MAM DOESN’T CRY, BUT I know inside she wants to. She bundles little Teddy up in the blanket and holds him tight against her, able to speak but half a thought.
“But the medicine …”
“I’m sorry,” says Dr. Thompson. “You’ve left it too late. Perhaps if you had brought him to me sooner.”
I hate the way he’s making Mam feel that what’s wrong with Teddy is all her fault. I can’t help myself. I have to speak up.
“We brought him but two weeks ago,” I say. “Don’t you remember? You said the medicine would make him better, but he just kept getting sicker.”
“Silence,” says Father, but not in an angry way. I’m thinking he may agree with me.
“Medicine is not a precise science,” huffs the doctor. “Naturally, I hoped the baby would improve, but I don’t claim to work miracles. Now,” he says, turning to Father, “if you will be so kind as to transport me back into town, I have other patients to see.”
“What about George’s arm?” says Father.
Dr. Thompson looks over at me like I’m fly speck for questioning him.
“Save your money and put a splint on it yourself. That will do as well as a plaster cast,” he says.
He’s talking like we Gillies are paupers. That makes me even madder.
“Will,” I say. “Reach into my pocket. You’ll find six bits in there.” Will fishes into my pocket and brings out the six coins. “Those are for you,” I say to the doctor.
Will hands Dr. Thompson the money. He jingles the coins in his palm, like he’s trying to see if they’re real. He gives me a false smile and says, “Thank you, son.” Then, to Father, “I’ll be sure to tell Mrs. Thompson that your account is settled.” He nods his head at Mam. “Good day, Mrs. Gillies. I wish I had been able to give you better news.”
MAM SITS IN THE rocking chair once Father and Dr. Thompson are gone, cuddling Teddy and singing to him softly.
Across the room, Annie asks me, “Is Teddy going to die, George?”
“That’s up to God’s will,” I say, loud enough so Mam can hear. “The best thing we can do is look after ourselves so Mam can look after him.”
“Does your arm hurt much?”
“Yes. Is there any breakfast left?”
I feel guilty for thinking of my stomach at a time like this, but I haven’t eaten since last night and I am ravenous. Mam calls from the rocker,
“Fix George some bread and jam, Annie.”
“Yes, Mam.”
“We’ll see to your arm once you’ve eaten, George.”
Little Isabel has had enough of being good. She holds out her skirt and begins twirling around the room.
“Annie, let’s dance,” she says.
“Not now!”
Annie is busy slicing bread for me, using her bossy tone to warn Isabel that she has more important duties to perform than playing with her. Isabel keeps dancing, twirling faster and making herself dizzy. She knocks a chair, but keeps on going. “Isabel, stop!” says Annie.
“But I want to dance!”
You can see it’s only a matter of time before she bumps her head and starts crying. Ordinarily Mam would be telling Isabel to mind Annie, but Mam is only gazing at her from the rocker, shiny-eyed.
“Isabel!”
Annie is cross at not being obeyed. She grabs hold of Isabel by the arm to stop her. I can see that Isabel is winding up to a howl of protest. I’m not usually one to get mixed up with child-minding—that’s women’s work—but I find myself saying, “I’ll dance with her.”
Isabel lights up. Annie retreats to the cutting board, where she spreads jam on bread for me. I hold out the uninjured fingers of my right hand. Isabel reaches up with her tiny hand and grasps them. Together we begin swaying in a waltz around the room. I’m careful to keep the sling holding my broken arm close to my side.
“You’re a good dancer, George,” says Isabel.
Looking down at her plump face framed by curls, I dip my head to her in a little bow.
“Thank you kindly, Miss. So are you.”
Mam’s watching us from the rocker, smiling. I hold up Isabel’s hand with mine to allow her to pirouette. That’s what Mam calls it when she spins. Will brings an armful of wood in from outside and carries it to the stove, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I don’t care. It’s at that moment that John comes in, followed by Agnes. Agnes laughs at the sight of Isabel and me.
“To’ke-tie!” she says.
Then her glance falls on Teddy, and her smile disappears.
AGNES TAKES OVER, and we let her. First she makes Will understand between Chinook and her little bit of English to fill a pot of water at the creek and to start it boiling on the stove. From her beaded bag she takes a bundle of dried herbs and hands them to Annie, who looks confused.
“Ee’-na stick. Tea,” Agnes says. “For waum sick.”
I know that “stick” serves general purpose for “wood” in Chinook jargon, and as I look closer at the dried bundle I see that it’s leaves from a willow tree. I can guess what “waum sick” means.
“She wants you to make willow tea to bring down Teddy’s fever,” I tell Annie.
Agnes goes to Mam and reaches for the baby. You can see that Mam doesn’t want to give him up, but she knows Agnes is his only hope. Agnes gently takes him into her arms. Smiling and cooing at Teddy in her own Sumas tongue, she unfolds the blanket and takes a good look at him. We’re all watching her close, just as we did with Dr. Thompson not half an hour ago. It’s hard to read what she’s thinking. At last she asks, “Ik-tah muck’-a-muck? To-toosh?” I’m shocked by her immodesty as she puts her hand over one of her bosoms, in case we don’t understand. “Milk?” she says in English.
“He never seems hungry,” replies Mam. “More often than not, he refuses. When he does nurse, he throws the milk back up.”
Agnes looks puzzled. She puts her fingers to her mouth, like she’s putting food there.
“Weght?” she says. Then, in English, “More food?”
John pipes up, “She wants to know if he’s been eating anything else besides milk.”
Mam starts to shake her head. Then she remembers, “The medicine.”
John fetches the bottle of Dr. Thompson’s medicine from the shelf beside the stove. Agnes passes the baby back to Mam and pulls out the cork stopper to take a whiff of what’s inside. Her nose wrinkles. Then her look is pure disgust.
“Baby páht-lum!” she says.
None of us knows what she means.
“What’s páht-lum?” I ask.
Agnes does a crazy dance, making her eyes roll. I can’t believe it. Mam is aghast.
“Are you saying my baby is drunk?”
Agnes nods. She speaks the next word slowly and carefully, like she’s trying to teach it to us. “Laud-um.” She repeats, “Laud-um.”
I’m at a loss. It’s no Chinook word I’ve ever heard of. But Mam understands.
“Laudanum,” she says. “You mean there’s laudanum in the medicine.”
Agnes nods her head, expecting Mam to get her drift, but she doesn’t.
“Of course there’s laudanum in it,” says Mam. “It’s medicine.”
Agnes seems upset by our confusion. She prattles off something in Sumas lingo. We stare at her, then we look to each other. It’s one thing for Dr. Thompson’s medicine not to be doing Teddy any good, but is she saying it’s making him drunk?
“What’s wrong with laudanum?” I ask.
Agnes tilts her head and rests it on her hands, held together. She closes her eyes.
“Baby moo’-sum. Make sleep.”
I can see the truth dawning on Mam’s face.
“The medicine’s been making him too sleepy! That’s why he isn’t interested in feeding. That’s why he won’t gain weight.”
Agnes gives three nods of her head, relieved that at last we slow-pokes have caught on. Holding it like poison, Mam takes the bottle from Agnes and thrusts it at John.
“Pour it down the privy!” she declares.
She holds Teddy to her like he’ll be safe as long as he’s in her arms.