The World That We Knew(48)

Henri Girard had been the doctor in town for nearly twenty-five years. Before that, his father, also called Henri Girard, had been the local physician. Girard was a good-looking, tall man, very dignified. His grandfather had been a nobleman, and even though he was a country doctor, Girard’s manners were very refined. He had been to school in Paris, and had taught at the medical school there for a while. But he had decided he preferred the relationships he had with his patients in this small village. People came from across the mountains to see him, sometimes traveling hours, and he had brought more than fifty souls into the world, most of whom he still saw as patients, though many were now grown men and women with families of their own. He had come to be known as someone who would help Jewish resisters, and his barn was often a stopping point for those on their way to the border.

The doctor shook Ettie’s hand and welcomed her in the parlor where patients waited should the doctor be busy when they arrived. The furniture had belonged to the doctor’s father and was still in perfect condition, with several chairs and a sofa covered in green mohair.

The doctor poured three drinks from a bottle of eau-de-vie to welcome them and offered Ettie a glass.

“Thank you, I don’t drink,” she said.

“But you must start,” the doctor recommended, placing the glass in her hand. “It’s good to be able to drink and remain sober. That is,” he added, “if you really want to be part of this.”

“This?” Ettie said. “Perhaps you’d like to explain.”

“He’s helping us out,” Victor said. He had come to the doctor’s when he’d been burned and they’d had a frank discussion of how to best be rid of those who were responsible for the local arrests.

Ettie shrugged and downed the liqueur all in one gulp, then gasped at the fiery nature of the drink. The doctor laughed. He realized how young she was, which was both a good and a bad thing.

Ettie placed her glass on a highly polished tabletop. “I don’t like to be laughed at.”

“Of course not,” Dr. Girard allowed.

“I’m here for my murdered sister,” Ettie said. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”

Victor and Girard exchanged a look. An obsession was what this girl had, not just a belief, but a true passion. It made them both respect her, even though she looked little older than a child. Her hair was tangled into knots and she hadn’t washed her clothes for weeks.

“First, you have to do something about your hair,” Victor said.

Ettie scowled and threw him a dark look. “What difference does that make?”

“Oh, it makes a difference,” he assured her.

“I can fix it,” Dr. Girard said. “It’s not so different from surgery.”

While Victor went to unpack the car, Girard asked Ettie to sit in a chair meant for patients. She faced an old desk strewn with books, along with a blood pressure cuff and a black doctor’s bag. On the walls were posters of the digestive system and a chart of the ventricles of the heart along with his framed degrees.

“What kind of doctor are you?” Ettie had noticed a pile of freshly laundered white smocks reserved for patients’ examinations.

“Whatever is necessary. A country doctor is a specialist in nothing and an expert in everything.”

“So why do you put yourself at risk in working with us?” she asked. “You’re not Jewish.”

“That’s my business,” he faltered. “I can only say, I have my reasons.”

From his tone, Ettie could tell the topic of their conversation stung. The doctor brought out one of the white smocks to toss around Ettie’s narrow shoulders. He held a pair of small sharp scissors. “I’ll tell you what I tell my surgery patients. Don’t move.”

Ettie ran a hand over her hair before he began. “What difference does it make how I look?”

“Well you certainly can’t tell you’re beautiful when you hide it like this.”

Ettie threw him an indignant look.

“I’m stating an empirical truth.” He took up the scissors and began to even out her choppy tresses. She shivered but sat still when he told her to stop fiddling. “Have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror?” he asked.

“No. I was a rabbi’s daughter. I was taught such things are nonsense.”

“Well, you may have to forget some of what you’ve been taught. You may have to go directly against everything you were taught. Especially if you are a rabbi’s daughter.”

Ettie made a face, but she thought of Esther, how she had used her beauty, as though it were a weapon. Some people believed she should be shamed for winning over a king with her wiles, but she had been responsible for the deliverance of her people.

The doctor was studying his handiwork approvingly. He was the sort of man who inspired confidence. He had held the hands of those who were dying, he had removed tumors, set broken bones, welcomed lives into the world.

“So tell me,” Ettie said. “What do I need to forget?”

The doctor put one hand on her shoulder. “Thou shalt not kill.”

Ettie nodded, her chin out. “I’m already aware of that.”

The doctor handed her a mirror. “And you may have to occasionally look at yourself.”

She did so and was surprised. She had mysteriously turned into the other person, the girl Nicole who she pretended to be.