  “Nice to meet you, Doctor.”

  Before Jordan could answer, he was moving away.

  “Your brothers don’t have a whole lot of time for small talk.”

  “Oh, usually you can’t shut Patwin up. I just said something that made him good and mad. I saw you talking to Silas. He said he’d get Grandmother’s stories to you, did he tell you?”

  “He also just warned me about broken legs and muscle strain….”

  But Christina wasn’t listening. She was staring after Patwin, a frown creasing her forehead. He’d stopped to talk to a group of young people near the door of the hall, and Jordan could hear them laughing at something he’d said.

  “Is Patwin still in school?”

  Christina shook her head and sighed, turning toward Jordan.

  “Don’t I wish. He’s just turned seventeen, he’s got a brain on him, but. He got out of the youth detention center in Vancouver last week, so at least for the time being he’s clean.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Yup. He’s a disaster, our Patwin. He ran away to the city at fourteen and each time Dad brought him back he ran again. I just hope this time he stays here. Mom and Dad worry about him so much. Silas has tried to straighten him out, I’ve tried. Patwin doesn’t listen.”

  “I’m sorry, Christina.” Jordan understood all too well. “If there’s ever anything I can do—”

  “Thanks, Jordan. I hope he’s being straight with me when he says he’s gonna stick around. Dad’s told him he can work with him taking out fishing charters, but Patwin’s not too keen on the idea. I was asking him what the hell else he’s gonna do if he doesn’t work with Dad.” She glanced around. “Mom and Grandmother Alice must be in the kitchen cleaning up. I should go help.”

  “I’ll come, too.”

  “You’ll get bossed around. They’re tyrants, that kitchen crew.”

  “I can take it.”

  The kitchen was a hive of coordinated activity. Women’s voices rose and fell in an intricate singsong punctuated by bursts of laughter. It seemed to Jordan that everyone was talking and no one listening, while at the same time, things were getting accomplished with little wasted effort.

  Christina raised her voice over the hubbub. “Okay, you have two more bodies here, what can we do?”

  The woman with her hands in dishwater at the sink was more than happy to turn the task over to Christina. Jordan was handed a fresh tea towel by a tiny, older woman.

  “Grandmother Bertha, this is our new doctor, Jordan Burke,” Christina said.

  When the elderly woman moved away, Jordan whispered, “How many grandmothers do you have?”

  “A whole parcel,” Christina said, laughing. “It’s our custom to call all elders grandmother and grandfather, or auntie and uncle—out of respect.”

  “So Grandmother Alice isn’t related to you?”

  “Not in the sense you mean. Dad’s mother, Grandmother Katchina, died before Sandrine. Kids here are lucky, they have a whole lot of grandmothers to fall back on when one leaves for the spirit world.”

  “That’s more than luck, it’s a blessing. I never had even one grandmother.” She hadn’t had a chance to even get to know her mother.

  “It is a blessing. The elders are always willing to help, but a lot of the young folks think the old ways are out of date. Like my smart-ass kid brother.”

  “Maybe he’ll change his mind as he gets older. Silas must have…?”

  Christina nodded. “But Silas wasn’t as much of a bonehead. That kid is stubborn and pigheaded. He thinks he knows it all.”

  “All young people nowadays think they know everything,” Grandmother Bertha said in her singsong voice from behind them. “They make it hard on the
mselves. When I was a girl, we got that knocked out of us at the residential school.”

  Jordan dried a dented pot. “Were you sent away to school?”

  “No, in those days we had a school right here in Ahousaht, run by the United Church,” Bertha said. “We lived there, though. The first one was built in 1903—my father went there, too. We had to stay at school even when our parents went away hunting and fishing. We used to be so happy when summer came, because then we got to go with them.”

  Jordan dried two more pots and exchanged a wet tea towel for a dry one. She listened, spellbound as Grandmother told stories about her youth.

  “When the whole school came down with measles, there was only one teacher and a couple of older girls who didn’t get it. They took good care of us.”

  “Didn’t your own medicine man—or woman—also treat you?” Jordan was thinking of Silas, wondering what the protocol was in those days between native healers and allopathic medicine. “What methods did they use?”

  Grandmother Bertha pursed her lips. “Healers weren’t allowed in those days,” she said shortly, hurrying into a story about salmon fishing at Megin River. Several of the other women joined in, recounting their own childhood experiences in the fishing camps.

  As she wiped away at the pots and pans, Jordan wondered why Grandmother Bertha wasn’t comfortable discussing healers. Her mind strayed to Silas.

  Had Silas forbidden it? Why?

  JORDAN WAS STILL WONDERING about that two days later. It was a warm, balmy summer evening. There’d only been two patients in the afternoon clinic, both with minor problems. But one of them mentioned an ovarian tumor that she said a healer had taken away. When Jordan quizzed her about it, the woman changed the subject.

  Jordan came home and made herself a cheese sandwich for dinner, eating it outside sitting in a battered lawn chair Michael and Eli had brought her. Restless, she decided to get some exercise, changing into cutoffs and a pair of runners. At the last moment, she grabbed a heavy cotton sweatshirt.

  She’d learned that a hot day here could turn surprisingly chilly, thanks to the ocean. She tied the arms of the shirt around her waist.