Jesse’s smile grew a little wider. “Well, that’s pretty fair,” he said. “Though I suspect Lily would be happier if her arm didn’t look like a giant sausage.”
Baba winced again, dismay rattling her bones. Jesse and the kids led her down a short passageway into a small rectangular living room with pale blue walls and homemade denim curtains pulled shut against the afternoon sun. Children’s toys were everywhere; three dolls and a stuffed bear sat in mid–tea party, and a pile of colorful plastic interlocking blocks seemed to have exploded over half of the worn wooden planks. An equally worn-looking woman was stretched out on a battered sofa, one arm encased in an ice pack that was slowly dripping onto a few red and yellow blocks on the floor underneath it.
She lifted her head as they all trooped into the room. “What’s going on?” she said, then hoisted herself up with a grunt when she saw Baba. “Hey, I was going to come by and see you.” She held up the swollen arm. “I think there was something wrong with that stuff you sold me.”
Ouch. Baba could feel the dark, prickly aura coming off the arm from half the room away. She didn’t know what had caused it, but it wasn’t anything she’d made, that was for sure. She handed a twenty to Jesse, who stuffed it into his pocket as if afraid she’d change her mind, and went over to perch on the sofa next to Lily.
“May I take a look?” Baba asked, peeling off the soggy pack and handing it to the little boy. Lily’s pale skin was covered with tiny reddish bumps and the arm was so swollen it felt more like a tree limb than a human one. She laid her hands gently on the surface, feeling for the malignant energy that overlay the normal healthy muscle, bone, and skin and pulling it out, bit by bit, until it was gone. For good measure, she mended the original tendonitis, easing the strain and inflammation caused by too much lifting of small wriggling bodies.
It wasn’t a good idea to do such a blatant healing—one of the reasons she used herbs instead of magic most of the time. But this woman had trusted her to help, and she couldn’t just leave her suffering.
“Wow,” Lily said, her voice colored with something like awe. “That’s amazing. It feels so much better. What did you do? Reiki or something?”
“Um, yes, Reiki,” Baba said. The popular energy healing technique was as good a cover as any. “The salve should have worked without it, but since you seemed to have a bad reaction to something in the mixture, I thought I’d better use the, um, Reiki to fix it.”
Lily was so happy to have her arm back to a normal size; she clearly wasn’t interested in questioning the logic of the statement. “Gee, well I really appreciate it.” She glanced at her husband ruefully. “I guess we should give you your money back, since you cured the tendonitis after all.”
“Oh, no,” Baba said, waving one hand in negation. “Not after what you went through.” She paused, and then added, as if the thought had just come to her, “Although since you’re obviously not going to be using it, I’d be glad to have the salve back.”
“Sure thing,” Jesse said, and ran off to fetch it.
Baba enjoyed a cup of invisible tea with Trudy, Timmy, and the dolls until he got back, and was almost sorry to leave. She had a rare moment of wistfulness, thinking about what it might be like to have a child of her own. Impossible. But still, there were times . . .
“I apologize again for the bad reaction. That never happens,” Baba said to Lily on her way out.
Lily shrugged, her tired face still pretty and astonishingly cheerful, under the circumstances. They were clearly people who made the best of what they had. Baba found herself liking them a lot, and wondering if there was some way to help them out. Too bad that geese who lay golden eggs were no longer in fashion. And a surprise oil well in the backyard would only pollute the stream.
“Do you ever play the lottery?” she asked Jesse as he let her out the front door.
“Huh?” He shooed away a couple of chickens with one foot. “Sure, every once in a while, when we have an extra dollar to spare. Never won more than ten bucks, though.” Brown eyes gave her a puzzled look. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason.” she said, and waved good-bye to the kids, who waved back enthusiastically as she pulled out of the driveway. Their uncomplicated good will made her smile all the way to the main road, but her pleasant mood vanished as soon as she pulled to the side to check out the container that Jesse had returned to her.
It was hers, all right—a small white, almost translucent jar with a faint gray cursive BY etched onto the porcelain. But the contents inside bore only a passing resemblance to the salve she’d so lovingly crafted. Bits of dark green matter flecked what should have been a pure beige cream, and it smelled wrong, like rotting wood and curdled milk and the dawn of a sullen day after a night of bad storms.