"Well, let me show you around. Don't know how long we'll be gone." Helen went into Arnie's room. The little one was wet, and she changed him and gave him a fresh bottle. He cried too little. Touching his spirit, she pulled at some of the cobwebs left by his mother's touch, but he began to whimper, so she left it. Best to do it later, she supposed, when they withered a bit.
McCoy and Raven walked in, and Helen handed Arnie to the Indian. He held the child up. "A handsome son."
"Did they tell you I had to cut her open to take him out?" McCoy blurted, then looked horrified.
"A brave thing. You are a good doctor." Raven looked at McCoy's hands, the scars corded around them from the fire. "I think perhaps they are not so badly damaged as you thought."
"They've improved -- lately."
Raven raised his eyebrows. "So I have heard. You play beautifully." McCoy looked away. "You should talk to Dr. Highwater. Perhaps you can start working in his practice. He is getting old. The town need a new doctor."
McCoy nodded. "It's getting dark."
The wind was picking up, and clouds shrouded the moon, cutting its waning light in half. Without a flashlight, Helen led McCoy out of the house, through the woods toward the cemetery.
Old friends everywhere greeted her. She rarely came to the cemetery; it was difficult to concentrate, so many speaking at once. She paused only for her mother's spirit, when it passed through her and kissed her on the forehead. McCoy shivered. "I didn't realize it was so cold here."
Stilling the Dead
A Helen Highwater Story
She nodded. "Spirit-father, you honor me."
"The children are in the house?"
She took his hand and led him inside. Raven would not cross a threshold unless invited. Robby ran to her, his thin face spread wide in a grin. "Helen! Did you bring the cookies?"
She smiled and handed him the basket. She had baked him sugar cookies, decorating them with pine trees and animals. Raven knelt and looked into Robby's eyes, then stood, shaking his head.
"It is not that one."
"I see that. The baby?"
"Too young to tell. Perhaps we both have more time."
Raven nodded. McCoy paced in the music room, nervously pulling his gloves on and off. "This is Raven?" He gazed dubiously at the old Indian.
"He is my teacher."
"Well, we'd best get to it."
Helen smiled as the Yankee doctor used the localism. He was blending into Cumberland, just like everyone who moved here eventually did. Raven shook Dr. McCoy's hand.
"I am honored you trust me with your sons." His voice was rich and deep, touched with his Cherokee accent and Appalachia. McCoy calmed immediately. Raven had that gift.
