Good Medicine

by Bobby Hutchinson

  And then, surprising himself, he added, “I miss you tonight, Jordan Burke. I wish we were together.”

  AFTER A FITFUL NIGHT, Jordan forced herself to listen to her messages. There were four increasingly nasty ones from Garry, and one from Silas, which she played three times.

  I miss you, Jordan Burke. The fact was, she missed him too.

  Then she called the telephone service and requested a change of number, effective immediately.

  “You can run, but you can’t hide,” Garry had sneered. With all her heart, she hoped he was wrong.

  Two days later, Jordan was in a round-robin discussion with a group of pregnant women about the effects of cigarette smoke when she glanced out the window and saw Silas walking toward the medical center.

  Her heart leaped. She apologized to the women and excused herself, heading out to the reception area to talk to him. Adrenaline pumped through her blood, and she realized she’d been waiting all day to see him.

  “Hello, Jordan.” He didn’t touch her, but the warmth and low pitch of his voice felt like an intimate caress. “I know you’re busy, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to see you for a minute.”

  “Silas, I’m glad you’re back. How’s Patwin? Where is he?”

  “At my mother’s place, she’s caring for him. He’s still pretty weak and sore, but he’s agreed to a healing circle tonight. Do you want to come?”

  “I wouldn’t be intruding?” She felt suddenly shy with him.

  “Everybody concerned about Patwin will be there.”

  “Then absolutely.” She had no idea what a healing circle was. “Do I need to bring anything?”

  “Only good intentions.”

  “Where and when?”

  “At the school gym, after dinner.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good.” He looked at her for several moments, and then in a soft voice that she had to strain to hear, he added, “Afterward, will you come to my cabin with me? All I can think of is making love to you again.”

  She had to clench her fists to keep from reaching out and touching him. He was so stable, so strong yet gentle. She had the urge to tell him about Garry’s phone call, how it had frightened her, and how she hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind the past few days.

  Instead, she settled for a quiet “I think that could be arranged.”

  “Phew.” His smile was wide. “I was afraid you were still thinking about it. See you tonight, then.”

  JORDAN FELT NERVOUS as she approached the gym door. She had no idea what to expect, or what might be expected of her. She was also on edge about being either too early or too late; she still didn’t understand what Christina called “Indian time.”

  Maybe she was getting the hang of it, after all, she decided as she came through the door. Several dozen people were sitting on folding chairs set in a circle in the middle of the room. The chairs were arranged around a large ceremonial drum where a woman Jordan didn’t recognize was tapping out a repetitive rhythm. Everyone was swaying slightly in time with the hypnotic beat, but nothing else was happening yet.

  Jordan was conscious of being the only non-native in the room. Feeling more than a little shy, she took a folding chair from a stack and set it up beside one of the village elders, an ancient man whom she knew only as Leroy. He nodded to her.

  She was directly across from Silas. He smiled at her, and his eyes held hers for a heartbeat. Those clear green eyes were filled with warmth and welcome, and she suddenly felt more at ease.

  Patwin was beside Silas, his neck and face still grotesquely swollen. Rose Marie and Christina and Peter flanked him, and they all nodded and smiled at her. Jordan recognized Mary John, sitting beside an elder.

  Jordan had just confirmed the girl’s pregnancy, but Mary had refused to name the father. Could it be Patwin?

  The drummer changed the beat, and Leroy began singing. Soon everyone except Jordan was also singing. She hummed along, expecting Silas to be the one to lead the proceedings. She wondered when he was going to take control and call the meeting to order, or whatever the equivalent was here.

  The song tapered off, and one of the elders, a woman called Linculla, got to her feet. She lit a taper of sweet-grass, blew it out and walked around the circle, using her hand to wave smoke at each person while murmuring what sounded like an incantation. When she reached her seat again she sat, and the drumming restarted, quieter now.

  Still tense, Jordan waited for the format of the meeting to present itself, and for a pattern to emerge.

  She felt a surge of relief when Peter Crow got to his feet. It was fitting that Patwin’s father be in charge.

  But Peter stood wordless for so long Jordan began to have an anxiety attack on his behalf. He must have forgotten his speech, she agonized, her stomach twisting into sympathetic knots.

  “My son Patwin is in trouble,” he finally said in a voice so soft Jordan had to lean forward to hear him. “I want him to know he is not alone in what he feels. When I was a boy,” Peter went on in the same soft voice, “I was taken from my family and sent to residential school. It was a hard time, and I tried many times to run away. I was always punished, and I always ran again, because I longed to come home to my people.”

  Nods of understanding and murmurs of agreement came from the listeners. “A time came when I lost hope. I stole a boat late one night and went far out into the water where the waves were high and jumped in. But I was young and strong, and it was too damned hard to drown.”

  Everyone laughed quietly.

  “Thank you for letting me speak.”

  There was a long silence, and without another word, Peter sat.

  There was nothing but drumming for some time, and then the older man beside Peter got to his feet.

  “I am Mary John’s grandfather. I love my granddaughter and I want her to be happy, so I want to help Patwin. As a young man, I, too, was sent away to school. It was painful, and afterward I wandered far from the teachings of my childhood,” Leroy said. “I drank and twice I went to jail for stealing. I was angry, and I wanted to make someone pay. Drinking took away some of the pain, but it made me do bad things. I beat my wife when I was drunk, and my son watched. When he grew up and I saw him doing the things I had done, I wanted to die for shame of what I had taught him. Instead, I asked for a healing, and I stopped drinking. If I can help Patwin, I would be glad.”

  He sat, and eventually, the young woman next to him stood. She’d been an addict and a prostitute, and she described her feelings of shame and hopelessness and the pressures young people were under wherever they went. “I know where you’re coming from, Patwin,” she said. “Because I’ve been there.”

  Jordan realized that the speakers were proceeding in order, clockwise from Peter Crow. Not everyone in the circle spoke when their turn came, but most did. They spoke from their hearts, and their wrenching honesty often had Jordan brushing away tears.

  Then Leroy rose to tell about his grandson, who’d died from a drug overdose, and Jordan realized that if she chose to speak, it would be her turn next.

  Her heart began to hammer, and she felt perspiration trickle down between her breasts. She wanted to talk of her breakdown, how Garry’s addiction had hurt her. She knew Helen would encourage her to stand and speak, to share her story.

  When her turn came she drew in a deep breath and rubbed her sweating palms together. She started to get to her feet—but then shook her head and slid back into her chair. She just couldn’t do it. The old habits of silence and secrecy were too strong.

  The woman on her left stood, and Jordan felt relief, mixed with harsh disappointment and shame. Why wasn’t she brave? Why couldn’t she be open? These people were pouring out their hearts to help Patwin. She should have done the same.

  She felt Silas’s eyes on her, and knew that part of the reason she couldn’t bare her soul here was because she didn’t want him to feel sorry for her, to see her as a victim. She wanted intimacy, but wasn’t ready to
share her deepest, most shameful secrets with anyone.

  So why did she feel she’d failed an important lesson?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SILAS PERFORMED A CEREMONY after the meeting ended about an hour later. It was mostly in the Nuu-chah-nulth native tongue, so Jordan didn’t understand it. What she did understand and what impressed her was the respect these people showed for one another.

  Respect, compassion, honesty and caring. She could think of a lot of people back in Vancouver who would benefit from a healing circle.

  She and Silas were quiet as they walked through the dark woods. Holding Jordan’s hand, he shone the flashlight carefully so she could see the path. With each step, the tension between them grew. Jordan was hungry for him, and it seemed forever before they reached his cabin.

  He opened the door and she followed him inside. She could see a faint light coming from his computer, but other than that it was dark.

  “You don’t lock your door.” Jordan knew it was a stupid question—as far as she could tell, no one in the entire community locked anything.

  “Locks are a symbol of fear. But—” he clicked the latch down on the inside of the door “—tonight I don’t want interruptions.”

  He drew her to him, and their mouths met with furious urgency.

  “Let’s try a bed this time,” he whispered, and led her through the dark to the stairwell.

  Up in his bedroom, the night sky shone down through the skylight above the bed. Silas lit a candle on the dresser, and without having to say a word, they began to remove their clothing.

  Jordan, eager and a little nervous, fumbled with the button on her slacks.

  “Here, let me.” He was already naked, his bronze skin gleaming in the flickering candlelight. His fingers were fast and her slacks slipped to the floor. He sent her bikini panties after them.

  Her pulse throbbed as she stepped out of them, and it was satisfying to note that his breathing was as irregular as her own. His eyes devoured her, and he whispered to her in his language, erotic-sounding, exciting phrases.

  All the feelings that had overwhelmed her the first time they made love came rushing back. She wanted him with a mindless, consuming desperation. Their mouths met, the kiss deepened and it thrilled her to know that he was fully aroused. They tumbled to the bed, and the heat between them soared as skin caressed skin.

  Impatiently, Jordan reached a hand down and tried to guide him into her, but Silas drew back and shook his head.

  “No rush,” he said. “We have all night.”

  With excruciating patience, he explored her body inch by inch with lips and tongue and fingers, making small throaty sounds of delight and passion. At first, Jordan tried to match him touch for touch, but soon her passion burned with such intensity, she simply gave herself up to him.

  When at long last, he finally entered her, her release was immediate. And while her body contracted and throbbed, he reached his own climax.

  Shuddering with pleasure, legs and arms limp, she looked up at the night sky through dazed half-open eyes. There were stars everywhere, and the moon had come up. Through the open window, she could hear a coyote yelping, another answering. From far away, an owl screeched. Jordan felt a deep and satisfying peace.

  Silas didn’t withdraw. He used his lips and tongue on her earlobes, her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat. He took her nipple into his mouth and teased it, and she felt herself tightening around him, drawing him deeper. Sweat made their bodies slick, and she licked his skin, thirsty for the taste of him, restless again with renewed desire.

  When he was hard once more, he flipped them neatly over, so that Jordan was on top. He rested his palms lightly on her hips, looking up at her, into her eyes.

  “Ride,” he whispered.

  Instead, she leaned forward and took one of his dark nipples gently between her teeth, nibbling, tasting. He let out his breath with a hiss. She trailed kisses down his ribs, and he murmured something urgent.

  She moved just a little, and he caught the rhythm and gave it back to her.

  The awareness of her sexual power made her laugh—it was new to her. She teased Silas deliberately, drunk with delight, and power gave way to the pleasure of pleasing him.

  He went first this time, but she followed almost immediately. She collapsed on his chest panting, lost in wave after wave of powerful sensation.

  He held her, still connected, and slowly, he turned her so they lay side by side, her leg over his thigh. As she dozed, she felt him begin to harden yet again.

  Silas moved in a gentle, sleepy pattern, as slow and rhythmic as the tide. She drifted, caught between pleasure and sleep, feeling him grow large. Her orgasm came immediately.

  Like a riptide, it consumed her. She heard herself cry out, harsh and wild, and he caught the sound with his mouth, groaning with his own massive release. Her body shuddered in long, shattering spasms, and tears poured from her eyes.

  Silas licked them away. He held her and murmured lavish praise in her ear, and she had a sense of sanctuary, of safety and belonging, that went far beyond the physical. She’d examine those feelings later. Right now, her head was empty, her heart filled to capacity.

  Contentment stole over her. Her body closely entwined with his, she slept.

  SILAS LAY AWAKE, holding her. He could feel her heart beating, slow and steady. Her breath made small warm circles on his chest, and a strand of her hair tickled his cheek.

  Her body was bone-slender, fragile in his arms, and he felt tender pride in protecting her, keeping her safe as she slept.

  They’d traveled far together, farther even than he’d planned to take them. He’d felt her soul soaring, and his had joined it. Never before had he understood that two separate people could become more than the sum of their parts this way.

  He stared up at the night sky, and the peace from lovemaking began to ebb. When he’d made his vision quest, he’d had a dream. He remembered it in vivid detail. He’d held a woman, just as he was holding Jordan now. But he’d been afraid in that dream, afraid of losing a part of himself if he gave too much. He’d dreamed he was drowning. The memory chilled him, and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

  Gently, he untangled himself from Jordan. He pushed the window wider. The night air was damp and cold, and he pulled the quilt up and tucked it around her shoulders. He was weary, on the verge of exhaustion, and yet filled with restlessness as well.

  The healing circle, the ceremony he’d conducted, the lovemaking—everything had used his energy, and now he was running on empty. But he knew he wouldn’t sleep, so silently, carefully, he pulled on pants and a light sweater, and made his way downstairs. He sat down in front of his computer to distract himself, but he could feel Sandrine’s presence, and his heart sank.

  Grandmother didn’t let him get away with anything.

  “What, Grandmother? What am I to do about this woman? There can’t be a future for us, our worlds are too different.”

  “There is only one world, Grandson. All are cousins, all are children of First Mother.”

  Silas snorted. “Easy for you to say, you don’t have to live here anymore.”

  “There is only one question, Wounded Bear Hawk. Is your heart moving toward harmony or disharmony? There is no third way.”

  He shut his eyes and groaned. “A simple yes or no would really help. Do this or do that. But no, it’s always back to harmony. Harmony is really tough to master, Grandmother.”

  “It begins at the beginning, with your father. Make peace with him, Grandson. Until you do, harmony will elude you.”

  He opened his eyes. He knew what she meant, but he was no closer to taking her advice than he’d ever been. He was also no closer to knowing what to do about his feelings for the woman asleep upstairs in his bed.

  JORDAN WOKE TO PALE dawn light spilling onto the bed from the skylight. The candle had either burned down or blown out sometime in the night.

  Silas was sleeping beside her, his black sil
ky hair tumbled across the pillow, hawklike features at rest. His breathing was slow and even, and she lay for a few stolen moments, studying him.

  He looked remote and regal in sleep, but there was also a sadness, absent when he was awake. Or maybe he just managed to hide it behind his enigmatic grin and that unnerving intensity.

  The room was chilly, and he’d covered them up with the beautiful quilt. She buried her nose in it, drawing in the subtle male muskiness she associated with Silas, and another, more elusive fragrance, of wood smoke and the outdoors.

  She slid out from under the quilt, careful not to wake Silas, grabbed her clothing and made her way down to the bathroom. She stepped into the shower, grateful that the water ran hot.

  She smiled at his bar of green Irish Spring soap. His shampoo was generic, and she lathered her hair with it and rinsed.

  Using the fresh towel on the bar, she dried off and dressed. And when she opened the bathroom door, the warmth of the woodstove and the smell of rich, freshly brewing coffee greeted her.

  “Morning, pretty lady.” He smiled at her. He was wearing low-slung jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He had moccasins on his feet, and his long, streaked hair swung free around his chiseled face. Lucky she wasn’t in love with him. She’d spend her life just looking at him all the time. But lust, she was definitely in lust. There was an attraction between them stronger than any she’d ever experienced.

  “Coffee’s ready.” He gestured to an old enamel pot on the stove lid. “You want some eggs for breakfast?”

  Jordan couldn’t help herself. She went over and hugged him. “No eggs, but coffee would be great. I didn’t mean to wake you up, I was just going to sneak away.”

  He wrapped his arms around her tight, then released her. “You didn’t wake me. The light did, same as every other morning. That skylight is a mixed blessing.” He took a potholder from a hook, lifted the pot and poured coffee into two white earthenware mugs. He handed her one and gestured to the chairs at the table.