Amelia waited patiently for him to speak. She set the basket on her hip, and took in the sight of him. Truthfully she should be anxious, because with the rising sun, her mother would rise as well, and the social queen of their small town did not look kindly on Indians. It wasn't that she hated them, more like she felt very uncomfortable around them and saw them as she saw beggars. A terribly small-mind way of seeing the view, when the nanny that had raised Amelia and Heather had been half-native. But there wasn't much anyone could do to change that woman's point of view on anything. Even her father had hardly any power to sway his wife, when he had been alive.
But that was why she had picked the flowers. Talking to Native American braves before the sun rose was not a decent pass time, no, but picking wild flowers was. And it seemed as though Amelia would have to convince this brave to come back to the house somehow. She had brought food and bread, even a can of peaches, but not medicine.
Though from the sounds of it, his ill kin had Summer's End Sickness, or a 'cold' as many called it now. Something common among the settlers, but apparently not among the natives. The most one could do was keep the sick warm, comfortable and make sure they stayed well fed.
But then again it could also be scarlet fever or smallpox and she just wasn't able to understand. And for these two things there was little even a knowledgeable doctor could do. So perhaps she could give him some small medicine... Something her grandmother used to concoct to help invigorate the body, so it would be stronger to rid itself of illness. The tincture contained a good portion of clear alcohol made from potatoes mixed with elderberries, nettles, fennel, ginger, yellowroot, echinacea, Oregon grape root, holy basil, yarrow, cleavers, mint, rosemary, and sage.
It taste awful, but if taken before the sickness could take firm root in the body, it helped the body grow strong enough to defeat most illness. It wasn't any cure to serious disease, but it was a fighting chance.
Amelia signed to him, asking him if he would wait for a moment. She set her basket down and ran back towards the house. The sun was peeking over the horizon a bit more, birds now starting the exercises for their songs of the day. Slipping into the kitchen's pantry, she grabbed up the dusty jar of tonic and raced right back to where the Indian hopefully waited.
Finding him still there, she held up her prize with a smile. 'This is good medicine,' she signed, 'Wise woman of mother made. Trade with you. Trade for spinning sky wheel.' No that last part was all wrong.
"An engraved compass," she said out loud, eyes warily hopeful, "Do you have an engraved compass? It belonged to my father. It has his name on it."
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Chev
