Hangar 13. Lindsay McKenna

for their services, we often get other things in return.”

      “What do you mean?” Mac asked as he followed Ellie back into the living room.

      “Well, a lot of my clients are either elderly or are single working mothers with children. Both are on very tight, fixed incomes.” Ellie gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen. She opened the door to her pantry. “You see that row of canned fruit?”

      Mac peered into the gloomy depths of the large, deep pantry and saw at least two dozen quart jars filled with various kinds of fruit. “Yes.”

      “One of my clients couldn’t afford to pay me any money, so she gave me what she could.”

      Impressed, Mac eased out of the pantry. “I’ll bet the electric company doesn’t want to be paid in jars of fruit.”

      She laughed. “No, but you’re missing my point. Not everyone who wants healing can afford the money, so I was taught to accept whatever gift the person had to give. On the reservation, it’s common to bring groceries, blankets or other goods to the medicine woman. My mother often gave the groceries, the blankets and other items to the poor of our reservation because my father made a decent living as a plumber in the area.”

      “You were taught to be generous.”

      “Exactly. Being a healer means you live in the community and are a part of its fabric. I have another client who is very poor, but she came over and helped me plant my garden one evening. It was her way of paying me back for my services.”

      “I wish the rest of the world could operate on that kind of generosity.”

      “Like you said,” Ellie murmured as she walked Mac to the front door, “the electric company doesn’t want jars of fruit for payment. They want cold, hard cash.”

      Mac turned as he stepped out onto the front porch. “I like the world you live in.”

      “At least, that part of it.”

      Mac nodded and smiled slightly. “There’s a lot to like about you, about your style of living,” he told her seriously. “I may not believe in what you do, but I can respect you for it.”

      “That’s all I ask.”

      “Then,” Mac said, opening his hand toward her, “I’d like to ‘pay’ you for your services by taking you out to dinner sometime afterward. What do you say?”