by Mimi Milan
“Miguel!” Jonathan took the steps two at a time, his bag swinging in one hand. “Are you okay? You look terrible.”
Miguel’s legs began to buckle. He gripped the rail. Jonathan raced to his side, grabbing him before he could hit the floor.
“Maybe you should lie down.”
“No, I can’t. I have to take care of Chel.”
“Araceli? Is she like this, too?”
Miguel nodded his head.
“Where is she?”
Miguel pointed ahead. “In our room. I’ve been staying in the other one. We started to realize yesterday that we were making each other sick. First, she would seem better while I would get worse. Then she would be sick again. It’s been going like that for about a week now.”
“What is it? What are your symptoms?”
“It started with only aches and pains; a bit of a cough. Then there were chills and I couldn’t keep anything in. It’s been the same for Chel, but worse.” Miguel shook. Tears formed in his eyes. “She says she hasn’t felt the baby move all day.”
“I’ll go check on her right now. You go ahead and lay back down. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Miguel did as requested, hobbling back to where he was staying. Jonathan rushed into the other room pointed out and found Araceli lying on the bed, still as stone…
Until he approached.
She sat up as best as she could, struggling under the weight of her pregnant belly.
“Doctor Edwards?”
He strode over to the side of her bed. “How do you feel, Araceli?” he asked while placing a hand to her head.
“Better than before, but I’m afraid.” She teared up. “I think something might be wrong with the baby. It won’t move.”
“Do you mind if I…” Jonathan asked and then placed his hands on her stomach when she shook her head to let him know it was fine to examine her. After a minute of feeling around, he sighed. “I’ll be honest. I’m a little concerned. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, though, and say that we must take the baby now. When is the last time you ate or drank anything?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been sipping on a bit of water, but I can’t really remember the last time I ate. Perhaps a couple of days. Whenever I try, it seems to come back up.”
“Alright. You stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I have an idea, but I must check on Miguel first.”
She nodded and he left, only making it several steps when he looked down over the rail, and noticed a shadow that was cast on the living room floor. In the threshold of the open door stood Kela, light streaming in from around her.
“How are they?” she called up.
He descended the stairs to join her outside. He pulled the cloth down from his face to speak freely and breath in the fresh air. “Miguel is obviously still sick. At least, that’s what I believe. I have yet to check him for fever. Araceli’s fever has broken. However, the baby isn’t moving and that worries me.”
“Will you cut it out?”
Her suggestion surprised him. “Well, a cesarean surgery is a possibility that crossed my mind. Although, it could not be performed here. I wouldn’t want to risk infection. Besides, I don’t have the proper tools to do it right now. How do you know of this, though? Do your people do this kind of surgery?”
Kela looked down with a frown. “Yes.”
“I’m very surprised… and impressed. I never realized the Miwok had such tools.”
“Why should you be surprised? All the people own knives.”
“Yes, but to safely deliver both mother and child—that is quite a feat.”
“I did not say we deliver both mother and child. I said we make the cut. We only deliver the baby. Why? Are you saying that you can save both?”
“I have,” Jonathan admitted. “When I was back east, the situation arose several times. I assisted on three occasions, and headed the procedures for two others. Both mother and child survived each time.”
Kela stood with apparent astonishment. “You must be a powerful holy man.”
He smiled. “I’m not so sure I would call myself that, but I have been very fortunate to train with some of the best medical minds in the country and abroad—places like France, Italy and Germany.”
“I do not know these places.”
“Maybe I can tell you more about them another time,” he said. “At the moment, I must get back to my patients—especially Araceli. After seeing her husband’s worried look, I don’t want to return without news as to how the baby fares.”
“I will help you,” Kela offered.
“Oh? I thought you said it would be too dangerous.”
“It is a risk I am willing to take if it means this child will not be like me.”
“I don’t understand.”
Kela sighed. “I am the one cut from the belly.”
“I see.” He reached out to offer her comfort, placing a hand on one shoulder. It had an unexpected effect on each of them. Warmth traveled the length of his arm and lit up her eyes. They reflected the same feelings he felt—wonder and worry; hesitation and hope. He felt a sudden urge to embrace her. Unnerved, he dropped his arm. It felt like stone by his side, missing the heat that had radiated between them. He coughed in a poor attempt to redirect his focus. “I’m sorry what happened to you and yours. I’m hoping the same won’t happen today.”
“What will you do to prevent it?”
“First, I’m going to try to get some food into her. The only problem is that I fear it will all come back up.”
“Here. Perhaps this will help.” Kela reached into a leather purse tied around her waist and pulled out one of several pouches she carried with her. “This is an herb to settle the stomach. Many women with child drink it. It will not hurt the baby, and may help the mother eat better.”
Jonathan tentatively accepted the pouch. Should he use it? One look at Kela reassured him. She was earnest in her attempts to help.
“Thank you. Here, I have something for you as well.” He walked back into the house and returned a minute later with another cotton cloth. “For your face. Maybe it will help keep you from contracting whatever illness there is.”
“Thank you, Jonathan Edwards. You are a good man.”
He hadn’t been prepared for her comment. The truth was that he didn’t feel he truly was a good man. Still, something about her saying so filled him with the desire to prove that he could be. He stood up a little straighter.
“Let’s see to our patients. Shall we?”
Chapter 6
Kela remained impressed. The day before had gone incredibly well. The patients Miguel and Araceli were on the mend. More importantly, their baby remained safe. With the tea Kela had provided Jonathan, Araceli had been able to keep down the food he prepared for her. Soon after, the baby had once again begun to move around. Then to ease the fears of the soon-to-be mother, Jonathan had agreed to ride out to the Arroyo-Dayal family home and check on Juan Arroyo, who had come to visit several days prior. Sure enough, both he and his wife’s daughters, Daksha and Gagana, had contracted the same illness as Araceli. Upon the doctor’s suggestion, their youngest child was packed up and shipped off to the nearest relatives a town over.
It had grown late then and they had to return for fear of worrying Kela’s own people. However, the doctor had been certain that he finally understood where Mrs. Mayfield’s illness had started as she had visited Araceli for a lady’s chat. Now, they were on their way to visit the Mayfield cabin and learn what they could about the family’s well-being.
“I wish to speak, Jonathan Edwards.”
The doctor sat up a little straighter on the wagon bench. “That’s fine… and please, just call me Jonathan.”
“Very well, Jonathan.” She nodded her agreement. “I wish to say that I believe you did well yesterday. You are a good man and a good healer for your people. I have enjoyed seeing your medicine.”
The doctor sat there, stunned into silence. He stayed like that for so long
that she wondered if she should question his hearing… or worry if he, too, was coming down with the illness that seemed to be spreading amongst some of the townsfolk—even if it was mostly only the ones lining the land closer to the river.
Maybe he is embarrassed. Yes, that is it. I should not have been so forward.
She was still chiding herself when he finally cleared his throat. “Thank you. I appreciate your confidence in me. To be honest, I suppose I’ve been lacking some of that lately.”
“Why would you lack confidence?”
“I guess ever since, well, a while now… It’s just been a thing.” He turned and gave her an obviously forced smile. “It’s just the way my mind works, I suppose. Anyway. I look forward to seeing how you heal others. It’ll be nice to visit your village and see what it’s like for myself.”
“Yes, I will like that as well. However, you must give me a day to prepare my people. Some are a little… distrustful.”
“Understandable.”
There was a small lull in the conversation and it bothered Kela a bit. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but she liked the idea of him speaking as he had the day before—trying to “talk the hind legs off a donkey.” She searched for something to say. “You don’t think the Mayfield man will be upset that I have come, too. Do you?”
“Why should he?” the doctor asked. “You’re accompanying me. Besides, we are there for their well-being—not ours.”
“Hmmm. You make a good point,” she said. “So, how much longer until we reach the Mayfield’s homestead?”
“Up ahead,” Jonathan pointed out and Kela spied a splintering wood cabin that could have been nice had someone cared enough to invest in its upkeep. Of course, this did not matter much to Kela. Her people lived in huts made of tule and wood. Some occasionally decorated with deer hide—a sign of beauty. While she thought the homes wonderfully made, surely there were others who would think otherwise. Still, Kela could not help but notice the filth that seemed to surround the home—a pile of dirty clothes off to one side, apparently still awaiting a good wash, and raw meat hanging in a row from the edge of the roof, it’s rancid smell wafting towards the wagon as the doctor pulled up to the house. Flies buzzed around as if preparing for some banquet. Both Jonathan and Kela descended the wagon, swatting away the flies as they approached the front door—except there was no actual door. In the place where one should have been was instead a dirty, thin muslin cloth hanging in the threshold.
“Hello?” Jonathan called out. “Is anyone home?”
No one answered. So, he called out again.
“They are around back,” Kela said.
“How do you know?” the doctor asked.
She pointed to one ear. “Listen.”
Jonathan did as suggested, straining to hear whatever it was she was listening to. After a good minute or so, he finally heard faint voices on the wind.
“Wait here,” he instructed Kela.
Walking towards the side of the house, he rounded the corner to find a makeshift tent and all but one of the Mayfield children gathering sticks.
“Hey, boys.” He made his presence known. “What’s going on here?”
“Ma said we’re to gather whatever would we can to start a fire,” the oldest, Bobby, said.
“Yeah,” the second oldest, Henry, chimed in. “We’re gonna set all the clothes on fire.”
“What? Why would your mother do that?”
“Cause Pa said so,” Bobby explained. “He said there was death in them old rags and he didn’t want them in his house anymore.”
“Your mother could simply wash them, though. Why would he think there’s death in them?”
“Because of Sammy.”
Jonathan stilled. “What do you mean?”
The boys looked up and then fell silent. Jonathan glanced behind him. There stood Kela.
“What are you boys talking about?”
Quiet settled over them like someone had stolen their tongues, or worse. Like a final shroud. The doctor turned on his heels and raced back towards the house, speeding past Kela.
“What’s wrong?” she called out.
He didn’t answer. Instead, his speed picked up until he reached the front of the house. Without hesitation, he pushed aside the veil and stepped into the empty space that served as a great room. Beyond it was another one. Jonathan walked in, followed by a quiet Kela. They both stopped.
“Mrs. Mayfield?”
The woman looked up from where she kneeled in the farthest corner of the room. Tears streaming down her face, her hands slowly rose. “I don’t know why.” Her voice cracked and her sobs grew louder. “I—I don’t know why.”
Jonathan rushed over to the woman’s side and knelt beside her. He wrapped his arms around the trembling woman and pulled her to her feet.
“It’s alright,” he soothed. “It’s going to be alright. Come away now.”
She allowed him to lead her a few feet away, but then abruptly pulled back. “No, I can’t! Robert will be home soon. I’m to finish dressing the body before he returns.”
He released her and she quickly returned to her son’s bedside where a bucket of water waited. She picked up a rag from it and continued on with her task, wiping down the small body.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. He started to cough and complain about his stomach hurting. Next thing I knew, he couldn’t keep any food down.” The woman turned to both Jonathan and Kela, her despair evident as she looked from one to the other. “Oh, you should have seen Robert. He was storming around—yelling about how I had gotten our boy sick. I was getting better, though, so I told him it was sure to run its course soon and Samuel would be fine in a few days. Only thing is he didn’t get fine. Then he wouldn’t wake up this morning. Robert was so mad. He started throwing all the clothes outside, screaming that it should have been me instead.”
The woman started crying harder.
“That is why the others are outside,” Kela finally spoke.
Sarah Mayfield nodded her head. “Robert said he didn’t want them getting sick, too.”
“Where is Robert right now?”
She refused to look up at them, her eyes trained on the floor instead. Her voice was husky when she spoke. “Digging.”
“No coffin?”
The woman shook her head.
Jonathan glanced at Kela and she knew they both had the same thought. It was no way to bury a loved one. While there were some differences in how the settlers and the Miwok went about the task, they both understood it was important to do it with the utmost respect. This was done through ritual. Widows would cut off their hair and paint their faces with pitch. Then the tribe would bury the lost ones along the river to send their spirits on their way. Their names weren’t spoken after that. Why call someone back from heaven?
The way that the Mayfield family was doing things seemed like a special kind of sickness of its own—the kind that comes with grief.
Kela approached the woman and knelt down beside her. “I will help you.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My husband will not like it.”
“Please,” Kela insisted. “You are tired.”
“She’s right,” Jonathan agreed. “You need to rest. Let us help.”
Sarah finally relented. “I’ll just be outside, checking on the boys.”
“Perhaps you can convince them to help find some flowers.”
The woman nodded and disappeared, allowing Kela and Jonathan to continue her work.
“That was very kind of you,” Kela said.
“What’s that?”
“The way you comforted the Mayfield woman. You are different from the others.”
“How so?”
“You care about people.”
Jonathan measured his words cautiously. “I know it might not seem like others care, but they do—even when they don’t show it. You only have to give them a chance to do the right thing.”
“Was it t
he right thing when one attacked our people—forcing us to move? How was it right when one attacked my own mother?”
“Is that why you were born as you were—with the cesarean?
Kela turned away. “We must finish this. The Mayfield woman—”
“You have to leave right now!”
Speak of the…
As if simply saying her name had conjured her up, there stood Sarah Mayfield with a handful of half-crushed flowers.
Kela and Jonathan both stood.
“Why?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to answer, but the words didn’t have a chance to come out before Robert Mayfield strode in. His eyes blazed with fury. He raised a shaking finger at Kela.
“What’s that savage doing in my home?” he roared.
Before anyone could speak, he lunged forward, arms wide as if ready to tackle. Kela reached to the place where she kept her knife. Her fingers wrapped around the handle. She pulled it out, the blade flashing in the light streaming in from the window. However, there was no need to defend herself. As she prepared to fight, so did Jonathan. He stepped forward, blocking Robert’s path.
“Move!” Robert demanded.
“Not on your life.”
“That’s exactly what it’s going to be if you don’t get out of my way—your life.”
Jonathan smirked. “You can’t kill what’s already dead.”
The words shook Robert a bit. He took a step back. “I would’ve thought that you of all people would choose the right side after what they did to your wife. They violated her, man! Killed her, set your house on fire… left your children for dead, too. And now you stand with one them? What is it, Doc? You get yourself a taste for their women?”
Jonathan’s hand curled into a fist. He raised it, ready to strike.
“Stop!” Kela cried out. “Do not be like him.”
“You always do what she tells you to?” Robert needled Jonathan. “You obey those filthy, thievin,’ no good animals?” He looked past the doctor. “Yeah, that’s what the lot of you are. That’s how you should be treated, too.”
“That’ll be quite enough, Robert.”
The click of a cocked trigger forced the man to turn around. There stood Sarah Mayfield with a shotgun in her hand.
