"I'll certainly do my best to give you actual pay," Jonah assured her, "but it's always a mystery what is going to be offered."

"I'm sure I'll manage." Aoife acknowledged nonchalantly. Material payment was still payment, at any rate, and indeed as she sipped her tea, she thought it rather quaint that a small-town doctor accepted bushels of berries and chicken eggs as payment.

"I do have to wonder at how that will work when there is a proper hospital, with a board of directors and all. While it's not ideal, I know that people give what they can, and I know that Miss Steelegrave won't turn anyone away because of how they choose to pay. Perhaps we'll have to have our own farmer's market every couple of weeks, to convert jams to cash!"

Aoife smiled for a moment in appreciation of Doctor Danforth's humor, but the façade did not last long, and her expression quickly changed to one of mild confusion.

"Who's Miss Steelgrave?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. "In charge of the hospital, I presume?"

"Well, she certainly sounds like quite the good Samaritan." Aoife acknowledged once he was done explaining Miss Steelgrave's personage. Generous benefactors had been sparse through her life so far, and all power to the woman if she wanted to do something with her money.

"Elias, the patriarch, fancies that he owns the town...or should. He's focused and ruthless, but Miss Leah is separating herself from that, to the benefit of the community."

At this, Aoife frowned in her ever-so-typical way. Of course there was a hitch, nothing ever came free and easy.

"Is he causing problems? For the hospital's development, that is." she asked. If he was going to be a hindrance, it would be good to know in advance.

"So far he hasn't caused any trouble, but there's a possibility, since he won't be happy with his daughter defying him." said the doctor. That in itself was a positive. Goodness knew that running a hospital would be hard enough without active opposition.

"No, it's more likely some of the 'good' citizens who will cause trouble, merely because of the young woman's name. I can't say that I understand politics, but for someone to oppose something that is such a benefit to the whole territory merely because they have preconceived notions based on the name..."

"The collective human consciousness is an irrational and dangerous thing, Doctor." Aoife said sagely. "I believe it was one of this nation's founding fathers who said that when the sword is once drawn, the passions of men observe no bounds of moderation."

She'd read some of the works of Franklin and Hamilton on the way over from Ireland, and had just been waiting for the opportunity to quote from them. All the better that it was by way of her new employer.

With that, she finished the rest of her tea, placing the mug carefully back on the table, and rising from her seat.

"Enough about all that though." she said, pushing the chair in behind her. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but, well, I've only just arrived in town, and need to get some shopping done. When would you like me to come by? You know, to get started."

"Tomorrow, the next day?" Jonah suggested. "Whatever is convenient to you. I'm usually up by eight, and Mrs. Elkins is here by then, she'll have breakfast started."

"Very well, I'll be here tomorrow, if you're sure that isn't too early?" Aoife said, though it would seem that her trial by fire might come prematurely, when his response was interrupted by a banging at the door.

"Well, let's see if I need your assistance now."

She followed Doctor Danforth through to the front, where a burst of crying and wailing presented the source of the ruckus as a mother, boy, and infant. Before she could ask any questions, she found the baby bundled into her arms.

"Doctor! They were eating Nightshade! I know I should had gotten rid of it, but I warned Briton not to play with it, but he was eating it and feeding some to his sister."

Aoife looked down at the child, wailing along with his mother. Well, at least he wasn't comatose or retching yet. The infant, on the other hand, seemed remarkably still. Aoife leaned her head downward to ascertain that she was, in fact still breathing, though inwardly cursing all the while that she hadn't the foresight to tie up her hair. To her relief, she was able to make out airflow, but it was jumpy, as though the child might start puking at any second.

She looked back up, into the Doctor's face, before turning to the woman and her son.

"Come through." was all she said, leading them along behind Jonah.

Once in one of the side rooms, she set the baby down on an examination table, to look over more closely, while leaving the boy to Doctor Danforth. For her part, the infant bore very mild jaundice around the throat, and that shaky breathing she'd heard earlier had more of a bronchial ring to it than gastric. Her eyes bore no tell-tale signs of glaucoma yet, and so Aoife lowered her ear to the baby's chest, there managing to make out a rapid heartbeat, fitting well for atropine poisoning, of Atropa Belladonna.

"I'm thinking atropine." she repeated out loud with a grimace.

She'd never actually treated nightshade poisoning before, given that belladonna grew quite poorly in Ireland, but she'd read of a few remedies. Unfortunately, none of them had been synthesized properly yet, so there would be no miracle injection, rather some retching and fever at the least. That was if she was right. And they had the proper treatment.

"I don't suppose you keep any Manchineel fruit?" she asked the doctor. "Or African Calabar beans?" It was a fairly long shot, but she'd once read quite a promising paper by the toxicologist Robert Christison on their use in neutralizing atropine. There was that more recent piece about the pilocarpus genus being used to treat atropine glaucoma, but given it's publishing date and their present location, Aoife doubted that Jonah had any medically synthesized pilocarpine lying around.

"Manchineel or Calabar? No, nothing like that. I have Ipecac, so we can induce vomiting, and charcoal suspension." said the doctor. Ah well, the old-fashioned was tried and proven, if a little messy.

She listened with intent as Doctor Danforth assessed Briton, for so frequently these little tidbits of information could be used in treatment. He was encouraging and charismatic with the boy, certainly more so than she would have had the patience to be, and Aoife felt inwardly thankful that she'd been left with the care of a baby, given that there was no expectation of her to make small talk with it.

"Hopefully, they didn't ingest a lot. Do you think you can get some ipecac into Borcy?"

Aoife nodded, taking one of the bottles and a spoon of her own from Jonah before deftly twisting off the top. With steady hands she filled the utensil, and lowered it to where the infant lay, chubby little hands grasping at the air.

The first attempt to get her to swallow was met with about as much resistance as could be expected from a situation such as this. Aoife pulled down on her jaw and coaxed the syrup in, making eye contact, as babies were supposed to like, but no sooner than the first few drops passed the infant's throat did she splutter, sending the remaining ipecac dribbling down her chin.

She began to cry, which might have actually been a good thing; given that it meant she was in control of her faculties, but it was certainly annoying. Aoife filled another spoon, and this time did not bother with the slow method of administration, instead dumping it's contents into the child's wailing mouth. Quickly, Aoife dropped the spoon and held the babe's jaw shut, rubbing her throat until she was sure it had gone down.

Slowly she removed her hand from around the infant's mouth, and lifted her into a sitting position, so that when the retching began she wouldn't choke.

"Er, what about buckets? Where do you keep them?" Aoife asked, though she did not take her eyes off the baby. If they were going to try charcoal binding as well, Borcy here may yet have to deal with another throat-rub.