Free Dollybird by Anne Lazurko Page B

to imagine. These women seem to pass every day in this degradation and not expect any more out of their lives. It’s really quite sad...

    i i i
    What would Father think of this new housing arrangement? He’d always encouraged me to witness the real world , the ways in which people survived, or not. Except for Annie, those who peopled my world in Ibsen didn’t appear to hold much promise. But then neither had the world offered much to those in my father’s life, those sick and destitute I’d met while travelling with him.
    We’d been called to a lumber camp once where a man’s leg had been cut off when a tree fell the wrong way. Despite the gruesome prospects, I’d been excited. It was the first time I was allowed to ride to a case and to bring supplies of my own. I felt the picture of a country doctor, complete with black bag and coat. Father was distracted, gazing into the distance.
    â€œWhen I first came here,” he mused, “I thought I could convince them to turn to God in a new way. If I could heal their bodies, maybe they’d give me their souls too.” The lines etched in his face bore testament to his efforts. “I was young and idealistic. But it didn’t take long to realize the only thing I might be able to do was save them from themselves.”
    I hadn’t known yet what he could mean.
    â€œThey don’t often want a doctor. They’re very suspicious, think we practice some sort of devil’s work. ‘Leave it to the Lord.’ I hear that all the time.”
    â€œBut surely when they see what you can do?”
    â€œIt doesn’t work that way. You’ve seen how isolated these people are. Forgotten by the rest of the world. I sometimes think they believe they’re not worth saving.” He stopped to turn the collar up on his jacket. “They’re like the detractors of Job. Think somehow they’ve brought their misery upon them selves. That they don’t deserve help.”
    â€œHow can people be so stupid?”
    â€œDon’t ever say that.” His voice had been sharp. “They are ignorant, yes, but not stupid. I’ve seen each of these people do the work of ten men. Women included. They improvise and invent. They are quite remarkable.” He didn’t seem to be speaking to me any more. “Not stupid at all.”
    A shout from ahead interrupted us. The approaching rider went straight to Father. “What’s the girl doing here?” He eyed me warily.
    â€œShe’s my daughter and my assistant.” Father’s tone took the rider by surprise. I drew myself up tall.
    He hesitated only an instant before riding off, calling back over his shoulder, “Camp is just a half mile ahead. He’s in the first shack on the right.”
    â€œShack all right,” said Father, tying our horses to the rail alongside the building. The whole thing looked like it would blow over at the wind’s slightest provocation. Collecting my things from the saddlebag, I ran quickly to follow close behind Father, trying to avoid the stares of three men.
    The man who’d met us was explaining, “His daughter. Won’t go anywhere without her.”
    I was grateful for his help until I looked up to see him raise his eyebrows, a suggestion in his eyes. The others snorted. Catching my glance he made a lewd gesture at his pants. I gasped, instantly wishing I hadn’t. The men laughed loudly, and Father turned back to see my red-hot face.
    â€œMoira.”
    I rushed to his side and promptly gagged at the sight and stench in the shack. The man’s leg was gone from just below the knee. He was lying on a plank two feet off the floor, his upper half covered with a thin, dirty sheet. From the stump of his severed leg a yellow-green infection had spread to above his knee. His face was whiter than the sheet drawn to his chin, shining with sweat though he shivered uncontrollably. I’d started