Thirty Days of Text – Day 12 – Mender
Another WTF do I do with this? word . . . I would have liked to have expanded this more as it ended up reminding me of a little book of spooky stories and poems I had when I was a little girl, but I got tired and fell asleep 
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The Mender
“Oh, the doctor doesn’t know anything! Just put a coin under her pillow and let the Mender fix it!” Through the pain and the fever I could hear my mother and my grandmother arguing. My arm had been treated and bandaged by the doctor who had left little vials and instructions with my mother but I knew grandma didn’t trust what she called the “sly ways of modern medicine”; but despite the pain and the threat of amputation or worse, I would rather put my faith in the young doctor than on my grandmother’s outdated and arcane cures.
“What rubbish. There’s no such thing as the Mender! Just leave the girl in peace: the more you bother her the more pain she feels and she needs to be resting!” my mother snapped back. “The doctor said she was doing well and he knows more about these things than you and your silly superstitions!”
I heard my grandmother huff and walk away grumbling. My mother pulled back the blankets separating me from the rest of the room and sat beside my bed. I was barely conscious but the pain was so severe that I couldn’t succumb to sleep or fainting spells either. Looking at me through eyes full of worry, my mother stroked my hair. In her other hand she held a little glass bottle and a special spoon; she measured some of the vile liquid and made me drink it down. “The doctor said you need to rest. This will help you to sleep,” she said. “We’re all in the other room so if you need anything just ring the bell.” She said, referring to the large brass bell she had placed beside my bed earlier. She kissed me on the forehead and took the little lantern away from my little table, leaving me in relative darkness.
I started drifting in and out of consciousness and my little corner of the living quarters started to bend and spin in my delirium. Through it all I could hear feet approaching my bed once more and I saw someone move over to me. They lifted my pillow and placed something below it; squinting hard and concentrating, I could just make out my grandmother’s face. “Don’t tell you mother. I left an offering for the Mender. She’ll visit you in the night, but just remember: for what she makes right she will demand something in return.” She too bent down to kiss my forehead, “Be brave my girl, and remember to always give thanks . . . ”
