2. Conscripted

CONSCRIPTED

ANDREW

Charles Emory sits in an armchair in the living room of the designated daycare and lunch cottage. Cece, perches on his knee. She cradles her bandaged hand in the crook of her good arm.

"You want me to do what?" I say in disbelief. I'm back in the States for the first time in years and I'm not in the mood to be asked to do anyone a favor that might tie me down.

It has taken three months to get my status changed from "missing, presumed dead", to "found and alive", and have my license to practice medicine re-established based on testimony from colleagues also working with Doctors Without Borders.

"I want you to work in the first aid tent this week," Charles explains patiently. "This incident clearly shows that not only do the children need increased supervision, but that Ms. Northernfield will need additional assistance. She's only a nurse practitioner, after all."

I grind my teeth in response to the slight. Nurse practitioners are highly trained and a valuable part of any medical team."Her response was immediate and excellent," I say. "She did everything with textbook perfection. My big question is why didn't you set up one of the cottages as a first aid headquarters? We could have used some running water, rather than that pump sink affair you have set up."

"We wanted the first aid booth to be central to the fair, plus none of the cottages were big enough. I'll get a team to put in running water and a drain immediately. We should have thought of that. Still…you think Ms. Northernfield did well?"

"She did perfectly," I reply. "She detached the kitten without hurting it or causing it to further damage your daughter's hand. She cleaned the wound using approved techniques, administered an antibacterial topical medication, and gave your daughter an injection to neutralize any chance of cat scratch fever. She consulted the paperwork on file for your daughter, making sure there was little or no likelihood of an allergic reaction to the medications."

"Ms. Northernfield took good care of me," Cece puts in. "Does anyone know what happened to the kitty?"

I felt something inside me soften, threatening to get all gooey, like the middle of a toasted marshmallow. She looked so fragile, sitting there cuddled up in her father's arms, yet she was asking about the spicy little cat who had chomped on her thumb.

I say, "Ramey took her to the veterinarian over in the animal tent. She gave the kitten some food and water, and it started gobbling it right down. She says it was probably just scared and hungry."

Cece looks up at her father. "Can I keep her? I think I scared her."

"We can foster her for a bit. You already have six cats. How did you come to catch the kitten in the first place?" Charles asks.

"She ran up against the gears under the merry-go-round. The big flywheel would have crushed her when it started up," Cece explains as if this was the most logical consideration.

Charles hugs her up close. "Do you realize that you would have also been crushed if that thing started up with you under the platform?"

"Well, yeah," Cece says, with impeccable child confidence. "I knew that the operator wouldn't start it with me under there, but he wasn't likely to care about a kitten."

"Oh, Cece!" Charles says, packing a world of parental anxiety into those two words. He looks at me. "So, you see, Andrew, more supervision, and more staff at the first aid tent."

I sigh and look away. I remember a medical tent, not so very different from the one erected in the middle of the fairground. Only, the tent was ragged. The mosquito netting was full of holes, so flies, midges and mosquitoes whined around staff and patients alike. There was no air-conditioned, cool room to work in, just a gaggle of youngsters waving Colocasia leaves to stir the air above patients and to shoo away the teaming insects. I remember my assistant wiping sweat from my face so it wouldn't run in my eyes or into the open abdominal cavity I was trying to repair.

"Andrew?" Charles asks quizzically. "Where did you go? You were here with us, then you kind of blanked out for a minute."

"No place I want to share," I say. "Just as long as it is clear that Ms. Northernfield is still in charge, and that I'm a volunteer, I'll do it."

"You'll be paid staff," Charles says firmly. "And yes, we can leave her in charge if you think she's competent."

"I saw nothing to indicate that she was not," I say. "How does your hand feel,Cece?"

"It hurts," she says. "But not as much as it did. Please, Daddy, don't blame the doctor lady. I'm the one who picked up the wild cat."

"Bravely said, steadfast soldier," Charles praises her. "And you are correct. But you and I are going to have a long talk about when to take action, and when to ask your superior officer for help."

"There wasn't time!" Cece protests. "And, anyway Julia is too big to fit through the opening the cat went in."

Charles' face takes on a grim set that suggests heads will roll if he can just discover who to punish for the harm to his child.

Julia slips into the room. " Charles? Is she all right? I am so, so sorry. She was through the fence and under the skirting before I could stop her."

"Where are the rest of your charges?" Charles asks.

"They are with Kate, in the nap room. Everyone is being very, very quiet, I promise."

Charles groans. "I wanted Kate to take a nap. Our baby, Thomas, still wakes up with nightmares. I don't suppose there's any chance she's resting?"

Julia looks nervous. "I don't know if you would call it resting, exactly. She's sitting in the reclining rocker, cuddling Thomas and reading Wind in the Willows to everyone."

"It could be worse," Charles says. "But you can see, Andrew, more supervision is needed, and better security."

Other memories flash through my mind. Children toting guns, children laboring in the fields or sent into the tiny spaces in mines regardless of the risk to their safety, children in regimented rows sitting at desks or being marched to their meals and their tasks.

I certainly won't argue against the value of protecting children. But perhaps it made them softer, and shorter on street smarts. I'd grown up in the care of servants, then in a series of boarding schools, so who was I to judge? Could there be a compromise between protection and restriction?

"Maybe tighten up the security precautions at the rides," I say. "Check the screens and fences meant to keep animals and small children out of the works. I know I'm not a parent, but it seems to me that you want to give the kids a little freedom to explore."

Charles seems to consider that. "You have a point," he says.

"Dad can help," Julia says. "I heard him say at breakfast that he wanted to bring in another team, this one with dogs."

"They need to be good doggies," Cece puts in. "They need to catch stuff, not kill it. A mean dog would have hurt the cat."

Charles laughs and hugs his daughter. "All right. I know when I'm defeated. Austin does a fantastic job of training his dogs, and they are all trained to hold or retrieve without harming what they've caught. Ark-Ark, Colleen, Grendel and Angel are nothing short of amazing. This week is the first time I've seen them in action, and it was only a practice ring, but I am sure they do well in the field."

"Gidget is a smart doggie, too," Cece says, defending her aging pet.

I'm getting a lot of names thrown at me in rapid order. "Ark-Ark, Colleen, Grendel and Angel? Gidget?"

"Sorry," Julia says. "Colleen is a registered great pyrenees who got together with Ark-Ark, Austin's original security dog. He's a registered German Shepherd that washed out of K-9 training because he wouldn't stop barking. Grendel and Angel are two of their pups. While not qualified to register or show, they are excellent guard dogs. They are gentle, patient, and easy to train. Gidget…well, Gidget was Cece's first pet. She's a standard poodle, with the intelligence and nervous disposition that go with that breed. Cece has done a good job training her for basic stuff, but she's more like an alarm system when it comes to guard dog duty."

"They are all good dogs," Cece says firmly.

"If you want dogs that will catch and hold," I say, " You might want one of the herding breeds. You could talk to Zuri, my half-sister. She and our brother, Cole, are both good with animals. They are taking care of the Ildogis elephant and leopard exhibits." I remember helping air lift those animals from the mining town in Africa to the hidden island in the Hebrides.

"I'll do that," Charles says."See what you've started?" he asks his daughters.

"Will I get to pick out the new dogs?" Cece asks.

"Possibly," he says. "Now, hop down and go to your mother. You should lie down and rest a while. Julia, see if you can get Kate to go lie down for a little while as well. Andrew, let's go tell Ms. Northernfield that she's going to have a colleague. I don't know if you've realized it, but a line built up while you and Ms. Northernfield were working on Isabel."

Now I understand his concern. If this is to be the fair of the year, one that showcased an organic community as well as organic growing processes, a first aid station with a long line was poor advertising in several different regards. Even though the fair is intended to give back to the local community, it's also meant to promote Charles' business and the farm.

Julia ushers Cece down the hall, presumably to the nap room. Charles and I step out into the blindingly bright California sun. I can almost feel the air sizzle on my skin.

"Will she really be alright?" Charles asks.

I almost laugh. Here is a decorated veteran, a business tycoon, asking me if his precious oldest daughter was going to be all right after a kitten bit her.

"She will be," I tell him. "The vet will check the cat for diseases, but she is almost certain that there is nothing wrong with the poor little thing that can't easily be cured with food, water, and standard preventative measures."

He nods to show that he has heard me. There is once again a line outside the medical facility. "Looks like we're just in time," Charles says. "Competency aside, Ms. Northernfield is only one person."

We go in by a side door, bypassing the line of people waiting for help. As we enter, Ms. Northernfield is extracting a splinter from a worker's finger.

"I see what you mean," I murmur. "Nothing drastic, but each person is a little slice of time."

"Exactly," Charles returns. "Maddy," he says, as she turns back from directing the worker with the splinter into a rest area.

"Charles! Is something wrong?" she asks.

"No, no," he assures her. "I've brought you some help. It looks like you could use it. This is Dr. Andrew Lane. He will be joining the medical team at Spindizzy hospital. Dr. Lane, please allow me to introduce Ms. Madeline Northernfield."

Ms. Northernfield stiffens, and there is an odd look on her face. She seems familiar, yet I cannot quite place her. Where have I seen her before?

Given the annoyed look on her face, it's possible that I made a bad impression on her. There have been so many people that I have worked with on different medical services over the years, she could have been assigned to work with me on a day that didn't go my way. I try not to be one of those doctors who shouts at his staff when he's in a bad mood, but I can't say that I've always been a perfect example of professional poise.

She turns away and I nod at Charles before following her inside.