Without raising her eyes from the scales upon which she was measuring herbs, Michelia said, “About time you found your way to work. You know, if you don’t take yourself seriously, no one else will either. The community depends on us to keep it healthy and to have the answers when members are sick or injured. If they see you shirking your responsibilities and behaving like a juvenile delinquent, they aren’t likely to take your healthcare guidance.”
I just got here. Geesh. Can you leave the lecture for five seconds? That’s what I thought of saying, but all that came out of my mouth was: “Yup, sorry.” The arguments ended faster if I simply agreed. I shut the door behind me. The clinic and the council office were the only two shanties in the canopy that had doors. In the case of the clinic, it made sense. We locked up the various medicines and tinctures every night to keep them safe from nocturnal visitors, both four- and two-legged. You only needed to look at my father—or a raccoon, not much difference there—to understand that reasoning. I didn’t know why the council office was locked. I could have asked my grandmother Butia, but at that point in my life, I didn’t care.
“Really? Is that all you have to say for yourself? Sorry? Sorry doesn’t cut it when you give a patient the wrong medicine. Sorry doesn’t mean a thing when you pull the wrong tooth or forget the anesthetic when you’re stitching a laceration. Where were you until—what time is it? The sun is heading into the west. We’re well into the afternoon. And me here, alone, taking patients and mixing medicines. How long were you up on Bough Seven? You know I don’t like you spending time up there. You should have fixed that shoulder and come right back down here.”
Michelia was exaggerating, again. It was shortly after lunch, not well into the afternoon. Which reminded me that I hadn’t eaten—so I grabbed a piece of my mother’s mainstay, dry-as-dirt nutloaf. Besides, I’d fixed Wingnut’s shoulder, examined Cassia, and counseled Thevetia. If I’d had a bit of a nap in between all those visits, so what? I wasn’t sleeping so great at night and with this new schedule, I had to wake up way too early. I knew fighting with her wouldn’t work, but I’d been studying under my mom’s tutelage long enough to know how to guilt someone.
“You want to know who I was with?”
She stopped what she was doing and mirrored me. I hated when she did that. It made me feel ridiculous. She was all defiant, sticking out her chin, one hand resting on her jutted-out hip. Is that what I looked like to her? “Yes, I would really like to know.”
Self-conscious now, I adjusted my stance, dropping my hand and relaxing my hip. I pulled my chin back in and tried to relax my face. She did the same.
Though my mother was nearly fifty years old, only the furrows on her brow and the light dusting of gray through her short brown hair hinted at her age. A full head shorter than me, she stared back at me, strength emanating from her eyes, one blue and one green. Same as mine—allegedly every doctor in our line going all the way back had inherited Pseudotsuga’s heterochromia. Unafraid of conflict, my mother had no favorites when it came to chastising patients. She scolded everyone for their bad choices, regardless of age or rank. A grown man was as likely to get a tongue lashing about his poor hygiene as a five-year old boy. A wise maestro and a green trainee were equal in her eyes.
Yet, despite her uncompromising ways or perhaps because of them, my mother was if not beloved certainly respected throughout the community. She was the picture of help and care. Hers was the first pot of soup to reach a sick family, her touch on the feverish forehead cool and comforting, her control of the blade exact. Observing the effect of stress on young parents—the constant vigilance required to keep their children safe in the trees took its toll—it had been her idea to start up a community school. She had pushed for the construction of an elder shelter on the lower bough by gathering support among her patients and their families. It had been completed three months ago, and elders like Thevetia and Wollemia were relinquishing the upper boughs to the sinewy youths, improving their quality of life, and it was to be hoped, their longevity.
“I fixed Wingnut’s arm,” I said. “I told him to come down and see you.”
She nodded her head. “He was here an hour ago.”
“Oh, okay. How did I do with the shoulder?”
“Great actually. I tightened up the sling for him. A little more practice and I think you’d have it. What else?”
I couldn’t exactly tell her I’d gone back to our shanty and taken a nap, so I lied. “I checked in with a few of the new mothers, made sure their babies were gaining weight.” To make my story more plausible, I added, “The stinging nettle hasn’t increased Acacia’s milk supply. We may need to consider blessed thistle.”
She nodded. Great, I’d sold that one. How much time would that have taken? Did I need to invent another home visit? If I invented too many, she’d see through my charade. It would have been unlikely for me to climb back up the stairway again after descending from Bough Seven all the way to Bough One. I’d better stop while things were still believable.
“Then, I stopped in to visit Cassia. Cedrus will be bringing her to see you tomorrow. And, I would have been here sooner, but I was waylaid by Thevetia, who doesn’t remember her visit here yesterday. So, I’ve been busy.”
Michelia turned back to the scale and continued measuring herbs. Sighing, I bit into the nutloaf and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. It was dry and bland, but the fat and protein of the ground hazelnuts stopped my hunger pains. I moved to the opposite side of the table and began tying bark strips into packets. I figured I wouldn’t receive an apology, but I knew the conflict was over.
“Are you sure about Acacia? Our blessed thistle is running low, and it will be at least four months before we can harvest more.”
I hedged. “She can probably wait another day. I’ll check her again tomorrow.”
“Okay. But if her milk doesn’t come in with greater quantity, the infant will need to nurse with another mother. We can’t put future babies at risk, not with four more deliveries expected this month. How is Cassia progressing?”
“Why didn’t you tell me she was expecting twins?”
The scale clattered as Michelia swung around and stared at me. “What?”
“You didn’t know? I heard something odd this morning. Two heartbeats.”
“How could I have missed that? Impossible. Are you sure?”
“I listened multiple times. The beats are on opposite ends of the uterus.”
“Twins then. How in the name of Pseudotsuga did I screw that one up? Never, not even when I was in training, have I ever missed a multiple.”
“It explains her rapid weight gain, her early fatigue.”
“How did I miss it? My concentration hasn’t been great. Damn menopause brain.” Michelia scratched her head. “This means she’ll deliver earlier than we planned.”
“Definitely. She’s huge.”
“Did you tell her she’s having twins?”
“Yes. She knows.”
Michelia nodded. “Good.”
Good? That was debatable. But she wouldn’t hear the details from me. “I told her to come in tomorrow and see you.”
“Yes. Absolutely. That was the right thing to do.”
I blushed, feeling the foreign warmth of praise envelop me. It was short-lived.
“Why didn’t you bring Thevetia with you? I should examine her again. Perhaps we need to start her on rosemary supplements or ginkgo for that memory? Here, scoop these piles into the packets. We’ve had a run on St. John’s Wort this week.”
“It’s this dreary weather. So dark these last few weeks. It depresses everyone.”
“Well, the elders and the mothers, at any rate. Bough One has many benefits, but sunlight isn’t one of them. After you’ve packaged the herbs, you may leave. You’ve had a busy day. Be sure to visit the market on your way home. And stand up straight. Your posture is atrocious.”
As I left, I remembered what day it was. The anniversary of Joshua’s feeding. That would almost explain why Michelia was picking at me. Almost.