Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

Senna had heard many women say how their child had different cries, and that they could tell instantly whether the babe wanted feeding, burping, its linen changing, or just some attention. But in her opinion, this skill of recognition took some time to master, and in some cases it did not always work.

  And ultimately, if the mewling creature could not get satisfaction from whatever needs, real or imagined, it would escalate the power of the crying until the noise was intolerable for anyone in the vicinity. As had evidently happened in this case.

  Her first instinct was to check the obvious things, so she instructed her daughter to pour some water from the pot into a small beaker and add a drop of her pacifying potion, known to soothe all ills in babes.

  Mustering as much authority as she could in her voice, she politely requested that Taron and Lareeta’s parents could maybe go for a short walk in nature to calm themselves and remove the tension from the house which was not helping the mother or babe.

  Unexpectedly, it was Lareeta’s mother who protested, and Senna could have nothing but sympathy for the woman. However, she recognised the feelings of guilt fuelling the woman’s negative vibrations. It was evident the woman had been unable to shield Lareeta from her father’s wrath for many years. Her helplessness had crystallised into a frustration energy so strong it became a physical force.

  More surprisingly, Lareeta’s father agreed to the request, fetching his wife’s cloak and pulling her through the door. Simultaneously, the whirlpool of tumultuous negativity departed.

  Taron’s supplicating hands asked the question whether he could remain, but he was still too fraught with tension which would communicate itself directly to the babe, so she shook her head. With a gesture which spoke of his sorrow for the part he played, he exited, closing the door quietly behind him.

  It was as though chains dropped from Lareeta’s body, as she wriggled her shoulders and took a deep calming breath. She instinctively reached for a small, rose quartz crystal, and Senna remembered the gift she’d brought with her.

  Slipping a pendant around the girl’s neck, she watched the heart-shaped crystal settle between her ample breasts.

  Tears cascaded down Lareeta’s cheeks as she handed over the infant, whose cries had subsided to a reasonable level, with just the occasional squeal. “Oh, Senna. I am such a bad mother. I cannot even feed my own child. He does not seem to want my milk. I fear the poor thing is starving.”

  Undoing the unreasonably tight swaddling, Senna freed the little one’s limbs, all the while talking to him in a soothing voice, and constantly stroking his naked skin.

  Lareeta watched, her expression shifting from horror to fascination. “But my parents said he must be kept wrapped up all the time, because he’s used to being restrained inside my belly. They say he cannot handle being cold and having his limbs free.”

  Her brief examination done, Senna picked him and the swaddling blanket into her arms, holding him with the ease of experience. “I have heard this opinion, and I agree to a certain extent. However, they do not need to be so tightly bound that it restricts their ability to understand how the body functions. By doing so, you break the connection between the body’s natural instinct to move, and the resulting effect on the muscles.”

  “I thought so. It did not feel right to me to keep him restricted all the time. How on earth could he learn? But he did seem to cry when I unwrapped him to check his linens.”

  As the boy squirmed, Senna rocked him. “Every babe is different, but I’ve not yet found one who did not like the feel of lamb’s wool against their skin while they are being changed. I recommend you keep a sheepskin aside just for this purpose. Or maybe two skins, because there will be little accidents, especially with a boy.”

  “That thing you did with your hands, could I do that?”

  “Of course. Every time you unwrap him. They love the feel of skin on skin, and it helps you to bond quickly.”

  Lareeta had a quick mind, and questioned everything Senna did, thirsting to learn as much as she could to nurture her little one with love and care. Senna lost count of the number of times Lareeta described the awful practices her parents would have her apply to the babe. No doubt these were the teachings of the male physician her father consulted in town.

  Watching the fledgling mother trying to help her babe latch on to over-engorged breasts, it all became clear what had happened in the hours since the birthing.

  After instructing her daughter to find a suitable beaker which could be reserved purely for the babe’s use, Senna explained how some of the milk would need to be expressed to allow the babe to suckle properly.

  “That would be such a relief. As you can see, the milk is flowing from the other side because I have so much. Poor little Christian cannot drink any of it.”

  Reassuring her it would all change once she understood the principles, Senna handed the boy to Lyrelie, and took the sterilised beaker her daughter offered. She showed Lareeta how to express the milk until each breast became soft and manageable. After that, the hungry little lad had no problem latching on.

  Lareeta’s husband and parents returned to peace and contentment.

  Taron’s face lit with pride. “You see, my darling? I knew you would be able to do it as soon as Senna showed you how.” He directed a pointed glare at her father, who grumbled his dissent.

  “My mind is made up. I will be sending a wet nurse as soon as we get back to town. I cannot countenance the idea that my grandson will not be properly fed.”

  16 – Day 6: A Proud Man

  Before anyone else could react to his dismissive attitude, Lareeta’s mother spoke up. “There will be no need for that. Can you not see your daughter is perfectly capable? And even if she has a problem, she is in good hands here.” The rising confidence in her tone suggested this was the first time the woman had ever stood up to her husband’s domineering ways.

  Emboldened by her mother’s courage, Lareeta met her father’s furious glare with calm certainty, keeping her tone polite and friendly, in order not to disturb the suckling babe. “Mother is right. I can do this. And Senna has shown me how to store the milk so other people can feed it to him, if I am too tired.” She glanced at her husband.

  Taron’s stroked his wife’s cheek. “That would be my pleasure. I would be proud to help tend to my son.”

  Lareeta caught his hand, nuzzling into it as they exchanged intimate glances which spoke of their love for each other.

  Her father did not seem the slightest bit moved by this show of tender affection. “Do you have no care for your reputation? What kind of man would be seen doing that kind of women’s work?” A sneer marred his features as he continued to rant. “There are plenty of women around who are little more than broodmares, and you would be depriving of them of their livelihood. There is no need for either of you to get involved with feeding the bairn.”

  Taron reacted with passion. “That bairn is my son and it would be an honour and a privilege to feed him. Senna says this will increase the bond between us, which is something I want dearly.”

  The man’s scornful demeanour showed what he thought of the idea.

  But Taron hadn’t finished, and he drove his point home, without force or judgement. “My father was close to all three of his children, and he was not afraid to play with us, or let us make mistakes without criticising. You have forced your only daughter to live in a kind of hell, in fear everything she does will be criticised or even punished. You would have done well to have shown some interest in her as a child, let alone a babe.”

  The man reeled back, looking to his wife for some kind of support.

  But she had none. “He’s right. All you ever did to that poor child was chastise. You never once told her you loved her, let alone hugged her. I only wish I’d had the courage to say something at the time.”

  His face looked as though he was about to burst or hit something. Or, more likely, someone. He glared at every person in the room, doubtless seeing similar reflections of his in
adequacy as a father, husband and a Christian man.

  With a sound which could have been an oath, a growl, or a combination of the two, he whirled around and stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

  Senna willed the vortex of angry energy he’d created to follow him outside. But not before it had claimed its victims.

  First was his wife, who paled alarmingly, wavering as though about to faint. Second was the infant, whose wail cut through the stunned silence caused by the angry noise.

  Senna had to make the decision of who to help first, but help was on hand. As Lareeta and her husband tended to their son, Lyrelie took the woman’s hand, leading her to the chair, where she sat.

  “I’m so sorry ...” She clutched her cheeks, clearly embarrassed by her husband’s actions and unable to find the words to compensate for his actions.

  Sending some powerful healing, Senna squeezed her hand. “You have nothing to apologise for. The fault is his alone and, as usual, you are powerless against the force of his self-righteous anger.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes, but Senna knew the woman castigated herself internally. She pointed out that she must be an exceptionally good mother to have created such a fine daughter despite the negative influences of her husband.

  The compassion seemed to push Lareeta’s mother over the edge and she cried as though emptying out years of anger and frustration at her helplessness. Despite her anguish, she cried in silence.

  It broke Senna’s heart as she reasoned the woman was so afraid of her husband, she could not even make a sound.

  The young parents were oblivious to her grief as they revelled in the miracle of the new addition to their family.

  Tender-hearted Lyrelie could not allow the poor woman to suffer alone, so she knelt on the floor, offering an embrace which was gratefully accepted.

  Leaving them to it, Senna brewed a concoction of herbs and spices guaranteed to bring calm and sense of well-being. While it steeped, she slipped outside, certain of her task.

  As she expected, the cause of all the distress was in the barn, pouring out his woes to the only creature who would listen without judgement. His crime was to repeat the sins of his father: a strict, God-fearing man.

  Without making a sound, she sought a hiding place and listened while he directed a stream of questions at the oblivious animal. Her heart expanded with sorrow and compassion as he told of the suffering he’d had to endure on a daily basis in his attempts to please his father.

  “Have you heard enough?”

  His voice startled her, even though he hadn’t stirred, or otherwise acknowledged her presence. She moved closer.

  Senna knew the proud man would have no use for her sympathy, and decided the best way to handle the situation would be to greet him with his worst fear. “When did you know you had the gift of sight?”

  He remained immobile, showing no emotion. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The foresightedness which allowed you to perceive that your grandson was tangling himself up in the birthing cord when everyone else thought Lareeta was healthy and well.”

  Fear gripped his features as he flinched back. “Are you a witch?”

  Drat. The last thing she needed was that particular label, with all its associations of demonic attachments. Pushing out a force of powerful, loving energy to protect herself, she kept her tone matter of fact. “It didn’t take much intelligence to work out why you were so rude when you came seeking help. You were in the grip of the kind of fear only a parent can have when faced with the death of their child.”

  He broke down and wept.

  Not being as tender or forgiving as her daughter, she could not find it within herself to offer him physical solace. She did, however, send a continuous stream of healing love, watching as it surrounded the dark layers of his aura. His bond of fear and self-loathing was so strong he resisted all attempts to let love in. Summoning power from all the elements, angels and deities, she kept up the unstoppable flow, battling against decades of protection.

  At the instant her head lightened and her limbs weakened, she felt the support of Mother Nature herself. This proved too powerful, piercing the tiniest of chinks in his armour. Once breached, his defences crumbled against the onslaught, and every pore in his skin glowed as it was assailed by the force of love.

  Thankfully, he could not see what was happening to him; but he flinched as though her gaze abraded. “What are you doing? Stop looking at me like that. I do not need your pity.”

  “I’m glad, because you don’t deserve it. You know what you need to do to put things right. This is your chance to put all the ills you have endured in your life back into the past where they belong. From today onward, you have no need to fear.”

  “Fear? What are you talking about? I’m not afraid of anything or anyone.”

  Words were not required, his reaction to her gaze, loaded as it was with courage, honour and integrity, proved sufficient.

  Drawing in a deep breath, his next action did not surprise her in the slightest, as he dashed outside and threw up the remains of his last meal into the patch of weeds next to the stable. Wiping his mouth with his hand, he glanced at her, before bending back over and repeating the entire process until his stomach emptied. He glared at her. “I hope you are satisfied with yourself.”

  “Very. You did not need any of that. However, I strongly recommend you and your good lady should return home. You would not want to pass on any illness to your grandson while he is at his most vulnerable, would you?”

  Shaking his head, he turned a mournful expression on her, and she felt his demeanour change to remorse. “Would you have a concoction which might rid me of this bilious malaise?”

  Linking her arm through his, she patted his hand. “Strangely, I have just the thing brewing in the pot right now.

  “Of course you have.” The quirk of his lips could not exactly be called a smile, and she suspected it was a movement those muscles made infrequently.

  “Before we go in, it’s important you understand something.” She faced him, capturing his gaze. “I know you’re not afraid of anything or anyone, your courage is not in question.”

  A slow blink said he appreciated the validation of his character, and she continued.

  “But your ability to connect to your loved ones has been impaired by your experiences growing up. Learn to forgive, and show people how much you love them, and your life will change.”

  A different man entered the house, going straight over to his wife and hugging her. Blowing a kiss to his daughter, he apologised to anyone who would listen. “I’m afraid I have some form of malaise, so we shall be leaving shortly. I could not countenance the notion of being responsible for passing a noxious disease onto my grandson.”

  His wife instantly forgot her grievances against him and rushed into her natural role as caregiver, pouring him a beaker of Senna’s nourishing brew and offering a bland oaten biscuit to settle his stomach.

  Senna shook her head at her daughter’s mute enquiry; this was neither the time nor place for explanations of what had occurred. They made short work of packing up and took their leave of a very different household to the one they had entered earlier that day.

  Taron saw them to the gate, where he hugged them both, and thanked Senna profusely for intervening in the awkward situation.

  “’Twas my pleasure. I believe the situation will be very different in time to come. Lareeta’s father will show more understanding and prove to be the sort of grandfather every boy would wish for.”

  “I will pray for that. ’Twould be small recompense for what my wife has endured, but most welcome, nonetheless.”

  He offered to take them home in the cart, but Senna said she would be happier walking; she needed a breath of fresh air. As they strolled down the lane, Lyrelie questioned her about every aspect of what had occurred in both houses, eager to learn everything she could about the craft.

  Her daughter’s understanding o
f some of the nuances did not surprise Senna; she’d always shown an interest in what her parents did. But the girl’s ability to process and analyse the information, and make intelligent suggestions to remedy things, came as a surprise. It had taken Senna many years to reach the same level of appreciation of the interaction of energies in any given situation.

  She knew from being in the company of many wise teachers, that it was commonplace for the student to overtake the teacher in their levels of skill in any craft. Although her own father possessed none of the healing magic, his connection to trees outstripped that of every other woodsman in the village, and he would often teach Senna’s mother about the properties of certain trees and woodland plants.

  Lyrelie’s skills seemed to favour this aspect even more than her considerable knowledge of and connection to the crystals. All in all, she was sure her daughter could become a powerful healer, if that were the path she chose.

  The episode with Lareeta’s father had exhausted Senna, so when they reached the house, she was in quite a state. Coming as it did on top of her illness and the two birthings, the incident had drained her beyond comfort.

  Lyrelie took the opportunity to practise her burgeoning skills, determining that a revitalising brew, some nourishing food, and an energy treatment were all required before her mother could indulge in a nap.

  As with most healers, Senna made a poor patient, reluctant to give in to signals from her body, or take the advice she regularly dispensed to others. In the end, her daughter had to resort to a stern reminder of how much she would be letting her patients down if she were to get severely ill.

  Her patient sorted, the girl promised to attend the last hour of the Clove-gifting, and report back how it had transpired.

  Senna determined that it would not make sense for her to go upstairs, after yesterday’s unfortunate incident. Instead, she lined her rocking chair with a couple of sheepskins, and snuggled into them with a pillow behind her head, her new foot stool under her feet, and a blanket keeping her cosy.