Chapter Five: Afternoon Tea

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The trip to the south side of Bowe's Flats was uneventful, marked only by a few strange looks whenever they stopped to ask unwilling townsfolk for directions. Passing beyond the city limits, the trio followed a path that crested a ridge and wound down along the side of a dry gulch, its waters having long receded into the earth. All three pairs of eyes scoured cliff side and chasm looking for their target, but after some time when nothing came into sight they began to wonder if they had missed an important detail. Not that this was a problem, reasoned Vash: something as unusual as a witch's house couldn't be hard to spot. If that were true, Meryl rebuffed, they certainly would have already found it.

The ensuing argument echoed strangely in the pass, causing Milly's stomach to grumble in sympathy as she peered down into the steadily widening gorge. Examining the banded cliff sides, she noticed that their color striations reminded her of layered pudding. Pleased with this idea, Milly let her mind wander fancifully (chocolate! – vanilla! – caramel! – butterscotch!) as she idly traced the slopes, unmindful of her companions slowly falling behind. She was somewhat amused when the walls suddenly widened into the shape of a pudding bowl – a natural cistern – and then to her surprise the pathway was at an end. She came to an abrupt standstill, Vash and Meryl far too absorbed in each other to notice. Which was really just as well, as had it not been for Vash's timely if unintentional trip over the ledge they would have missed the house entirely.

Even had they not been interested in meeting its notorious owner, Meryl wouldn't have been able to help gaping. She had never seen a dugout before: it was not a popular style, even if some insisted that it was more suited to the harsh environment of their world. Mostly embedded in the side of the cliff, its front walls protruded from the rock only about to the height of Meryl's hips. Stairs hewn from the embankment descended to the doorway. It had the overall appearance of a house sunk in quicksand, then half buried by a landslide for good measure. Which was, Meryl realized, not a particularly reassuring description.

"I suppose that's one way to live," Milly mused.

If you love dirt and dark places, thought Meryl as she watched Vash walk down the steps to knock on the door. They waited a few moments, but no one appeared.

"Maybe nobody's home," Meryl called to Vash. He merely set his jaw and knocked again, harder. There was still no response.

"What should we do now, Meryl?" Milly asked after several minutes of watching Vash alternate between banging on and pleading with the door. She looked up over the lip of the canyon: the second sun was about to slip beneath the rim. "We came all this way and no one was home. And it will be getting dark in here soon."

Meryl looked hastily at Vash, who looked mutinous enough to set up camp for the night right there. "Come on, Vash; Milly is right. This is pointless, so let's just go. Maybe we can go back to Dr. Wilde and see if we can't get our hands on some more of that tea tonic or at least –."

She was getting ready to physically drag him away when suddenly the door behind them was thrown open and a woman came out onto the stoop. The failing sunlight revealed a square face lined with age, salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, and a pair of ice water blue eyes squinting intently at them. Meryl felt unnerved.

"Did you folks say tea tonic?"

Mute, Vash nodded.

"Come in." Leaving the door open, she disappeared within the darkened house.

Glancing wordlessly at each other, the trio went inside.

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The interior of the dwelling was nothing like the outside. They had stepped into a large room, which to Meryl seemed spacious although Vash was practically scraping the ceiling. A series of angled, rectangular skylights in the roof allowed sunlight to filter in, and though somewhat dark it was nevertheless pleasantly cool. A slightly dank odor was masked by the pleasing smell wafting out to them from a kettle bubbling on an old-fashioned stove in one corner. A loom and spinning wheel, with several skeins of yarn in a basket, stood in another. Dried herbs and plants hung from the ceiling, and several dark bottles lined the shelves and floor. Though modest, Meryl was struck by just how neat and clean everything looked, and she immediately felt at ease – orderliness had that effect on her.

The woman gestured them to sit at a table near the stove, which Vash gratefully accepted – anything to avoid braining himself on a ceiling beam. Attracted by the kettle, Milly took the chair nearest while Meryl unconsciously slid in next to Vash, eyes still studying the layout. Though she felt moderately comfortable, something about the room had been gnawing at her mind since first entering. What was it that didn't quite seem right…?

"No electricity?!" Meryl suddenly exclaimed, drawing Milly and Vash's attention to the lack of any discernible wiring or electrical apparatus. She wondered how she could have missed such an obvious detail.

Their hostess, who appeared to be the somber type, gave a thin smile as she moved to light a thick centerpiece candle. "And not likely to see it, least not while I'm living here. This house was made in such a way to take care of its own needs. Besides…," She set out a few teacups and moved to check on the kettle. "We rely on the Plants too much."

"What do you mean by that?" Vash's questioning tone was mild, but his face had gone neutral. Meryl reached out surreptitiously to place a hand on his thigh. There was a slight tenseness in the muscles.

"Don't get me wrong. I know that without the Plants we none of us would be around to talk about it. I'm not unaware or unappreciative of that. But all the same, I think we don't do enough for ourselves."

Intrigued, Vash turned to the woman. It was odd hearing such a sentiment coming from a human's mouth and not his brother's. "But how would you survive? You can't do it without the Plants – no water, no power, no atmospheric conversion –" Vash paused, noticing the probing look Meryl was giving him. "It's impossible," he finished.

"Impossible, eh? That may be so…," She dropped a handful of small dried berries into the kettle, stirring it. "Then again, it may just be that no one's really trying hard enough."

Seeing the skeptical looks on her guests' faces, she elaborated. "People don't pay enough attention to their environments. They don't look for the little things they can do to help themselves. And yes, there are things they can do. Take this house for starters – it cools itself naturally because it's been built into the ground. Lighting comes from the suns during the day and lanterns at night. We're situated on top of an ancient water vein, so I have a well that pumps my water directly up while the town gets its water from further up the vein." She gestured around at the strings of dried vegetation. "See these plants? Most of them are xerophytic hybrids that I've grown myself, in this planet's very own Godforsaken soil, without the help of special hydroponic equipment. They're meager looking but good to eat, and most of them are medicinal, too. I've found I can use them in a variety of ways."

As she spoke, Meryl examined a nearby plate of some odd, musty-smelling thing that looked like shriveled fungus and from there drew eyes along the shelves of bottles. Unusual house, unusual ideas – unusual in every sense, it appeared. She felt a growing sense of respect for the woman. What she had accomplished on her own was no mean feat, if what she said was true.

"No, I'm not at the point where I can survive on my own. Maybe I never will be. But I get by fairly well, just the same. Others could do the same."

"But don't you think that's asking too much, especially on a world like this?" Vash countered, a bit unsteadily, surprising himself by his hesitance to play Devil's advocate. He did not care to admit that some of what this woman said made sense, resonated with a part of his psyche he had kept buried for years and yet… "People can't help being what they are. If they – if we – need the Plants to enable us to survive, why shouldn't we use them?" A vision of Knives' sneering face flashed before him, and Vash felt his voice grow firmer. "People have a right to live. You can't condemn an entire race to extinction for the sake of another."

He felt Meryl's hand contracting suddenly, a sympathetic gesture, he knew, but one that caused him to fall silent, feeling as if he'd said too much. But the woman merely snorted. "Another race? I don't know if I'd paint it in such dramatic terms as you, young man, but basically that is my same point. I want to live. I want our race to survive. But I'd feel much better knowing we could do it without our existence so contingent upon the fate of the Plants."

"But there's nothing wrong with the Plants," Milly broke in. "They've been running ever since our ancestors first got here, and it's already been over one hundred years."

"But Milly, that's the –," Meryl began, but was interrupted by the woman.

"I suppose we don't know much about them. Left to their own devices they may even outlive us all by centuries yet, but I seriously doubt it. Plants still need engineers to maintain them, and even then sometimes it's not enough. But I do know this: whatever else they are, they're also man-made. And man-made things break down." Meryl removed her hand as Vash's knee gave an involuntary jerk, while the woman placidly poured liquid from the kettle into a teapot. "It is my experience that nothing in existence lives forever. Not people. Not even Plants. One of these fine days they'll all go out. And then what will we do?"

"Rescue ships will come before then," Vash blurted out. "I mean, that's what everyone says will happen…."

For a moment nothing more was said as everyone's thoughts drifted to that age-old promise. Someday, their parents told them, as had their own parents before. Someday ships would come from afar, traversing the endless void to reach this torrid planet and take them all away to lush worlds of gentle climes, with green fields full of growing things. Salvation from above, as Wolfwood might say: the long-awaited Exodus to the Promised Land. An apocryphal prophecy. A child's tale.

A beautiful dream, thought Meryl as she watched Milly's contemplative expression from across the table.

The older woman sighed heavily, shaking her head. She reached for one of the teacups and carefully began to pour from the pot. "Well, enough of that. How did you folk happen to find your way here?" She smiled ruefully as she placed the first cup before Milly. "I don't exactly advertise."

Meryl nodded politely as she was given her own cup, wondering how to answer that without being offensive. "We were told that you were a… doctor of sorts."

"So they're still calling me a witch, is that it?"

"Uh, no!" Meryl exclaimed hastily, nearly spilling her tea. "No one said any-!"

She shook her head, cutting Meryl off. "Never you mind; it's just fool's talk. Nice to know people still care." Her voice was even when she said it, but it wasn't hard to sense the underlying hostility. Meryl began to wonder what exactly had happened between the people of the town and this woman. "Anyway, call me Dolores. I used to be a midwife by profession, many years ago. But I've got lots of experience in the area of home remedies, and I know a few things that others take for granted."

Dolores the midwife set the last cup before Vash and moved to take her own seat at the table. "So tell me what happened to bring you to my door. And mind you tell me everything that occurred since you came to this town." She looked over at Vash, who was looking more hangdog than ever. "Any little thing might be important."

Not keen on revealing absolutely everything that had transpired since arriving, Meryl decided to start where it was safest. "We felt fine when we got to town late last night. But after we woke up this morning, we all immediately got sick and started throwing up and –."

"Hold it – back up a bit, Miss. You're skimming details," Dolores cut in, leaning forward to observe the younger woman closely. "You said you were fine last night but sick this morning – that's a few hours. Did you drink anything yesterday before going to bed?"

"A little," Meryl conceded reluctantly. She glanced over at Milly, who was sipping demurely at her tea. "Vash and I had a… few… drinks before we went to be-… b-before we retired." In spite of the topic, Meryl found her tone growing dry. "The 'house special,' I think the bartender called it."

"You mean the liquor from Bowden's Saloon? No worries – that stuff wouldn't have done you two in." She guffawed, waving her hand carelessly while Vash and Meryl cringed. "But tell me, did you have anything to eat while you were there?"

"Different kinds of sandwiches, I think." Meryl couldn't really remember: she had been too exasperated with Vash. "Salmon, for sure. There was a party – the town festivities."

"Hmm… that's right; yesterday was Founder's Day. It's possible that you may have had some food poisoning then. Though Bowden's is known for running a pretty clean kitchen. Still, it sometimes happens, especially when they have to make a lot of food ahead of time…," Dolores rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Anyway, what happened next?"

"We were all pretty nauseous once we woke up in the morning – well, Milly said she was at first, but then she bought some tea tonic and was fine after that." Noticing the frown on Dolores' face, Meryl paused, but the midwife shook her head slightly and prompted her to continue. "Anyway, Vash and I did think it was a hangover at first but we kept having to run to the bathroom. So after awhile we decided that we really needed to see someone and we went to visit Dr. Wilde –."

The woman snorted. "Go on, honey. Just clearing my throat."

"Er, it took us a while to see him – too many other sick people waiting outside, like us."

"No kidding," Vash muttered, as he began to slide slowly down the chair.

"Is that so?" Dolores' interest was suddenly piqued. She leaned in so close that Meryl had to resist the urge to slide her chair back. "Were these people just from the party? Do you know if they were there for the same reason as you?"

Meryl frowned, struggling to remember the scene in the bar. "No – there were people in line who I don't recall from the party. It was quite a crowd. And yes, a lot of people waiting were complaining about the same thing – headache, stomach upset, all that. But anyway we did eventually get in…." Here Meryl began to blush at the memory, so she stopped.

"So what did Wilde tell you?" urged Dolores.

"When he met with us he told us that the nausea was probably an after affect of the festival – overindulgence, he said." She gave an embarrassed smile. "I can't say he was wrong about that. I guess we're just lucky that you all have a doctor as good as him around nowadays."

"Hmph. What makes you say that?" Dolores asked tersely.

Meryl was confused; hadn't she been repeating common knowledge? "Well, Dr. Wilde mentioned that your town's health care has greatly improved in recent years. He said this kind of thing really doesn't happen anymore since he's –."

She broke off, noticing that Dolores appeared to be on the verge of a violent outburst. "Feh-!" the woman spat out, forcefully slapping her palm against the table and startling her guests. "The fine doctor is wrong. This kind of thing isn't so unusual for Bowe's Flats!"

Roughly shoving her chair back, the midwife stood up and walked over to a sideboard, where she began to rifle through the drawers. "This strange sickness – the vomiting, the nausea, the diarrhea and all – has stricken our town before. It happens every so often; six times in my memory, as a matter of fact."

Producing a small cloth pouch, she stalked towards a cabinet filled with small jars. Grabbing several, she began to measure dried substances into the pouch, rather messily in Meryl's opinion. "No one knows what causes it, but the symptoms are always the same. Everyone suffers, but it particularly affects those with weakened or susceptible constitutions: the very young, the very old, pregnant women, the seriously ill. It dehydrates them, depletes their bodies, and in the worst cases causes them to hallucinate or have bad dreams. Some years it's not so strong, but other years it's vicious. The last bad one Bowe's Flats had was about a decade ago. A lot of people died."

Dolores sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging as she leaned her forehead against the cabinet. "My husband, for one. He had a chronic kidney condition. Took my daughter, too – she was expecting, you see. I think she was about you girls' age when she passed away."

Meryl turned to Milly, at a loss for what to say to this revelation. "Oh, Ma'am," began Milly, "We're so sorry…!"

But the midwife appeared not to hear. "Well, go on. Finish your story," she said quietly, slowly recapping the jars. "What did the doctor prescribe?"

"He gave us – that is, he gave me – a bottle of his special tonic to drink, and I must say it worked wonders. I've been feeling better ever since. But there wasn't any for Vash and as you can see…," She turned towards the gunman, who was now sagging low in his chair. "We're desperate."

Finished with her chore, Dolores turned again to face them. Approaching the table, she dropped the now tied pouch onto the table in front of Meryl. "Take this. It's a medicinal tea for you to drink – all three of you. Just ask for some hot water when you get back to the inn and add about a spoonful per cup. Keep drinking it while you're here."

Before Meryl could thank her, a low moan from Vash drew everyone's attention. His chin was now resting on the table, arms wrapped around his midsection. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Ma'am, but is there anything you have that might be quicker?"

Dolores gave him a searching look, as if measuring him up for some unknown trial. "Young man, there are other remedies for all types of maladies, old as the hills. They'll work just as well in the hands of an experienced person – if you have a little faith."

"Then call me a righteous man," Vash slurred out the side of his mouth.

Pathetic, thought Meryl.

Apparently satisfied, Dolores gave him a curt nod. "Come into my office." She gestured to Vash, who slowly pulled himself up and lumbered after her.

They passed through a door into a hallway, entering a smaller lantern-lit room with a large copper tub and basin – the washroom, Vash supposed. Dolores motioned him to have a seat on a stool, which he took gratefully: he was starting to feel sluggish again. He watched with detached interest as the midwife began to rummage through shelves, pulling out various items and placing them about the room: a privacy screen, an odd-looking rubber tube, a kettle of water, towels and so forth. Finally she placed what looked suspiciously like an oversized chamber pot at Vash's feet.

"What is that for?"

"You'll see." Dolores finished setting up the screen and was again standing in front of Vash, holding up the strange tube. "Now, you ever heard of an enema?"

"N-no," Vash hedged, curiously uncomfortable.

Dolores looked grim. "Good. Pull your pants down and bend over."

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As Vash staggered from the house some time later, one arm thrown around Milly for support, Meryl hung back to talk to Dolores, the pouch of medicinal tea carefully grasped between her hands. "Ma'am, I want to thank you again for helping us, and I –," Don't you dare wimp out now, Stryfe. "I was wondering about what you said earlier. About being a midwife, that is. I… do you think you could… is there a way to tell if someone is… pregnant?"

The older woman regarded her coolly. Her eyes flickered to the door to see if the others were out of earshot. Satisfied, she fixed Meryl with a knowing look. "You and that gunman – you're not married, are you?"

Meryl was so shocked that she nearly dropped the tea. "Wha- what do y-you mean…?"

"For starters, neither of you are wearing a wedding band. Was this unplanned?"

That's one way of putting it. Unable to speak, Meryl dropped her head. She was slowly getting used to the embarrassment engendered by the subject, but in this woman's presence she felt the unexpected sensation of shame. A mental portrait of her family flashed into her mind. Never mind that she was a grown woman, had been on her own for some while now, proven time and again she could handle all that life had dished out to her. No foolish wide-eyed girl was she, "Derringer" Meryl. Yet in the dim room under the gaze of this woman, she only saw her parents standing before her, regarding their wayward daughter with a mix of shock and sadness: "Oh, Meryl, what have you done?"

Dolores reached out to grab Meryl's trembling hand. She wasn't smiling, but her eyes had softened. "I'm not trying to upset you. I'm a midwife. I've seen and heard it all." She gave her a gentle squeeze. "And yes, there are ways to tell. How long since…?"

Meryl needed no further prompting. "Just… one day."

Dolores shook her head. "Too soon. You need to wait a few days more yet before I could examine you."

"Oh." She couldn't keep the tremor from her voice.

But Dolores wasn't finished. "Honey, take heart. You may not even be pregnant, you know. You may find that this is all just a case of nerves – happens more often than you'd think. But even so…," The midwife gave Meryl a somber look, "It seems to me that at this point whether you are or aren't is almost incidental."

Witnessing Meryl's confused expression, she continued. "You and your man – have you given any thought as to what you're going to do next? Have you talked about what you want?"

Meryl slowly opened and closed her mouth, realizing just how little she and Vash had really said to each other that day – there had been too many distractions, among other issues. She shook her head.

Dolores nodded, affirming that she'd already guessed as much. "Trust me, you need to answer that one first, honey. Then you'll know what to do when you find out the truth. Both of you."

Nodding stiffly, Meryl thanked the midwife one last time, then walked unsteadily out into the falling dusk, hurrying to catch up with her friends.

"And for Heaven's sakes, you three – don't forget to drink something!" hollered Dolores after them.

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