Ten Mountain Men's Baby (Love by Numbers 9)

“How’s eight am?”

He gave me a thumb’s up.

I saluted him, pivoted, and marched out.The map Doctor Raskin had given me was clear and precise. However, it failed to prepare me for the stunning variety of terrains I was made to cross. I’d take a relatively wide dirt path around a bend only to be confronted by a cliff of rock ten-feet tall I’d have to climb or a sloping riverbank I’d need to get on hands and knees to navigate.

The barking of dogs announced my arrival, well before I’d gotten a glimpse of the home I was heading to. I let the sound guide me to them. I arrived at a small clearing set with a dirt path leading to three wood homes distributed in a semicircle around a well. A man, perhaps in his late twenties, greeted me at the head of the path. Two dogs paced excitedly at his heel. Farther behind him, staying close to the home on my left, was a girl, probably my age, mid-twenties, and a small child clinging to her skirt. Next to the house on the right, an elderly man rocked on the porch. Two small children stood next to him, watching me approach.

“Hello,” said the man. Despite the cool weather, he wore a brown tank-top and loose-fitting pants. They looked like he’d been in them for days. Conversely, the skin that was showing, his lanky arms and stubbled face looked freshly cleaned, as if I’d caught him just coming out of the shower.

“Hello,” I said. I raised the medical kit. “I’m from Union General.”

I was shown to the porch. I was offered a seat and something to drink. The greeting was cordial, though, as I expected, I felt they were looking at me with suspicion. It could have been my nerves confronting the new experience. While I had consulted with hundreds of patients already in my residency, the difference was that they knew they were patients; they had come to me.

He told me he and his family didn’t have any ailments to speak of. He didn’t object to me having a look at the children. They were undernourished, and their teeth would not be long for the wear. But I had no medication for that except iron supplements.

When I handed him the bottle of supplements, he took it reluctantly and with a creased brow.

We had a conversation about iron: the health benefits, where it comes from, and what it can do for the body. As we talked, I sensed his suspicions ease, and I felt relatively confident that he would be giving the vitamins to his children.

“You don’t sound like you’re from Georgia,” he said.

I chuckled. “I’m from Massachusetts.”

“Massachusetts? Why’d you come all the way down here, then?”

“I was born in North Carolina,” I said. Then I shifted in my seat to get nice and comfortable because I was about to tell him a very long story.Doctor Raskin was happy, though not surprised, to hear about the success I had, both in reaching all fourteen spots on the map and getting to examine everyone I had set out to see.

He lifted the medical kit, most of its contents gone. “It’s good news when the kit comes back empty.”

“It means people are getting the medicine they need,” I said.

He slipped the kit back onto the shelf. “Didn’t I tell you: it gets lighter the longer you carry it?”

I chuckled. “I was a fool to ever doubt you.”

I was in a hurry to get back on the trail, so I spoke fast as I filled him in on the people I had seen. I was glad that he took the cue and spoke fast himself, keeping the questions short and simple.

“I wish I could talk to you longer,” he said as he rose from his seat, “but I’ve got patients waiting.”

“Of course,” I said. I stood as well. “I’m anxious to hit the trail, anyway.”

“Hit the trail?” He cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow.

“Yeah. I’m to be at Hiawassee tomorrow night.”

“Oh.” He looked visibly upset. He snapped his fingers. “Shucks. I got my days confused.”

“Is there a problem?”

He looked at me and shook his head. “No, it’s not a problem. It’s just that you’re going to miss her.”

“Miss her?”

He chuckled. “A journalist is coming. Not really a journalist. She’s some kind of mega-wealthy socialite.”

I cocked my head to the side.

“She’s from California, married to a politician, or something. I don’t know. She does lots of charity. Now, she’s hiking the trail, visiting hospitals and clinics along the way.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah. She wants to interview the staff”—he motioned to me— “and the volunteers, so she can blog about them to her donors.”

“Really?”

He laughed. “Yeah. ‘Get to know the people,’ she said. Get her donors to know the people.” He rubbed his fingers together, implying money, lots of money. “Last year, she traveled the Amazon with some famous writer. Apparently raised millions for cerebral palsy.” He raised his hands in incomprehension. “Posted videos of their trip. Apparently, people donated money to follow her adventure. I don’t know.”