Good Medicine (4 page)

Jordan Burke was tall, maybe five-nine or ten—or maybe she only looked that tall because she was long-legged and very slender. Her thick chestnut hair, down past her shoulder blades and silky straight, was parted in the middle and tied simply at the base of her neck with a blue scarf. She was wearing faded jeans, brown boots and a hooded blue sweatshirt. She carried a navy rain jacket slung over one long, slim arm.

Eli and Michael were hoisting her grocery bags and talking a mile a minute, and he saw her smile at them. Her smile transformed her narrow face with its aristocratic long nose and full lips from almost plain to—he thought pretty and then changed his mind to beautiful. But only when she smiled.

She looked foreign. Pale, exotic, fragile. Silas made a dismissive sound in his throat and turned away from the window.

She wouldn't last long. He'd bet the council would be hiring another doctor within six weeks. Strength and endurance were essential in this wild, remote location. Fragile flowers didn't thrive in Ahousaht.

J
ORDAN HAD JUST FINISHED
hanging her jacket in the small closet and was assessing how much space the drawers of the rickety chest gave her when she heard a knock at the door. She hurried to open it, hoping it was Billy with her suitcases, but Christina stood there, navy shirt accentuating the dramatic angles of her high cheekbones.

“Welcome, Jordan,” she said with a wide smile. She handed her a bouquet of wild roses in a glass canning jar.

“Hey, Christina, thank you so much. Come in. I met your adorable son and his friend. Thanks for sending them to escort me from the boat.”

Jordan put the flowers in the middle of the table.

“I wanted to be there myself, but there was a minor emergency. Did the boys give you the rundown on the entire population?”

“Only their immediate families and everyone we passed. I can't wait to pump them for more.”

“They're nosy little demons. I just hope they never find out about blackmail.”

Jordan waved an arm at the walls. “Thanks for the paint job, I love the color.”

“Lambskin duvet, just like I promised.” Christina glanced at the grocery bags. “I hope you didn't make lunch yet. Mom wondered if you'd like to come and eat with us?”

Jordan glanced at her watch, suddenly aware that it was past noon and nerves had kept her from having anything but coffee that morning.

“Thanks, Christina. I'd love to, but I'm waiting for Billy to bring my suitcases. He should be here any minute. Can you wait?”

“Sure. No rush. Mom's serving stew, it'll keep.”

“Please, sit.” Jordan gestured at the brown tweed couch. “Do you want to call her? I have my cell phone—”

Christina grinned and shook her head. “Mom's pretty easygoing. She'll expect us when we get there.”

Jordan sank into a stuffed armchair across from the couch and then gave a startled squeak when her bottom almost hit the floor. The springs were gone.

“Oops.” Christina put a hand over her mouth and giggled. After a moment of stunned silence, Jordan began to laugh too, and then she couldn't stop. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she pressed her fists against her mouth, willing herself to regain control, losing it more with each passing moment.

C
HRISTINA GOT UP
after a moment and knelt in front of Jordan.

“Let it come,” she said in her soft, slow voice. “Let it out, it needs to escape now.” She laid a small hand gently on Jordan's head and stroked her hair.

Ashamed, but too far out of control to do anything about it, Jordan wailed, gulping out strange guttural noises.

“That's the way,” Christina encouraged her. “Let 'er out.”

It took what felt like forever before Jordan regained control.

Christina went to the bathroom for a tissue, then pressed it into Jordan's hand.

“Oh, dammit, I'm so sorry,” Jordan said when she could speak again. “What an idiot, having a meltdown like that.” She blew her nose hard and tried for a smile. “And I'm supposed to be the doctor. It's enough to scare you, huh?”

Christina shook her head. “You're a woman first. Women need to cry, it keeps us healthy.”

A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the suitcases.

“Oh, no, I'm a wreck.” Jordan hated the idea of anyone else witnessing her breakdown.

“Go in the bathroom and run some cool water. I'll tell Billy to put the suitcases in the bedroom, okay?”

“Thanks.” Jordan hurried into the bathroom and locked the door. She was shaking.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she whispered to her bleary image in the mirror over the sink. “You'll need to go back on medication if you keep this up.”

She washed her face and held a cold washcloth over her swollen eyes. She could hear Christina's calm voice directing Billy, and then the sound of the door closing behind him. Grateful that she'd already put the small cache of cosmetics she carried in her purse on the shelf above the sink, Jordan used eye drops and touches of concealer, then an eyelash curler. A critical glance told her that no one with normal eyesight would be fooled; her cheeks were flushed, her eyes still bloodshot, her face puffy.

She took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.

Christina studied her. “Well, it looks like you either have one hell of a hangover or you've been on a major crying jag,” she said.

“Let's be optimistic and think hangover.”

Christina grinned. “Okay, let's go eat. Food fixes damned near anything. I'm starving.”

“Me, too.” That in itself was amazing. Jordan's ap
petite had been on sabbatical for weeks, but at this moment she was voraciously hungry.

“That's gonna make my mother one happy woman. She loves feeding people. It's a wonder I'm not three hundred pounds.” Christina waited while Jordan locked the door, and then they set off down the gravel road.

The wind was up—it smelled of the sea—and it cooled Jordan's burning cheeks and smarting eyes.

“Where'd you train, Christina?” She liked the other woman a lot. She'd only ever had a handful of women friends, and she'd lost touch with them since marrying Garry. He'd taken all her attention.

“Edmonton, nine years ago,” Christina said. “I followed my high school sweetheart there. David got a job in the oil fields and I enrolled in nursing. But he was killed when a generator blew up. I was two months from graduating and four months pregnant. We were getting married the day after graduation.”

Lordy. All of a sudden, Jordan's life didn't seem so desperate.

Christina was matter-of-fact about it all. “I got my degree and came back here so Eli could grow up with family and friends.”

Family. Friends. The words left a hollow space in Jordan's heart. She'd grown up in foster homes, struggling to make top grades, too busy to have time for friendship. And then somewhere along the line, she'd learned not to trust other women. And yet here was a woman, on an island in what at this moment felt like
the outer edge of the known world, who made Jordan think friendship was not only possible, but likely.

They left the road and headed up a slight hill to a wooden frame house indistinguishable from every other they'd passed. Each had a stack of firewood outside, and many of the yards were cluttered with discarded bathtubs, broken high chairs, rusted motors, old tires—even bed frames.

Some had electrical lines leading to them, but many didn't. The one Christina headed for was tidy and well kept. The pile of firewood was neatly stacked, and wooden tubs of flowers flanked the walkway. Christina led Jordan up the sturdy stairs and opened the front door.

“Mom, hey, we're here!”

Mouthwatering cooking smells greeted them, along with Elvis singing gospel on a boom box. A plump, very pretty woman hurried down the hall to greet them, wiping her hands on a striped apron tied around her ample waist. She was smiling, and her dark eyes were almost buried in her round apple cheeks.

“About time. I was about to send out a scouting party.”

“This is Jordan Burke, Ma. Jordan, my mother, Rose Marie Crow.”

Rose Marie took both of Jordan's hands in a warm, welcoming clasp.

“You're a pretty one,” she commented. “But way too skinny, we'll have to feed you up, eh?”

Jordan's smile took effort. Her skin felt shrunken from crying, and she was suddenly shy. “It smells won
derful in here,” she managed to say. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“We're not fancy, come and sit in the kitchen and I'll serve the stew. Christina, Eli came by and said he's eating at Michael's house. Wanda's making them KD.”

“Kraft Dinner,” Christina interpreted. “They'd live on the stuff if we let them.”

Rose Marie led the two women to the large kitchen at the back of the house. Sliding doors opened on to a deck, where the yard below was mostly garden. Green plants in a variety of pots lined the deep windowsills.

The kitchen was warm and inviting, counters lined with baskets of food and a wood-burning cookstove in the corner like the one in Jordan's apartment. Except this one sent out waves of warmth. Its gleaming surface was crowded with pots, and a large, sturdy basket beside the stove held a good supply of firewood.

Rose Marie deftly lifted the lid with an iron utensil and thrust another log into the firebox, slamming the lid back in place. The big square wooden table in the middle of the room was set for four with sea-green place mats and colorful Fiestaware.

Christina indicated a chair, and Jordan sat.

“Where's Grandmother, Mom?”

“She went back home to get something but told us not to wait for her.”

Rose Marie began filling huge bowls with stew. Slicing up a loaf of freshly baked bread, Christina filled a wooden platter, and set it on the table along with a wooden bowl of glistening salad greens.

“Dig in,” Rose Marie ordered, taking her place beside Christina.

Jordan, suddenly ravenous, did as she was told. Her first bite confirmed that Rose Marie was an exceptional cook who knew her way around a seafood stew.

“This is
sooo
good,” she sighed.

Just as Jordan was sampling the crusty bread—irresistibly still warm—the deck door slid open and a short, very old woman with long black braids came in. Almost as wide as she was tall, she moved with an assured dignity and grace that belied her years.

Christina got up and gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Hey, Grandmother Alice, this is Jordan Burke, the new doctor. Jordan, this is Alice Sam.”

“How do you do.” Alice set down the plastic bag she was carrying and came over to take Jordan's hand. Her gaze seemed to penetrate beneath the skin. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Jordan Burke.”

“And you, Mrs. Sam.”

“Grandmother, everyone calls me Grandmother.”

“Sit,” Rose Marie ordered. “I'll get you some stew. Help yourself to salad and bread.”

While Elvis sang “Amazing Grace,” they ate the food, simple and delicious.

After a long silence, the women began to discuss the weather and the garden and someone's new baby. Jordan didn't feel excluded, but rather, relived they didn't make her the focus of the gathering.

She sensed they were giving her a chance to get to know them, to feel at home with them—and to re
cover from whatever had made her eyes red and bloodshot.

She felt relaxed and peaceful, sitting in the bright kitchen with these kind and tactful women.

“I made Nanaimo bars,” Rose Marie said when everyone was finished eating. “You drink coffee, Doctor? Or I can make tea, herbal or regular, whatever you want.”

“Coffee's fine.” A jolt of caffeine would help get her through the afternoon.

The Nanaimo bars were decadent—layers of sweet custard, coconut and smooth dark chocolate. Between the sugar and caffeine, Jordan was soon wide-awake again.

“I read that now they think chocolate is actually good for you,” Christina said. “What's your professional opinion, Jordan? You can lie—we'll all be grateful.”

They all turned to look at her.

“Women have always known chocolate's good for them,” she said, munching a second slice. “We didn't need scientists to prove it.”

The others smiled and nodded, and then fell silent. Waiting politely for her to tell them something about herself. But she couldn't. She'd learned to talk to Helen, but she still couldn't let others into her private space. “You're an amazing cook, Rose Marie,” she said. “I'll have to learn to cook, too. I've gotten way too used to eating out and ordering in.”

“Here, we don't have much choice,” Alice said. “And
most of us don't have the money, even if there was somewhere to go besides Mabel's.”

“Working in Emerg, you probably came home too tired to do much cooking,” Christina said in her defense. “You're gonna find life a lot slower here.”

“I'm looking forward to that.”

“You got family on the mainland?” Alice asked.

“No.” Jordan hesitated. “An ex-husband.” The ex part was stretching the truth somewhat. “No kids,” she added with a sense of regret. “I have one brother, but he's in Seattle. I don't see him very often.”

“Your folks passed on?” Alice obviously believed family was very important.

It would be rude to avoid a direct answer. “My mother died when I was four,” Jordan managed to say. “My father figured he couldn't take care of us on his own so he put my brother and me into foster care. He's still alive, but I don't have any contact with him.”

“Too bad,” Alice said shaking her head. “We all need family.”

The women nodded.

“We have a saying,” Grandmother Alice said, murmuring in her own language. “It means we are all related.”

“Most of us, my generation anyways, we got separated from our folks, too,” Rose Marie said. “They took the kids from the reserves and put us either with foster families in the city or in residential schools.”

“I've read about that,” Jordan said. “That had to be one of the most destructive things politicians ever did.”

“Yeah.” All three women agreed, but without any show of emotion.

“It was bad, getting taken away,” Alice said, matter-of-fact. “And then it was real hard, comin' back.”

“Culture shock comin' and goin',” Rose Marie agreed, and they all laughed.

“But now we got our own school, our kids stay here in Ahousaht.”

Jordan recognized the pride in her tone. “When I saw the school the first time I came here, I was impressed. It's beautiful.”

Rose Marie nodded. “And we got some really good teachers.”

“Did any of them grow up here?”

“Three.” Alice poured Jordan another cup of coffee. “There's two from Away, but they've been here two years now. Looks like they might just stay.”

“Is that a problem?” Jordan asked. “Teachers leaving?”

“Oh, yeah, big-time,” Christina said. “Last year we had some leave before September was even over. That young couple who came from the Interior—”

She was interrupted by a man in rough work clothes and rubber boots who opened the sliding door wide and stepped inside.

Rose Marie got up fast. “Peter, what's happened?”

“Louie's cut his leg damned near off with the power saw,” he said, breathing hard. “I knew the new doc was comin' here for lunch—we called for the ambulance but it's got a flat tire.”

“This is my husband, Peter Crow,” Rose Marie said.

“We'd better hurry, Peter.” Jordan got up quickly, adrenaline pumping. “I'll have to get my medical bag from the apartment.”

“You go with Dad,” Christina said. “Give me your key, I'll bring your bag.” She turned to her father. “Where's Louie?”

“Down by the old wharf, he's bleedin' pretty bad, but Silas is there. He'll get it stopped. C'mon, Doc.”

Jordan had to run to keep up with him. He'd left a battered green half ton running, and she climbed into the passenger seat, barely getting the door shut before Peter stepped hard on the accelerator.

A medical emergency.
For the first time all day, Jordan felt confident that she was doing exactly what she was meant to do.