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“It never gets old, you know? Watching babies being born.” I was still feeling emotional, and my adrenaline was soaring.
“Hey, you said you needed a job, so why don’t you do this for a living? You’re good at it. And you seem to like it. I don’t know very many people who’d want to stick their arm where you just did.”
“I’m not a licensed veterinarian. It takes years of study and a lot of money to become one. And how would I support Buster and myself in the meantime? It’s just not possible.”
“You didn’t seem to need a license to help that horse.”
“Jimmy’s father has taught me a lot in the years I’ve been working for him. He always explained what he was doing so I could learn.”
“Well, I’ve never seen anything like that.”
Joe went straight into the garage when we got back, bursting with excitement. He wouldn’t let me leave and go upstairs until he’d told Pop in great detail what he’d just witnessed. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said again. Pop looked at us as if Joe was making it all up. I couldn’t help smiling.
Then Donna, who’d been working in Pop’s office, joined us. “Oh, good. You’re back,” she said. “I have news. I just put in a good word for you with Mr. Edmonds down at the drugstore. His daughter is getting married and he’s hiring someone to replace her.”
I knew Joanie Edmonds. She was one of the girls who used to torment me in school and insist that I had cooties.
“It’s full-time, waiting on customers and things like that. And the pay is good. I told him all about you, and he said to come in right away. The job is as good as yours.”
I felt a rising panic. I’d learned to avoid the townspeople as much as possible after suffering years of ridicule as the “dog girl.” Even worse, I lived beneath a shadow of shame because Pop and Donna were living together without being married. Everyone in the village knew about their sin, which was probably why I was never invited to the other girls’ parties and sleepovers. The thought of facing my neighbors with a cheerful smile in the pharmacy every day made my stomach squeeze. Besides, I would have to quit working at the clinic, and after experiencing the rush of delivering a foal today, I didn’t want to quit. I had missed it terribly during the years I’d worked at the IBM plant.
“I’ll look into it,” I told Donna. I wanted to go upstairs but she was blocking the way.
She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “Why that face? Don’t tell me you’re going to let this perfectly good job slip away!”
“I said I’d look into it.”
She held out the car keys. “Go today. Before he hires someone else.”
I ignored her outstretched hand and gestured to the work clothes I was still wearing. “I need to get cleaned up first. And I can walk there.”
I cried as I soaked in the bathtub and didn’t know why. Was it remembering Joanie Edmonds’s ridicule so soon after my success with Persephone? Was it the thought of giving up a job I loved? Or was it because Donna made me feel the same way that mean girls like Joanie always had—unwanted and rejected? Perhaps it was all of those things.
I went across the street to the Barnetts’ house after my bath, telling myself it was only to see if more letters had arrived from Jimmy’s friends. But in reality, it was because I craved the warmth and love that Mrs. Barnett always showed me. “Did everything go all right out at the horse farm?” she asked as she handed me two new letters. “I’m sorry we sprang it on you so suddenly.”
“I didn’t mind going. And yes, everything went fine. I was able to help one of the mares who was having a difficult labor.”
She gave me the hug I’d been longing for, and we sat down at the kitchen table to open the letters. One of them was from Chaplain Bill, who’d sent a new batch of addresses. He also explained the plans for Mitch O’Hara’s memorial service, which were taking shape. Mitch’s family lived in a small town outside of Binghamton, only a few hours’ drive from here. All we needed, Bill said, was permission for Jimmy to be released for a day so he could attend.
Another letter was from Dr. Morton Greenberg, who turned out to be one of the doctors Jimmy had worked alongside in Bastogne. In short, concise sentences, he wrote about their experiences there and how the tragedy had affected him. He urged Jimmy not to let the war destroy his faith in God or mankind. “Maybe Dr. Greenberg remembers the name of the Belgian nurse who was killed when the aid station was bombed,” I said when I finished reading. “Maybe she was Gisela.”
“The mystery woman in the photograph?” Mrs. Barnett asked.
“Yes. So far, none of Jimmy’s friends has recognized her. But if Gisela is that nurse, maybe we can hold a memorial service for her at the same time that we honor Mitch.”
According to the letterhead on the doctor’s stationery, his medical practice was in Bergenfield, New Jersey. I wanted answers, and waiting to send and receive another letter from him would take too long. “Do you know where Bergenfield, New Jersey, is, Mrs. Barnett? Maybe Joe and I could drive there tomorrow.”
“Gordon keeps some road maps here in the junk drawer,” she replied. She stood to dig through it and found one for New Jersey. We unfolded it and spread it out on the table. Bergenfield was about seventy miles away.
“May I borrow this map?” I asked.
“Certainly.” We were trying to refold it and laughing about how impossible it was to get it flat again, when Mr. Barnett arrived home.
“Thanks again for helping today, Peggy. Very well-done! Paul Dixon was impressed with your skill.”
“I learned from the best,” I said, smiling at him. “And I’m glad to help, anytime.” We chatted for a few minutes and Mrs. Barnett told him about Chaplain Bill’s plans for the memorial service.
“We need to get permission for Jimmy to leave the hospital for a day,” I added. “Do you think that’s possible?”
