Good Medicine

by Bobby Hutchinson

  “Pretty tough to just slip off that walkway by accident. Unless you were drunk?”

  “Of course I wasn’t drunk.” She knew he was teasing, but her good humor was on sabbatical. “I wanted to take a closer look at those little orchids growing beside that pond.”

  Her face was very close to his throat, and she breathed in his sweaty, smoky, male odor. She probably stank of nervous perspiration. If they didn’t hurry, she would also reek of urine.

  “We call those little orchids lady’s slippers. They’re an endangered species now, along with most everything else.”

  He sounded pragmatic rather than bitter.

  “I wasn’t going to pick them. I just wanted to have a closer look.”

  “We believe we have a responsibility toward all plant life. That they should be picked only for food or healing.”

  “They look like fancy little shoes, don’t they? Fairy shoes.”

  “You believe in fairies?”

  “I used to. I guess most little girls do.”

  “Not ever having been a little girl, I wouldn’t know. Little boys are more prone to frogs and worms and fish.” He was puffing. “Okay, I’m going to just set you down here for a minute, take a breather—”

  They’d reached a point where the path he’d followed intersected the walkway without much difference in height. He slid her under the handrail and onto the planks. He was gentle about it, but she couldn’t help grimacing in pain.

  “Sorry. Take deep breaths.” He jumped up on the wooden pathway beside her and reached out to steady her. His hands were long-fingered, strong, with short clipped nails. Prominent veins snaked their way up his forearms.

  After they had both caught their breath, he lifted her again. “Not much farther now.”

  She prayed he was right. She was on the verge of a bladder accident. “It’s still really early. Were you out for a walk when you found me?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. “Something like that.”

  “You don’t have a gun, so you weren’t hunting, right?” She hated the thought of killing anything, for food or for sport.

  She could feel his chuckle, deep in his chest. “I hate to spoil an illusion, but Indians aren’t all hunters. I barely know one end of a gun from the other.”

  “I thought it wasn’t politically correct to say Indian. I read that First Nations was the proper term in Canada.”

  “We can call ourselves anything we want. It’s when others label us that we get politically correct about it.”

  They were on the outskirts of the village. To Jordan’s relief, everyone appeared to be still sleeping. She felt as if hours had passed since Silas appeared on the walkway.

  Several scruffy dogs came running over, barking and sniffing at Silas’s pant legs, but he made a guttural, growling sound in his throat and they stopped barking immediately. The dogs slunk away.

  “How did you do that?” Jordan had been besieged by the dogs ever since she arrived. “I’ve taken to bribing them with scraps. It would be a lot easier to deal with them your way.”

  “You just have to talk to them in language they understand.”

  She expected to hear laughter rumbling in his chest at the joke, but when she glanced at his face, he wasn’t even smiling.

  “And you speak dog?”

  “Not fluently, but enough to get by with.” Now he did smile, but it was an acknowledgment.

  “You are one very strange man. Strong, though, thank God.”

  He laughed. They were nearing her apartment. “And you are getting to be one very heavy lady.”

  “Only a few steps more. The door isn’t locked.” She’d given that up the first few days she was here. It seemed no one locked their doors in Ahousaht. She leaned down and turned the knob, and then they were inside.

  “I’ve never been this glad to get home in my life. Thank you more than I can say, Silas.”

  “No problem. Want me to take you straight into the bathroom?”

  “Oh, yes. Please.”

  He left her between the tub and the toilet, balancing on one leg, and somehow, she managed. The relief was enormous. She was wondering how to deal with a shower when he tapped on the door.

  In a panic, she hauled her shorts up before he opened it.

  “I called Christina, she’s on her way over.” His smile flashed. “I figured you’d prefer having her help you clean up.”

  “Thanks.” She had a quick mental image of him taking off her clothes and blushed.

  “Here, let’s get you on the couch.” He slipped an arm around her, supporting her weight, and again she was conscious of him on a disturbing and visceral level.

  When she was settled, he put his hands on his hips and studied her. “I know you’re the doc, but don’t you think you ought to have ice on that strain?”

  “Yes, I should. That’s a good idea.” She leaned back on the sofa, watching him as he took an ice-cube tray out of the tiny freezer portion of her fridge. He moved like an athlete. He went into the bedroom and came out with one of her tube socks, which he filled with ice. Knotting the top, he handed her the makeshift ice pack and then laughed when she shrieked at the shock of the cold against her tender inner thigh.

  “I’ve always heard that the very worst patients are doctors,” he commented.

  “Really?” Her eyes were wide and innocent. “I can’t see that, can you?”

  “No comment.” He laughed again. “I’ll light the stove, it’s chilly in here. And you could probably use some tea.”

  “There’s an electric kettle over there.” She pointed again and he found it and filled it with water.

  Now that she was safe, Jordan was beginning to assess her injury and the ramifications of the accident. She’d be able to work, but she’d be on crutches for a while. Groin tears took a long time to heal, and there wasn’t much to be done for them, apart from icing, painkillers and physio. For that, she’d have to travel to Tofino.

  Silas was peeling strips off an alder stick for kindling, and she admired the efficient, easy way he got the stove going. He fed in more wood after a few seconds.

  “What sort of treatment would you use for a groin injury, Silas?”

  “Ice first, same as you, right?”

  She nodded, watching him as he rinsed the teapot and dropped several tea bags in. “Then herbal poultices to help the healing. A tea to ease the pain.”

  “I’ve got Tylenol in my bag over there. Could you—?” She gestured and he brought it to her. He filled a glass with water and she swallowed two tablets and then downed the rest of the water, aware now of her raging thirst. He refilled the glass.

  “I’d like to try your herbal poultices, please.” She didn’t have any real faith in herbal medicine, but this seemed like a good way to build a bridge between native methods and her own. And at this moment, her groin hurt so much she’d gladly try anything if it meant getting rid of the pain.

  And getting to know Silas better? She squelched the thought.

  “Sure.” He filled the teapot from the boiling kettle. “I’ll come by later and bring some of Grandmother’s stories for you to read, as well.”

  When the tea was steeped, he poured her a cup, adding a generous spoonful of sugar. Hot, sweet tea; a tried and true remedy for shock and hypothermia. Not that she had either one, but it tasted wonderful all the same.

  “Don’t you want some?”

  “Not just now.” He handed her the cup just as Christina came in the door.

  She nodded at her brother and then turned to Jordan. “Hey, Doc. What the heck happened to you?”

  “Well, I spent a night roughing it and came closer than I ever want to again to meeting a bear,” Jordan explained. While she was telling Christina the rest of the story, Silas gave them both a silent salute and slipped out the door.

  “Silas rescued you, eh?”

  “He came along just at daybreak. I’ve never been as glad to see anyone,” Jordan said. “He carried me all the way home—he’
s incredibly strong. I’m not exactly a lightweight.”

  Christina laughed. “You’re nothing but skin and bone!” She stripped off Jordan’s shoes and socks. “You look like you could use a bath. I’ll go run a tub of hot water, and then I’ll cook you some eggs and toast, how does that sound?”

  “So good it brings tears to my eyes.”

  “Let’s get this show on the road, then, before you get all wet.”

  SILAS HURRIED through the village, greeting the few early risers but wanting to be alone. He needed to be in his cabin so he could go over the morning’s events and look at them from the context of his vision.

  The hydroelectric service from the village didn’t extend as far as his cabin. He’d installed solar panels instead, so there was hot water even though the woodstove was out. He stripped off his clothes and stood under the shower faucet, ritually cleansing his hair and body with a bar of handmade soap one of the aunties had given him for a healing ceremony.

  Sandrine had taught him that it was important to cleanse before and after a vision quest, before breaking fast. Healers traditionally cleansed in the ocean, and he’d planned to swim, but that was before he’d found Jordan.

  Jordan. He closed his eyes and remembered the sweet warm weight of her in his arms. Her hair had smelled faintly of lemon. The scent of her skin, the proximity of their bodies was arousing. No question, the persistent ache in his groin was lust.

  But lust was a thing of the body. The spirit had shown him something else, something confusing. The bear in his vision was familiar, but a real bear had visited Jordan at almost the same exact time. He’d seen the tracks, and just as she had said, it had been very close to her.

  So was hers, like his, also the powerful bear totem—the spirit of the West Wind, who leads the way into the dream world? And whom or what did the cub represent?

  What was the connection between him and Jordan? Whatever it was, he didn’t want it. Relationships took too much and gave back too little.

  Alone was uncomfortable at times, but he’d chosen to be solitary and he wasn’t about to change. He was too damned—old? Selfish? Lazy?

  Scared, Grandmother cackled, but this time he ignored her.

  He climbed out of the shower and toweled off. Pulling on old sweatpants and a threadbare shirt, he broke his fast with herbal tea and thick slices of Rose Marie’s wheat bread layered with tomato and goat cheese.

  He’d had enough practice holding his center, he could continue in spite of this unnerving attraction to the doctor. And then he smiled at how easily he lied to himself. He’d tried his best to avoid her, but the spirit had a sense of humor, literally tossing this woman into his path. And now he wanted to see her again. He needed to know what went on behind that beautiful, sad smile.

  He’d make Jordan an herbal poultice and take her Sandrine’s stories, but first things first. He climbed the ladder to the sleeping loft and crawled into his nest of blankets and pillows. Right now he needed to sleep. He murmured a prayer of thanksgiving and slid into oblivion.

  “YES, THANKS. I’m sleeping really well, Helen.” Jordan settled herself against the pillows and adjusted the angle of the cell phone at her ear. “I thought last night this stupid groin thing might keep me awake, but I lay down at eight and didn’t open my eyes till half an hour ago.” Jordan glanced at the clock. It was seven-thirty-eight. She’d slept almost twelve hours, which was some kind of miracle. Although the painkillers she’d swallowed probably had something to do with it. She’d called Helen the moment she woke to apologize for missing their appointment.

  “What about the anxiety attacks?” Helen asked, and Jordan thought about it for a moment.

  “You know, spending a night out in the woods by myself and being sniffed over by a bear puts anxiety into perspective. Right now my concerns over Garry and the divorce seem pretty puny.”

  “I can see how that would work,” Helen said, and Jordan could tell she was smiling. “Are you making any friends? Anyone you feel comfortable talking to, confiding in?”

  Jordan hesitated. Strangely enough, the first person who came to mind was Silas, which was ridiculous. “The nursing supervisor, Christina, is great. And so is her mother, Rose Marie. They came over yesterday, after I finally made it home. They’re so thoughtful—they brought food and made sure I was okay. They’re very—” Jordan was stuck for a word for a moment “—very nurturing women. It makes me a little uncomfortable. I’m not used to having anyone do things for me.”

  “Enjoy it. You deserve some TLC. You’ve been on the flip side way too long.”

  The call ended, and Jordan heaved herself out of bed and onto the crutches Christina had found for her. It took what seemed forever to get through a shower and struggle into clean sweats.

  She was drinking a cup of tea and eating cereal when Silas knocked once and then opened the door.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HE SMILED AT HER. The man had a killer smile when he chose to use it.

  “Morning, Hop-along.” He came over to the table and set a fat yellow folder down. “Grandmother’s stories. How’s the groin this morning?”

  “Sore as blazes, but I’m keeping the pain at bay with liberal doses of Tylenol.” She wished she’d injured another part of her anatomy, like her ankle or her shoulder. Talking about her groin was somewhat awkward, especially with Silas.

  Get a grip, Burke. The man’s only interest in you is as a healer.

  “Want some tea? There’s lots in the pot.”

  He shucked off his black leather jacket, and she admired his broad shoulders as he filled a mug. He sat across from her at the table. “Large doses of Tylenol can be hard on your kidneys, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.” That sounded sarcastic. The guy was just trying to be nice. And even though she was a doctor, it was good to be reminded of medicinal side effects. “I’m a coward when it comes to my own pain, so I’ll swallow whatever it takes. I guess your herbal preparations don’t have any side effects, right?”

  “They can. They’re powerful medicines—they can react badly in the wrong combinations, just like any other drug.”

  “How did you learn to use them?”

  “Grandmother Sandrine taught me, and I also studied herbalism from books.”

  “Christina told me it was Sandrine who taught you to be a healer.”

  She just hadn’t said why Silas had agreed to learn, and Jordan was curious.

  “Yeah. My grandmother was a fantastic teacher.”

  “Did you always want to be a healer?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “No, it wasn’t high on my list of careers. My chosen field was research.”

  “What area?”

  “Medical.”

  He was anything but a blabbermouth. Jordan wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “From medical research to hands-on healing…?”

  He looked at her for a long time before he answered. He seemed to study every angle of her face, and she forced herself not to glance away. Finally he said, “I was working on a Ph.D. thesis. I came here to observe my grandmother.”

  “And you stayed.”

  “There’s something about Ahousaht that’s addictive.”

  His words made her smile. She waited to see if he’d reveal anything else.

  He swallowed a mouthful of tea. “Got anything sweet to eat?”

  So much for revelation. “There’s half an apple pie in the fridge, if you like. Roberta brought it over yesterday.”

  He got a plate and cut himself a piece. “Want some?”

  She started to refuse but then nodded. “Not that much, though.”

  He cut her a piece.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten apple pie for breakfast before.”

  They ate in silence.

  He still hadn’t answered her question, and Jordan really wanted to know. “So why give up on research to study healing?”

  He chewed and swallowed. “Because of my mother.”

  “Rose Marie?” Jor
dan had expected him to say his grandmother, Sandrine. “How so?”

  “When I was still a baby and we were living with Angus in Vancouver, she got sick with a rare blood disorder called TTP. Fatally sick. She was covered in bruises, her white-cell count was down to something like thirty-five, and she wasn’t expected to live. My father made sure she had the finest specialists, but she got worse. Finally Sandrine came and abducted her, bringing Rose Marie to Ahousaht in a wheelchair.”

  Jordan whistled between her teeth. “Thrombotic thrombocytopenic purpura, that’s a bad one. I’m familiar with the condition, but it’s pretty rare. Until the past few years when plasma exchange became a possibility, the survival rate was very low, less than twenty percent. And there were almost always serious side effects.”

  “Well, as you can see, Rose Marie survived without any. Sandrine treated her and she got better. Six months later Mom married Peter. Five years later she had Christina, and then much later, Patwin. She’s stayed healthy.”

  “Sandrine cured her.”

  He shook his head. “Patient and healer form a partnership from which each of them benefits, so it’s not accurate to simply say Sandrine healed Mom.”

  “And you’re certain Rose Marie wasn’t just misdiagnosed?”

  “I dug up the medical records. There was no doubt about the diagnosis.”

  “But Sandrine must have done something specific. What medicines did she use?” Jordan was fascinated. She’d heard of spontaneous remission and so-called miracle cures, but she’d never known anyone who’d personally experienced such a thing—if that’s what this was. “Herbs?”

  “Among other things.” Silas shrugged. “Our treatment is always a combination of methods. Sandrine used herbs, sure. She also used massage, counseling, prayer, song. Vision quests, sweat lodges. Lots of different treatments, and she called on other healers to help.”

  “Did you know how sick your mom was?”

  “I was too young. I didn’t know about it until I came back here as an adult. Even then, I didn’t believe it until I saw the medical reports.”