Canopy, p.8
Canopy, page 8
I stacked up the cedar mats, grabbed my satchel, and stepped out the door. Cedrus was hurrying toward the school holding the broom he’d repaired. I’d neglected to sweep and didn’t plan to start now, so I turned in the other direction to make my escape, but he called out, “Ostrya! Wait!”
I groaned and stopped. He tossed the broom into the school shanty and said, “Would you please talk with Cassia?”
“Sure. I’ll stop by tomorrow.” I was tired and hungry. I needed to eat and be alone for a while before my mother gave me her list of chores for the day.
“No, I mean now?” He looked past me to where two older weavers eavesdropped the way they do: feigning interest in the same old story they’ve been telling each other for a decade while their ears rotate toward the sound of younger voices and fresh gossip. He motioned for me to come closer and spoke quietly. “You know we were just at the clinic.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. I know. That’s why I was babysitting all morning.”
“We’re having twins!”
“You don’t say.”
“Cassia doesn’t seem to be taking it well. Could you come talk to her?”
I’d been working hard all morning and the last thing I wanted to do was listen to Cassia complain, but she was my half-sister and one of the few people in the canopy I actually liked. I nodded my head and sighed heavily so Cedrus would know he was asking a lot. I didn’t want him around while I talked to her, and happily for me, he turned toward the central Great One and up the stairway to work.
Cassia was gulping back tears and rubbing her bump when I poked my head into her shanty.
“Cedrus said you wanted to talk to me,” I said.
“Huh?” Cassia seemed surprised to see me. “I didn’t say that. Oh, I guess he thought …”
“He said you were upset …”
She rubbed her bump and closed her eyes. I could see her taking deep breaths, and I imagined she was doing her birthing exercises. One. Hold. Exhale. Two. Hold. Exhale. She opened her eyes and said, “Cedrus is so happy we’re having twins. You should have seen his face when Michelia confirmed it. I wish I could be happy, too. But how are we going to handle two babies in this tiny shanty?”
“A lot of families have two kids. They’re small at first. They won’t take up much room.” What did she want from me? I wasn’t the one who’d gotten her pregnant. Shouldn’t she be talking to Cedrus about this?
“Two children are more than we need. It goes against the rules. I tell my pupils every day: Produce only to replace.” She was talking at me. I might as well be a table or a hammock. She wasn’t even looking at me. “And how am I going to raise two babies and continue teaching? I can strap one on, that’s what I’d been planning on doing. She can nurse and nap in a sling. But two? How do I manage that and continue teaching? And Cedrus will be no help. Up in the limbs building bridges, wrapped in ropes and harnesses. He’s not going to be carrying a baby around.”
“Ummm, lots of parents do it.”
Her eyes flicked over at me. Like she was surprised I was there. And once she remembered, she shot daggers at me. “I know! My mother did it! All alone when my father left us for Michelia!”
“And my mother raised me alone after he left her! What’s your point?” I didn’t understand why she was attacking me. I hadn’t told her to get pregnant. And I certainly wasn’t going to apologize for our father.
She burst into tears. My mother would have reminded me that the changes in estrogen and progesterone levels during pregnancy were affecting Cassia’s neurotransmitters. But I imagined how I would have felt if I thought I was having one baby, being pregnant and having to raise a kid, ugh. And then, when I’d finally gotten used to that idea, being told that I was now going to have two poopers in my shanty. I’d be angry. But then, I never would have hooked up with Cedrus in the first place.
One of the main differences between me and Cassia—and there were plenty—was that she loved kids. I liked them okay; they were amusing, but I had no plans to make new ones. She’d chosen childcare and education as her life work. Why was she so upset about having two babies instead of one?
Awkwardly, I put my arm around her shoulder. It seemed like something one sister should do when the other sister was sobbing, but it felt weird. She hugged me then, hard, and I knew I’d made the right move. She sniffed and coughed and mumbled into my shoulder.
“What’s that? I couldn’t hear.”
She cleared her throat. “Produce to replace.”
“Yeah, so? Two babies. Two of you. One baby for you. One for Cedrus. You aren’t breaking any commandments. You’ll have two children to replace you when it’s time for you and Cedrus to feed the Great Ones.”
She looked at me, fear and uncertainty clouding her wet, brown eyes. “Three babies.”
“What are you saying? Three babies? You’re having twins, not triplets.”
She wiped her eyes, and then shook her head. “I’m having two babies with Cedrus. But I already have one.”
What was this? My sister had a child? Where was it? Who was the father? Did Cedrus know?
She walked to the wide hammock she shared with Cedrus and sat down, hands rubbing her bump again. She sniffed and forced a smile. “I wonder what happens to those who disobey the rules.”
But we both knew. Joshua had paid for Yew’s folly. Who was to pay for Cassia’s?
Chapter Ten
It was quiet at the clinic, the way I liked it. My mother had stepped out immediately after I arrived, but not before giving me an old medical text to read through. Passed from doctor to trainee since it was carried into the treetops by the First Climbers, the book had probably been rebound ten times. The cover, stained dark and mellowed by the hand sweat of healers, was an amalgam of leather strips, most likely the hides of chipmunks and tree mice. The hard resin cementing the pages to the cover was no longer fragrant. I cracked open the spine to the chapter Michelia had assigned: “Medical Device Sterilization.” I was in for a real snooze fest. One paragraph in, and my mind had already drifted away from the yellowing page.
So Cassia had a child. After telling me, her hand had flown to her mouth, as though she might grab the words and shove them back in, reverse time and prevent herself from uttering the truth. She had refused to give any further details and told me to get out of her shanty, but not before making me swear to never speak to anyone about what I’d heard. But someone must know. Someone must have helped her deliver the baby. How old would that child be now? Cassia was six years older than me. She would have lived with her mother until at least sixteen; she wouldn’t have moved to Bough Six until she was trainee age.
I knew Cassia moved back to Bough Three after her mother had been diagnosed with the wasting disease. She’d partnered with Cedrus shortly after her mother died—two years ago now. If Cedrus had been the child’s father, wouldn’t she have partnered with him sooner? And if he’d known of her earlier pregnancy, he would have understood her upset and not asked me to talk to her. She must have been pregnant before she was with Cedrus, maybe as early as the beginning of her traineeship. But if she’d gotten pregnant while living on Bough Six, why hadn’t she partnered with the baby’s father?
Two mysteries. Who was the child’s father? And more importantly, who was the child? He or she would be no older than five or six, maybe even be in Cassia’s class now. How strange to think about that—Cassia’s child, being taught by Cassia, not knowing that Cassia was their mother. But Cassia knew. Cassia spent time with her child every day. And if she had to give up her job teaching to raise twins, she’d no longer have an excuse to see her first child. That might be another reason she’d been upset.
I set aside the medical text my mother had given me and wandered to the corner bookshelf. I pulled out one book after another and opened the cover of each until I found one that looked like a guide to childbirth. I sat cross legged on the floor, the book open on my lap, and read about labor pains and cervixes and contractions. My sister was having twins. Surely this was more important to know about than sterilizing surgical equipment. Childbirth was also much more interesting.
The chapter on caesarean sections had drawn me in by the time my mother returned. She stood over me and crooked her neck to see what I was reading.
“You won’t be ready to do one of those for a while. But I might have to perform one, and I’d like my tools to be sterile when I do.” She motioned with her head to the beginning medical text I’d abandoned. “Put those books back on the bookshelf and you can practice some interrupted sutures. Your technique is improving, but you’re slow.”
“Only because that bone needle you make me practice with is so cumbersome.” I stacked the books.
“You know we don’t have many surgical needles, and they all need to be sterilized after use. And my trainee hasn’t yet finished her assignment on proper sterilization techniques.”
I rolled my eyes and threaded the cedar fibers through the bone needle. In an actual patient, my mother used squirrel gut: It was more pliable and unlike cedar fibers, it dissolved in the body. I had just shoved some spider cotton in my nose to block out the stench of the half rotten crow corpse I’d been practicing my stitches on when Mangrove walked in. I quickly pulled the cotton out of my nose and palmed it.
My mother looked at him, looked at me, raised her eyebrows. Not subtle. “Hi, Mangrove. What can we do for you?”
“Spider bite.” He stared at me. “My hand.”
My mother took his hand in her own. “Redness. Swelling. I see the puncture holes. It was a big one.”
“Yeah. Walked right into it.”
“That’s not like you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here for a spider bite. Not in seventeen years.”
Mangrove blushed and said, “Wasn’t a great day of hunting. Thought I’d slay a spider. Bit of meat for the market.”
“So did you?” I asked.
“What?” He was flummoxed and growing redder by the second. It was contagious; I blushed also.
“Slay it,” I said.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. But Yew wouldn’t buy it. Said real meat or nothing.”
My mother stood smirking, watching the two of us. I shot her a look and she stuck her tongue out at me behind Mangrove’s back. “Ostrya, why don’t you take this one? You can finish up your suture practice later.”
I was nearly an adult! I was going to be the next doctor. I could do this. Clearing my throat, I gestured at one of the two examination tables. “Sit there.”
Mangrove settled himself on the cedar table, smoothed and slightly bowed from a generation of patients. I poured warm water from our little burner into a bowl and gathered soft cedar bandages from the neat pile my mother had arranged that morning. I placed them beside Mangrove and grabbed the nettle astringent and the fir pitch.
I touched his swollen hand and he flinched. “Sorry.”
“No problem. It’s a little tender.”
“Ostrya, three complications of an untreated spider bite. Go,” said Michelia.
“Now? Really?” I gently washed Mangrove’s hand with the warm water. “Swelling.”
“Yes, we see that. Next?”
“Blisters. Cellulitis.”
“If a blister opens?”
“Possible infection.”
“Leading to?”
I dabbed the nettle astringent on the puncture marks. I knew the answer to this one. Everyone in the canopy knew the answer to this one. Did I really need to say it?
“Michelia, really?”
“Infection leads to what?”
Glaring at my mother, holding Mangrove’s injured hand. “Later.”
Loud. Stern. Insistent. “Now.”
Quickly, looking at the floor. “Sepsis. Amputation. Blood infection.”
Mangrove audibly gulped. I looked at him and he smiled, almost.
“Symptoms of sepsis?”
“High temperature. Chills.”
“Both?” asked Mangrove.
I nodded. My mother said, “Spider bites are no joke. Certainly not worth chasing spiders to sell at the market. What else, Ostrya?”
“Umm, red patches on skin. Tender to the touch.”
“My hand is tender to the touch! Do I have—”
“No,” my mother and I said simultaneously.
“Maybe we should continue after our patient leaves?”
“The more our patient knows about the risks of spider bites, the better able he’ll be to recognize if he needs to come back to see us, and the less likely he’ll be so reckless next time.”
“Confusion. Lightheadedness. High pulse.” I stroked the fir pitch on Mangrove’s hand and thought for a moment. “Did I forget anything?”
“The worst one. Low blood pressure.”
“Oh! Yeah! Septic shock.”
Mangrove’s once red face was ashen. His voice shook. “What’s that?”
This symptom was interesting and easy to remember. The grisly ones always were. I gulped and recited, “Chemicals released by the body to combat the infection can cause widespread inflammation that fatally damages the organs. Septic shock is when the blood pressure drops because the body’s own chemicals cause the blood to clot and reduce the flow to limbs and internal organs. The lungs, liver, and kidneys can fail, leading to death.”
Mangrove fainted.
“He won’t be hunting spiders again anytime soon,” said my mother. “Wrap that hand and then we’ll bring him around.”
I tied the cedar strips around his wound, bent his arm at the elbow, and rested his hand on top of his chest. My mother patted his cheeks and called his name. I sprinkled some water on his face. His eyes fluttered open and he gazed around the room in confusion.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You passed out,” said my mother. “Can you stand?”
He jumped off the table, wobbled backward, and sat down again.
“Give it a second. Ostrya, get the willow bark tea.” She touched Mangrove’s shoulder. “Drink the tea when you get home and twice more before bed tonight. If the swelling gets worse through the night, come see us tomorrow. You might need nettle tea as well, but probably not.”
I handed Mangrove a small cedar satchel of the tea. He dipped his head bashfully and wobbled out the door.
When he was out of sight, I whirled on my mother. “Did you know he would faint?”
“Of course not! What do you take me for, a sadist?” Her eyes turned solemn. “Don’t answer that. This is a teaching clinic, and how else are you supposed to learn? If he didn’t want to hear about sepsis, he shouldn’t have put himself in that position.”
“What position? He was legitimately bitten!”
“By a spider? Mangrove? That boy never misses a thing. He’s alert and careful. I’ve never witnessed him do anything remotely reckless.” Clearly, she had no idea about our journeys to the Outer Reaches. “When all the rest of you had your bumps and bruises and splinters and stitches, that boy remained uninjured. I swear I’ve only seen him in this clinic for the occasional cough.”
“It almost sounds like you like him.”
“Of course I like him! He’s a good kid, if myopic where you’re concerned.”
“What does that mean?”
“Do you honestly believe his story? That he just happened to walk into a spider web? In the middle of the day?”
Now that she mentioned it, it didn’t sound like him at all.
“Isn’t it more likely that it was a deliberate act? An injury that would give him an excuse to see you?”
“What!” Why would anyone choose to put their hand in an orb weaver’s web? They struck quickly, all fangs and hairy legs. I’d only been bitten once, but it was a pain I’d never forget. I doubt Mangrove would forget it either.
Her eyes were direct and hard. “He’s clearly heard who you’ve been spending time with.”
“Nothing happened between me and Wingnut. We don’t like each other that way. Salix is a liar.”
“That girl is not your friend. Ostrya, I know there’s only friendship between you and Wingnut. Mangrove needs to hear it from you. Or he’s bound to do something even more dangerous to get your attention.”
“But I’m not with Mangrove! He’s not my boyfriend!”
“Then he needs to hear that, too. Now, enough personal talk in the clinic. Get back to your suturing.” The scale clinked as she began measuring herbs for prescriptions.
I shoved the spider cotton in my nostrils again and twiddled the bone needle between my finger and thumb. She was going to be in a good mood. She’d just given me advice and I listened. That would make her feel important, relevant. I might not get another chance for a while.
“Mom? I mean, Michelia?”
“Umm hmmm.”
Part of me knew I shouldn’t do it. I’d been sworn to secrecy. Cassia was afraid for her life and the lives of her babies. I knew that, but I also knew my mother. I could trust her. Though she didn’t know it, my sister could, too. Part of me wanted to know, needed to know. Why else had Cassia told me if she didn’t want someone to share her secret? That second part of me, the part that had to know the truth no matter the consequences, blurted out, “Did you know that Cassia already has a child?”
The scale clanked loudly. “Who told you that nonsense?”
“Cassia.”
“Oh.” She was silent and I glanced up from the decomposing crow I was suturing. She was staring into space. She shook her head and said, “Well. That’s news to me. And you should keep it to yourself.”
She went back to measuring herbs. Our conversation was over.
Chapter Eleven
The hanging house swayed back and forth as the wind kicked up. The squirrel blanket dropped from my shoulders when I bent to sit on the edge of the door sill. I dangled my legs off the edge as I used to do when I was much younger, relishing the cooling effect of the wind on my calf muscles. This was my favorite time. The world was asleep. The only wakeful beings were the night animals and me.
