You Can't Argue With Old Traditions (Or Can You?)

Morgan

The modest cabin that had served as the town’s sick-house had undergone a complete metamorphosis in the week and a half since my arrival, though the effort required had been immense. Now, it was as pristine as I could possibly make it. My patients were finally receiving nourishing food, fresh bedding, clean water to drink, and new bandages for their wounds. It had been a shock to discover the sick were being fed little more than spoiled, stale scraps, under the fatalistic assumption that no one admitted to the sick-house ever recovered. But looking at the conditions in which they had been kept, was it any wonder they weren't improving?

Now, however, the small infirmary was a place of healing. A group of volunteers and I had not only scrubbed the building from top to bottom but had also bathed the patients themselves. We reinforced the structure against the elements, devised a rudimentary antibiotic paste from crushed garlic, and, in essence, gave these ailing people a genuine chance at recovery. A chance to live.

“Miss Morgan!” A small voice called out from my right. A boy of about ten, practically vibrating with anxious energy, shifted restlessly from foot to foot. “Miss Morgan, my father sent me to get you. He says you can help. Mommy is going to have my baby brother soon!” I gave a reassuring nod, recognizing the boy now as Benjen, the nephew of a man named Saul. As he darted out of the hut, I followed close behind. In my haste, I passed many of the locals, who offered me warm greetings. Though I had been here only a short time, I was already growing deeply fond of this small, resilient community.

I trailed the sprinting boy for several minutes before he skidded to a halt in front of a tiny house. I heard a woman’s scream before I even reached the door. I winced internally. While I had never delivered a baby, I understood the fundamental principles of what needed to be done; a combination of medical textbooks and television dramas had provided a decent theoretical framework. This knowledge, however, did little to soothe my nerves. Benjen led me around the side of the house and pointed me toward the room from which the cries emanated. If nothing else, I thought grimly, I was going to be deaf by the time I left.

Stepping inside, I was met with a scene of overwhelming chaos. The room was packed with people, and my first reaction was one of pure annoyance. “Out,” I commanded, my voice coming out colder and sharper than I intended. “Unless I specifically ask for you, everyone get out.” To my relief, most of them complied, their departure revealing the woman I had come to help. Emilia was squatting in the middle of the room. I immediately urged her to abandon that position and requested that one of the remaining people fetch me a large bowl of warm, clean water and as many clean cloths as they could find.

“You dare not tell us what to do, girl!” The voice belonged to Midwife Elspeth, a woman who, in that moment, I might have disliked more than anyone in the world, including the king. “I have been delivering babies for many years! Those people are necessary for the birthing ceremony, and how do you expect the babe to find its way out if Emilia does not squat?”

Midwife Elspeth had been the village healer before my arrival. While her methods were passable for minor ailments, I detested her adherence to antiquated “traditions” that not only condemned the residents of the sick-house to death but actively endangered lives like Emilia’s. I didn’t care if it meant shattering a tradition passed down for generations if it would save a life. Midwife Elspeth, it seemed, cared very much.

“There will be no birthing ceremony if this woman and her child perish because of the unnecessary stress you are all causing,” I retorted sharply. I turned my attention back to Emilia, speaking to her in a calm, reassuring tone, promising we would get through this together. As someone brought the supplies I had requested, I began my work, gently guiding Emilia toward the freshly cleaned bed.

“Do not ignore me, foreigner! You have no idea what you are doing!” I tuned out Midwife Elspeth’s furious tirade, bracing myself for a grueling day. Even with my limited practical experience, I knew that childbirth could take many hours.

And it did. It was far more stressful than even caring for Natalia had ever been—trying to help a woman give birth while simultaneously fending off a belligerent midwife who seemed determined to interfere. But against all odds, we succeeded. A few hours later, Emilia was cradling her newborn daughter, Delara. It was the first time I had ever seen a baby just moments after birth. I had always been told that newborns were cute, but Delara was a tiny, red, wrinkled creature. Maybe she’ll become adorable in a few days? I wondered. A darker thought followed: Or maybe the baby is malformed and will look this way forever. I sincerely hoped not, but with Midwife Elspeth still hovering nearby, I dared not voice my questions to Emilia. I despised the woman, and I was certain the feeling was mutual. By successfully helping people, I was effectively taking her job, and she would stop at nothing to discredit me.

Though my knowledge of healing was substantial, I was no expert, and a part of me wished we could work together. I knew I was lucky to have not yet encountered a medical issue beyond my capabilities. After staying with Emilia for a few more minutes to ensure both she and the baby were stable, I told her family it was safe for them to enter, cautioning them not to overwhelm her. I gave little Benjen a smile on my way out of the house. It was time to return to the sick-house.

Though most of the villagers seemed to like me, a few believed I was a witch, simply because I had yet to fall ill. I, however, knew the mundane truth. Before Natalia and I had set out for our trip to Cayuga Lake, we had updated all of our vaccinations, as there had been some sort of outbreak at the time and we didn’t want to get sick while traveling. By sheer chance, I must have been immunized against the very contagion that had ravaged this village before my arrival.

Being seen as someone blessed by the gods was a strange burden, but I had long since given up trying to correct their perspective. Nothing I said could alter what they chose to believe.

As I reached the sick-house, I squared my shoulders, ready to resume my rounds.