Page 4 of God’s Country

She checked my pulse and shook her head. “Come on. We’re getting you to the emergency room.”

“Is Dad having a heart attack?” Jenny asked.

“I don’t know. But we need to get him seen. Right now.”

I lifted my hand to the others in apology. “Sorry to spoil the moment.”

“Go, Dad,” Stephen said. “We’re fine.”

We left them and quickly returned to where I’d parked my Expedition.

“I’m driving,” Rainy said.

“I think I’m starting to feel a little better.”

“I’m still driving,” Rainy said. “Give me the keys.”

They did an EKG, a CAT scan, took some blood. I’d been there a couple of hours when the ER doctor, a young guy named Housewright, new to the Aurora Community Hospital, sat down with Rainy and me.

“Okay, the good news is that you didn’t have a heart attack. In fact, your heart appears to be in pretty good shape. I think what you experienced was probably a mild arrhythmia. It’s not uncommon and it’s not life-threatening. I don’t think I need to prescribe anything for you at this point. But I’d like to encourage you to see a cardiologist, just to be on the safe side.”

“I can do that,” I said, trying to sound as healthy and as positive as I could.

“I’ll make sure he does.” Rainy gave me a pointed look.

The doctor gave me some advice about how to get through another episode, should one occur, then told me I was free to go.

Rainy had kept in touch by cell phone with the rest of our family. They were waiting for us at the house on Gooseberry Lane. They were all way too solicitous.

“Sit down.”

“Can I get you something?”

“Just relax, Cork.”

“You look much better.”

And this from Waaboo: “I thought you were going to die, Baa-baa.” Which was the most honest of all the comments and expressed a fear that some of the others probably shared. Then he added, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Makes two of us, little rabbit.”

In the language of the Anishinaabeg, my grandson’s name Waaboo means, “little rabbit.” His legal name is Aaron Smalldog O’Connor. My daughter Jenny found him when he was only a few days old, shortly after his mother had been killed. She adopted him. Almost immediately Stephen had given him the nickname Waaboo. It stuck, and now that’s what we call him most of the time.

It was late afternoon by then. But there was something I wanted to do before I sat down to relax.

“Stephen, I think we need to talk to Henry.”

“I’m not sure walking to Crow Point is something you should be doing today,” Rainy said.

“I need some answers,” I told her. “The kind only Henry can give.”

“I’d like to hear Henry’s take on our visions,” Stephen said.

“You don’t think they’re about your father’s heart?” Belle asked.

“Where a vision is concerned, I’ve learned to take nothing for granted,” Stephen said.

“You want to see Mishomis?” I asked Waaboo. Mishomis is Ojibwe for “grandfather.” It’s a respectful term for men of advanced age. These days, when I’m on the rez and encounter a very young person, they often address me as Mishomis. It’s how Waaboo addresses the old Mide, and he always says it with great affection.