Chapter Text
Passing two fingers under her high collar, Moira tugged a bit with discomfort. She worried she would come off a bit strange if she were overdressed, but she was unwilling to risk appearing underdressed today, so she was dressed to the nines. Her deep brown brogues were stiff, she’d only gotten them last week, and they made her feet hurt. Her brown, straight cut slacks were supported with thin, deep brown leather braces to match her shoes. Her button-down was white, her vest light brown, her tie and sport coat racing green. Her hair perfectly pushed back and fiery red, her eyes bright blue. She felt ridiculous. She didn’t mind dressing up, but green was hardly her color. Between her hair, her shirt, and her coat she felt like she was being offered up as a walking, talking Irish flag.
Her mother had liked this thought, “This grand doctor fellow, he coulda taken anyone, couldn’ta he-ah?” she had said as she had seen Moira off at the airport, “Ye look grand, Moira, just grand. He’ll be wantin ta hire ya right off the plane, I’d bet,” She’d stood on her tip toes and Moira knew the cue to bend down and accept the kiss on the cheek. In recent years she had shot up to be as tall as her brothers and now towered over her smaller mother, lanky and somewhat feeling like she was all knees and elbows most of the time. Her mother assured her it would pass as she got older, but it made it no easier now, “Now crack on, dear, and call me when ye get in.”
Moira had kissed her mother goodbye at the airport and boarded the plane alone. She was en route to Switzerland where she had been thrilled to be offered a summer position studying with a renowned physician, Dr. Luka Ziegler. While Moira did not think she wanted to go into medical practice, she intended to focus on research, this summer internship would be an outstanding opportunity for her to learn from a professional. She had cold-wrote to many would-be mentors, and they all had brushed her off. A teenage girl, traveling abroad alone, to study under them? Too much trouble, too much risk.
And so it had come as a complete surprise when Dr. Ziegler had responded in the affirmative. He was not in her top choices, she had written letters to many less focused on medicine and more focused on research and the human genome, but beggars can’t be choosers and Dr. Ziegler had offered her a position. As a part of her student visa, and to assist in her studies with him, she would be housed at his home. This was off-putting to Moira at first, but upon learning he had a daughter in the home as well, she felt more at ease.
About the living situation, anyway. She tugged at the stiff collar again, feeling like a complete wanker as she approached the corral of people at passenger pickup in Zurich’s airport, wheeling a large suitcase behind her. Many people were holding signs with names on them and Moira scanned the signs more than she scanned the faces. She had seen Dr. Ziegler’s photographs from various conferences he had attended and on his hospital website biosketch page, but there was no telling how old or accurate the photos were, and she wasn’t sure she would recognize him, and he might have even sent a driver instead.
Eventually she saw O’Deorain, M. on a sign and followed the sign up the arms to the man’s face who held it. Yes, this was Dr. Ziegler, though he looked much older than he had in the conference photos taken some ten years ago or so, his hair no longer brown but nearly grey. He wore a simple brown suit and horn-rimmed glasses, and his beard was full but well-trimmed. His face had deep lines and creases, but his blue eyes seemed bright as he scanned the crowd in front of him. He would have no idea what Moira looked like, she realized, as she had not seen it important to send him a photograph along with her resume, and he had not asked. In fact, she noticed his eyes scanned back and forth over her several times as she approached, but never seemed to pick up that it was her name on his card until she approached him and held out her hand nervously, “Dr. Luka Ziegler? I am Moira O’Deorain, thank you for allowing me to work with you this summer.”
The man seemed surprised at first, but then smiled kindly and shook her hand. Moira didn’t know what would cause his surprise, but she had some guesses. Her height usually got a few double-takes. She may look younger than he was expecting. With an internal cringe she knew he may have thought she was a man at first glance, that happened to her far more often since she decided to wear her hair short, and the suit certainly didn’t help that. Or maybe, as she feared, she was well and thoroughly overdressed. He didn’t indicate which of these were a reality, if any.
“Miss. O’Deorain, a pleasure to meet you, welcome to Zurich,” He tucked his sign under his arm and clapped her hard on the shoulder with the one he was not using to shake her hand, then motioned to her bag, “You have everything you need, ja? May I help you with your bag?”
“No, thank you, I can manage,” She assured him quickly, and followed him as he nodded and began moving toward the parking lot. He walked quickly, but her long legs weren’t always a curse and it was easy to keep up with him, “You said in your letters you don’t actually live in Zurich?”
“Ja, that’s right,” He motioned to a black sedan idling at the curb, popped the boot with his keyfob, and opened the passenger door for her. She loaded her suitcase into the boot quickly and climbed into the passenger seat. He didn’t explain further until he was in his seat and they were pulling away from the curb, “My home is about forty minutes to the north, outside of town, in the countryside. It is forty minutes to the hospital from my home, I go for Grand Rounds on Monday mornings, you would want to attend, ja?” He glanced to see her nod, then smiled and continued, “Of course, of course. Yes, Mondays are Grand Rounds, I hold clinic on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the village, and on Fridays I see patients at the hospital in the city again. Weekends and Wednesdays I try to stay home with Angela when I can.”
“Angela? Your daughter?” Moira recalled him mentioning having a daughter in the home, but hadn’t asked about the girl. She chewed on her lip a bit.
“Ja, I mentioned her in the letter, I think? Angela is six, but you wouldn’t know it by talking to her. Smart as can be, takes after her mother. It has just been her and I since my wife passed away. To be very honest with you, Miss O’Deorain, she is why I chose to take on a student intern this summer, so that perhaps she will not be so lonely,” He smiled toward her as if being told that the reason you were brought on was to be a companion to a child was some sort of compliment. Moira did not know how to react, and so stayed silent and continued worrying at her lip. She had been worried the girl would be around her age; she had difficulty being around girls her age. She was now worried the child was so young; she had difficulty being around children. She had difficulty being around anyone, really. It’s not that she was unfriendly. She tried to be friendly. It just never seemed to work out as well for her as it worked out for others. She always felt out of place.
“Ah, I hope I did not offend you, Miss O’Deorain,” Dr. Ziegler seemed to notice her silence, “I assure you there are easier ways to get a babysitter if I wished. No, your background is most impressive given your age, you show great promise.” Moira stopped chewing her lip and straightened up a bit, “I will do what I can to show you the life of a physician this summer. Though I must ask, your biosketch did not seem to show an interest in practicing medicine? Why do you wish to shadow me this summer?”
Because you’re the only one who would take me, and a doctor in a different field writes a better letter of rec than no doctor at all? Moira had been ready for this question, because she’d asked herself the same thing, “I do not believe I will practice medicine, but the knowledge gained from medical study will help me in my tangentially related pursuits. As I am limited by my age and means I must find what activities are available to me and do my best in such positions.”
If Luka was fazed by her diction, or by the Irish accent that was too thick to mask, he did not show it, and instead just nodded his approval toward the windscreen. As they continued to drive Dr. Ziegler explained details of the small village clinic and the hospital at which he worked, outlined how he felt that Moira could best use her time, and pointed out various landmarks of interest as they passed them. Moira had not left Ireland before, and this was more exciting than she had expected. Zurich itself was not so much different than Dublin, but as they left the city and traveled along mountain roads the countryside became absolutely breathtaking.
At last they turned a bend in the mountain highway and a small village nestled in a green valley appeared before them. “Alpentstadt” read the small welcome sign at the border, and it listed the population at 741. As they drove slowly through the town the houses were quaint, but well-cared for and most people stopped to wave at Dr. Ziegler, who waved back. He pointed out a two-story white house with a steep-sloped roof near the center of the town and explained it was the village clinic, where she would often be joining him. He pointed out the local grocer, and also took the time to point out a village rec center, explaining it had a diner, arcade, bowling alley, and roller rink, though a small version of each, should she wish to spend her days off with the other teenagers in Alpenstadt. She doubted she would, but she nodded appreciatively at his thoughtfulness, and at the confirmation she would have days off.
They continued out the other end of town and not much further, a very walkable distance to someone as prone to long walks alone as Moira was, to a large two-story farm house surrounded by large, ancient hornbeam trees on all sides which seemed to get deeper and older the further from the house they went. Dr. Ziegler explained that the original house on the property had been a hunting cabin for men of the village many years past, and so they had never cut the deep forest much beyond this point, and the hunting was still good, though he had no time or interest himself, and Angela would likely have a fit if any animal were to be hurt for sport.
Moira imagined living in such a large house for her summer. Her home was half this size, and being the youngest of five with four rowdy brothers had meant she did not understand the meaning of privacy or personal space. This seemed a dream. Quiet solitude. Scientific studies. A professional to mentor her. It was perfect.
They pulled into the gravel drive to the side of the house and both exited the car. As Dr. Ziegler popped the boot Moira went around to grab her suitcase and pushed the lid closed in time to see a small girl bounding down the porch steps toward Dr. Ziegler as he went around the front of the car.
“Papa!” The girl shouted, running and hugging onto both of the man’s legs, and he hobbled comically for a few steps with her attached. Moira got the impression this was some sort of game they played, and she stood somewhat awkwardly to the side, smiling as she thought most people would expect when happy children were in their vicinity.
He reached down and peeled the girl away with a laugh, then kneeled and greeted the her, then turned to Moira, “And this, my girl, is Miss. Moira O’Deorain, the student that is going to stay with us this summer.”
“Hi,” was all the girl said as she held her father’s hand. Like most children, she did not have any shame in staring, and she looked Moira up and down slowly, several times. Moira shifted awkwardly.
“Hi, Angela, you can call me Moira.” She nodded to Dr. Ziegler as an afterthought, “You may as well, Dr. Ziegler.”
Angela smiled back up at her father, then dropped his hand and went running back into the house. Dr. Ziegler laughed and gave an ‘Kids, what can ya do?’ look toward Moira, before motioning for her to follow him into the house.
Moira was introduced to Sophie, a friend of Luka’s who watched Angela while he was away, before Sophie departed soon after their arrival. Luka made them tea and they sat together on the porch for most of the afternoon discussing Moira’s career aspirations and just what Luka thought of them. For the most part the girl seemed to stay upstairs playing by herself, which Moira was glad for.
As she retired to her assigned room with en suite in the evening she was quite pleased with her position. Luka Ziegler seemed sincerely interested in helping her learn more about medicine, and her accommodations were more than adequate. This would be a good summer for her, she was certain.
Realizing she had nearly forgotten to call her mother as promised, Moira tip-toed barefoot down the stairs and into the kitchen where she had been shown the landline for use for calling home. The house creaked and groaned as it settled for the night, but otherwise she was fairly certain Luka had put Angela to bed and was now asleep himself, or at least retired for the evening, and so when her mother picked up she talked quietly, explaining everything that had happened.
She was quick with the call; her mother wanted to know every little detail of everything but Moira feared the international call charges and wouldn’t let her mother push the call past five minutes. As she bid her mother good night, told her she loved her, and hung up the phone she heard a small voice behind her that made her jump, “Who was that?”
Angela was standing in the doorway to the kitchen in her pajamas with a blanket tied around her neck like a superhero’s cape. Moira sighed, “Ah, sorry if I was being too loud. I just had to call me mother.”
“You talk weird.”
Moira grimaced. Angela wasn’t teasing or accusatory, she stated it as plainly as if she were saying it was currently nighttime or that some cows are brown, but Moira still didn’t care much for her accent. She felt people with thick accents, except perhaps an English accent, weren’t taken as seriously in academia. She had made up her mind to shake it, but it was not going well. She hoped her time abroad would help, but it was off to a rough start and she knew her accent was thick.
“I’m from Ireland, that’s how we speak there,” Moira explained in a similar matter-of-fact tone, but she did a better job at curbing her accent this time.
“Oh.” Angela kept staring for a few moments while Moira shifted uncomfortably, still dressed like an idiot, sportcoat and braces and all.
“My mama died when I was three. In the war far away.”
Is she trying to make this as terrible on me as possible? Is that her game? Moira grimaced, “Yes, your da told me that. S-sorry.”
Angela paused a moment, as if thinking, then shrugged, “I’m happy you’re here. You seem nice and I like the way you talk. Good night.” She turned immediately and exited the kitchen, leaving Moira standing in the moonlight, feeling fairly perplexed. Did she do alright? It seems like she did alright?
After a moment she sighed and returned upstairs herself to finish getting ready for bed.
The coming days were busy and exciting for Moira, finally able to stretch her legs academically in the real world. She wasn’t doing research, of course, but when Dr. Ziegler needed background on his own research he would assign Moira to do a literature review and let her loose in his study where she found floor-to-ceiling collections of obscure medical journals to supplement computer-based files. When she followed him at the Grand Rounds he included her in the discussion along with the medical students, and allowed her to ask questions, though Moira rarely did. In the clinic she fell into the role of a medical scribe, helping him code his appointments and listening to his insight after each patient visit.
On Wednesdays and weekends Dr. Ziegler would let Moira do what she wanted as he would take Angela on outings or play outside with her. It was touching, Moira thought, but more than that she appreciated it for the solitude it gave her. After the first few suggestions to go to the rec center and meet others her age, Dr. Ziegler stopped trying to help Moira socialize and seemed to accept she was in his study reading periodicals because she wanted to be, not because she had nowhere else to go.
For the most part Moira did not interact with Angela, which was fine with Moira. If she somehow remedied the child’s loneliness she was unware of how, as the girl seemed only interested in playing with her toys or with her father. She was also already a skilled reader, apparently, and Moira frequently saw her reading to herself and envied the girl for growing up in a quiet home without four boys fighting around her at all times.
The girl seemed to like being alone, or at least didn’t seem to want to spend much of her time around Moira, and so it came as a surprise when she approached Moira one Wednesday in the mid-morning. Moira was sitting in Dr. Ziegler’s chair behind his desk in the study, her reading glasses perched on her nose, taking notes from a paper on the current efforts to map the human genome. It seems great progress was being made; she was worried there might be nothing left for her to do when she finished her studies. It made her all the more determined to work harder.
But not this day, apparently, as Angela walked up to the desk and stood quietly until Moira raised her eyes and acknowledged her, “Hello? Did you need something, Angela?”
“Papa went to help someone who is sick and can’t get out of bed,” Angela explained, “But he promised to take me for ice cream today. Will you take me, Moira?”
Moira blinked. She could. That is, there’s nothing stopping her from doing it, and she didn’t technically need to finish this today. But she did not feel comfortable. She considered saying she was too busy, but the thought of Angela walking away with a disappointed droop in her shoulders made her even more uncomfortable. She sat down her pen and placed her note paper between the pages of the journal, taking off her glasses as she nodded, “Alright, if you know where the ice cream parlor is.”
Angela smiled widely and immediately ran off. Moira could hear her bounding up the stairs and presumed she was getting her shoes, and she chose this time to take stock of her own attire. She had prepared for this trip with the mindset that it would be all business, and so she would be all business as well. She had no casual “going for ice cream” clothes, only a combination of slacks, button-downs, braces, two pairs of brogues (one black, one brown, she wore the black ones now to match her black slacks and white shirt), a few different jackets and coats, a small selection of tie and vest combinations and, well, that was it. No t-shirt, no sweater, no tank-top. She sighed. At least she wouldn’t fetch a sport coat, that much she could avoid, and so she waited at the front door in her slacks, collared shirt, tie, and braces and hoped Angela didn’t comment on her outfit.
Quickly Angela came bounding back down the stairs with white shoes in hand and pulled them on at the door, then held her hand out for Moira to take. Moira took it with some trepidation. She didn’t mind holding the child’s hand, but her tiny fingers made Moira’s long, spindly fingers feel very awkward as the joined hands and walked outside into the crisp, bright summer’s day.
“So what kind of ice cream are you going to get?’ Moira asked conversationally as they walked down the drive, thankful she had exchanged some of her pounds for francs at the airport.
“Chocolate!” Angela answered immediately, “It’s the best. I love chocolate. What are you going to get, Moira?”
“I don’t know, I hear the chocolate’s good,” Moira smiled, finding this child more pleasant to be around than most.
“Ja, it is!” Angela confirmed and began swinging their hands forward and backwards as they walked. It felt strange to Moira, especially since she towered over the girl, but she did her best to keep up the motion. After a few moments of silence Angela looked up at Moira, “Papa says you’re going to be a doctor and that you came here so you can learn to be a good doctor.”
Moira considered if it was worth explaining to a six year old the difference between an MD and a PhD. She also considered if she would maybe get a joint degree with the MD after all, as her experiences with Dr. Ziegler had been very interesting, “Yes, I want to study how bodies work, and what they can do.”
“So you’re going to help people like papa?”
Moira gave a half-shrug, “Maybe. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to understand. There’s a lot we still don’t know about how bodies work, and why we’re all different even though we’re all humans. I just want to find out.”
Angela seemed to consider this for a minute, then gave an exaggerated nod which Moira thought could convey understanding or approval. Angela turned back forward, and continued swinging their hands, “I’m going to be a doctor, too. I’m going to help make people better, like Mama and Papa.”
“Your ma was a doctor too?” Moira hadn’t heard much about the late Mrs., well apparently the late Dr. Ziegler. She understood that it was not her business to pry into her mentor’s personal affairs, and it made no difference to her.
“Ja, papa and mama met being doctors for soldiers. Papa said they were a doctor team,” Angela frowned, “When the fighting started again Mama went to help the hurt soldiers, but she didn’t come back. I don’t remember it though. I just know that’s why she isn’t coming back.”
Moira instinctively gripped the girl’s hand a little tighter in what she hoped was a comforting gesture, even though Angela didn’t seem very fazed. Indeed, her age would mean she probably had very little memory of her mother at all. Perhaps it made it easier, “I’m sure she was a great doctor.”
“Ja. But when I’m grown up and I’m a doctor like you, we’ll be a doctor team, too, right, Moira?” She beamed up at the older girl.
“Um, maybe?” Moira didn’t know what to say, and she certainly hadn’t expected this girl she’d barely spoken with to want to be her ‘doctor teammate.’ Then again, if this girl was lonely, who else would she have to befriend? Oh well, there was no harm in indulging her, “We can do that, if ye want to when ye grow up.”
Angela gave another matter-of-fact nod as they neared the main village, and pointed to a small schoolhouse that they could see rising on the hill on the opposite edge of the town, “I go to school there, but papa says when I’m older I’ll travel for school. I think that sounds fun. Like you, right Moira? You came here for school.”
“Aye, sort of,” Moira explained, “It’s not really school, I just follow your da around and learn about what he does. Do you like school?” Moira thought back to her own school. She still had one year of secondary school left when she returned from this summer placement, and she dreaded it with every inch of her body. The teachers? Imbeciles. The course curriculum? Elementary. The assignments? Uninspired. And the students? Ugh. The worst part. Moira doubted they’d be any different here, one of the main reasons she avoided the rec center in favor of studies.
“My friends go to school with me, so I like school,” Angela explained, and Moira secretly hoped that that remained true for Angela for a long time to come, “But sometimes it’s boring when papa already taught me stuff. I’m reading chapter books now.”
“I saw,” Moira acknowledged with sincerity, “You’re very smart, Angela, you have great potential. You’ll be a famous doctor someday.”
Angela beamed up at her again, then pointed down the street to the left, “It’s this way.”
While Moira had come to the clinic with Luka several times so far this summer she had not really explored the village. She did not know anyone, and she did not speak German or French. Dr. Ziegler had explained in their early letters that this was not a problem; in the winter many foreign tourists, mostly from England and America, visited the town on ski vacations and so most people spoke fluent English as well, though he warned her they might find her accent difficult to understand. All the same, she’d not bothered to wander the streets on her own, and this outing was her first time looking in the shop windows and nodding politely to people they passed on the street.
Most people seemed to recognize Angela, and waved and greeted the girl as they saw her, and she did so in return. Moira felt more cheery than she had expected when she first left the study, this was quite enjoyable. When they rounded a corner at Angela’s behest, however, Moira cringed internally. Sitting in front of what surely was the ice cream parlor looked like a small group of teenagers about her age, talking and laughing with one another. She tried to shake off her discomfort and continued chatting with Angela about what ice cream the girl wanted. As they reached the shop she noted that the conversation of the teenagers became a bit hushed and she felt eyes on her back as she held the door open for Angela to go through, but the others spoke in German and she could make out no words. She was happy when the door swung shut behind them.
Angela immediately went to the small freezer case a few steps from the door. The shop was small, with a table and two chairs for customers inside (three more tables and accompanying chairs sat outside with the teenagers) and a small freezer case. Angela was already eyeing the chocolate ice cream, and Moira spotted vanilla, strawberry, butter pecan, and mint or pistachio, she couldn’t be certain. At the sound of the tinkling bell above the door the shop attendant emerged from a back room, a very pretty girl of about sixteen with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing a plain grey t-shirt and jeans.
She didn’t seem to notice Angela bouncing in front of the ice cream case at first, and her eyes moved up and down the strange red-headed figure in front of the counter. Moira presumed it was because she clearly wasn’t from around here that the girl knew to ask in English, “What can I get you, sir?”
Moira visibly cringed. She hated this. There was nothing that made her more uncomfortable than being misgendered. Rarely could she tell if it were on purpose, sometimes she was certain it was done intentionally to make sure she knew she looked different. Other times, even when it was clear it was an accident, she hated the awkwardness both parties felt when the truth came out, but with her voice she couldn’t hide it. It was times like these she wished she were a foot shorter, fuller in the chest and hips. She knew she didn’t do any favors standing here in straight cut slacks and braces.
She pointed awkwardly at Angela, who was looking back at Moira. Rather than placing her ice cream order, Angela was also looking at Moira, “Tell her you’re a girl, Moira.”
I am in hell. “Ah, twas an honest mistake,” Moira said, though she wasn’t sure if that were case at all. She shrugged and didn’t look at the shop girl while she stepped up behind Angela and placed her hands on the girl’s shoulders, “Now, ye wanted chocolate, aye?”
Angela’s attention diverted to her ice cream dreams, she quickly requested two scoops of chocolate ice cream in a sprinkle cone, forcing Moira to address the girl behind the counter. She looked up, feeling the girl’s eyes on her awkwardly, “That’ll be one scoop of chocolate ice cream in the special cone, and one vanilla in a plain cone too, please.”
Angela turned her face into a pout but said nothing as the girl scooped their ice cream into the cones. Moira handed Angela her cone, then took her own in hand. Awkwardly she tried to one-hand her wallet out of her pocket and fetch the amount of money the girl asked for. As Moira struggled with her wallet she heard the girl snicker, and when she looked up the girl was looking out the window. When Moira looked too she saw the teenagers still out there. She couldn’t tell what they had been doing, but it was clear from context it was something she likely would have taken offense to, and it was something about her. She scowled and laid the money on the counter. “Thanks,” she grunted, and motioned toward the door, “We’ll eat on the way home, Angela.”
“Aw, but I want to sit outside,” Angela protested as she walked through the door Moira held for her, pausing to take a lick of her ice cream cone before continuing, “Papa says I can’t eat ice cream and walk at the same time or I’ll drop it on the ground like all those other times.”
Moira couldn’t help but grin, but she still felt uncomfortable. She didn’t want to rush Angela on her short legs, but she wanted to be out of here. The teenagers had gone silent except for whispers and chuckles among them as soon as they had exited the shop, and she felt their eyes on her as she walked past them. She heard one mutter something clearly directed at her under their breath, but as she did not speak German she could take no real offense. She compromised with the girl, “We’ll walk to the benches outside the clinic, and eat there, alright?”
This seemed satisfactory to Angela, who all the same did manage to walk all the way there without dropping her ice cream. Moira felt much more comfortable sitting on the wooden bench outside Dr. Ziegler’s clinic. It was her territory, she was safe from those spanners here.
Angela happily licked at her ice cream cone, but Moira could feel she was unapologetically staring right at her. She didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t bother her half as much as the other stares, and instead she glared at the street sign across the street, imagining she could make it burst into smoke with just her thoughts.
“I don’t like them either,” Angela finally spoke up with a matter-of-fact report of her opinions.
Moira shifted uncomfortably, feeling the uneaten cone of ice cream in her hand beginning to soften. She knew it was no use trying to hide her annoyance, “You know them?”
“No, they go to the high school across the street from my school. They know papa,” Angela explained, pausing every few words to lap up some melting ice cream. Moira wasn’t sure if she liked that they knew Dr. Ziegler, but she wasn’t sure why that would bother her. It was a small town, it would be hard for people not to know one another.
“Then why don’t you like them?” Moira asked dully, finally opting to try her ice cream for want of anything better to occupy her antsy hands. It was okay. She wished she’d gotten chocolate.
“Because they were laughing at us, and that’s not nice.” Angela explained, “We didn’t do anything mean to them, they were mean for no reason, and that’s not nice.”
Moira considered asking Angela what they had been saying in German, but decided it was probably something she shouldn’t be asking a six year old to repeat back or define. She continued eating her ice cream in silence and reflected on the similar nature of teenagers around the world. Angela kept talking to her about her favorite chapter books and how much she wanted a bicycle for Christmas this year and all sorts of other things, and eventually Moira had nearly forgotten the incident at the shop. Their ice cream finished and the day moving along, Moira stood and held out her hand for Angela, “Shall we go back home then?”
That evening when Dr. Ziegler asked what Angela had done while he was away he was thankful to Moira for taking the girl to the ice cream shop, and he passed her a few more francs than the ice cream had cost, though she tried to decline at first. Moira was thankful that Angela didn’t bring up the incident with the teenagers to her father, and when Moira called home that night she didn’t tell her own mother either.
The summer was nearly half over, and Moira was fully enjoying herself with the Zieglers. She had begun reading the more worn and creased periodicals heavier, realizing that those were ones which featured heaviest in Luka’s work, and so they had much to talk about when they were traveling to and from the clinic and the hospital in Zurich. She had learned, though, that it was better to ask about the papers with the German annotations, the papers marked up in French had been marked by the late Dr. Ziegler and Luka had less expertise in the area, and the conversation would some time come to a lull quickly after Moira’s inquiry. But there was plenty to read and talk about, and so she avoided returning to town on her free days, returning to the study instead.
Luka began being called away more and more on what should have been days off. Moira would insist on accompanying him on house calls, but he seemed just as insistent that she stay home, and that he would update her on the patient’s progress when he returned. Soon enough Moira realized that he likely needed her to stay and look after Angela more than he wanted to force her to take her rest days. And that was okay. Angela spent more time around Moira now, but she was mostly quiet, sitting in the alcove under the window reading to herself while Moira sat across the room at the desk. Sometimes Moira would hear a murmur and look up to see Angela sounding out difficult words to herself. She always got them on her own, and never asked for help. Moira found it endearing, and found she was quite fond of Angela. She’d never had sisters growing up, and had rarely gotten along well with girls in her own village. She was happy to know girls like Angela were in the world.
Which is why it was all the more exasperating when Angela piped up from her spot below the window, “Can we go to the game place today, Moira?”
“Game place?” Moira didn’t look up from her reading, and scrawled a few more notes down into her own notebook.
“You know, we can bowl and play games and have hüppen.” Angela explained, then took a deep gasping breath like she’d just remembered a fact about the game place, “We can skate! Moira, I want to go skating.” Angela had bounded up from the floor and was standing with her hands on the desk, eyeing Moira pleadingly as she rocked back and forth on her feet with excitement.
Moira hid her grimace with her hand as she reached up to take off her reading glasses, then straightened from her position hunched over the desk. She regarded Angela, fidgeting excitedly, for a moment, trying to determine the best way to say no without upsetting the girl. She had never seen Angela throw a tantrum, true, but she also hadn’t ever had her ask for something with this much excitement. It was a precarious position.
No, Angela, I can’t be arsed to spend a fine day like today in a noisy, child-ridden recreation center while a bunch of arseholes talk and laugh behind my back, go back to your books. Moira explained calmly, “I have no skates, and no bowling shoes. Perhaps your father will take you on Saturday.”
“They have shoes and skates there that you can borrow,” Angela assured her, “Pleeeeeeeeeeeease, Moiiiiiiraaaaaaaaaaaaa.” She wasn’t crying, or whining, just begging. It was almost cute, but it was too effective for Moira’s tastes.
With an exasperated sigh she checked the clock on the wall. It was already afternoon, she could easily take her for a little while and then say it was getting too late and they’d have to leave soon. Then she wouldn’t have said no, but she’d not have to stay. That seemed a reasonable course of action. Before she even was halfway through, “Okay, get your shoes,” Angela had shot out the room and bounded up the stairs to her bedroom.
Moira looked down at herself. She was certain her manner of dress did her no favors at the ice cream parlor. She had no real options, but she could make do with what she had, at least. The shoes were pointless to worry about, she had no others and with a scowl she realized she might need to wear borrowed shoes if she actually indulged Angela beyond just escorting her. Slacks were slacks, not much to be done about those. But she shucked off her vest and unclipped her braces from her waistband, leaving them in a small, neat pile on the side of the desk. She’d not bothered with a tie that morning, and simply undid the top two buttons of her button down and untucked the entire thing. She walked into the hall where a mirror hung on the wall and appraised her work. With disgust, she wrinkled her nose. She looked like a slob.
She could still hear Angela throwing things around upstairs, apparently struggling to find her shoes. With bemusement she noticed the girl’s shoes sitting neatly beside the front door. That would buy her some time to fix this mess, at least.
She hurried back into the study, tucking in her shirt and rebuttoning it. She affixed the braces and pulled on the vest, smoothing down her collar again as she approached the mirror. Yes, back to normal. If they can’t be arsed to look like civilized folk, that’s their doing. No need for you to stoop to their level, Moira. You still have your dignity. “Your shoes are down here,” Moira called up the stairs, and Angela appeared in a flash and began tugging them on.
Moira enjoyed this walk significantly less than the last, but she tried to shake off the dread of running into any unsavory characters again, and instead she and Angela talked about Angela’s favorite subjects in school. It was clear to Moira that Angela was far beyond most children her age; she wasn’t sure if it was Luka’s teaching or if Angela had a natural aptitude, but she presumed it was both. She worried that Angela would become bored in her small town with their limited school resources someday, but for now the girl seemed satisfied with her education.
The village recreation center was large, single-story building that seemed several decades old, and well-used at that. Metal double doors along the front face were flung over, and sounds of bowling pins being knocked down, people talking and laughing, and rock music were pouring into the street. Moira did some quick math in her head. If 10-15% of the average population in a developed nation was adolescents and the population was in the mid-700s then there would be maybe 60 kids between the ages of 15 and 19 in the village, and certainly most of them wouldn’t be here in the middle of the afternoon?
Ugh. It wasn’t that she was antisocial, or automatically hated her peers, but more that those her age never really seemed to be peers. The majority of them were idiots, and those who she could stand to talk to rarely shared her interests, and somehow, despite the mismatch going in two directions, she always came out feeling like the offending party. No, she preferred to stay back at Dr. Ziegler’s home and read just to avoid problems. Honestly she’d found it more enjoyable to be in Angela’s company than most people her age, because at least Angela was quiet, smart, and kind.
She could already hear voices of other young people as they approached the doors, and some were outside smoking in the area around the doors. They didn’t seem to notice Angela and Moira, or they didn’t care if they did notice. It was much darker inside, and it took Moira’s eyes a moment to adjust. What Luka had said was correct, it was a watered down version of several things. While she knew little about bowling she could presume the two lanes against the far wall were too short to be regulation, and she could see an active young boy around 13 scrambling to manually reset the pins for both lanes after every ball. The skating rink in the center of the huge open plan was large enough that one could skate the loop without becoming dizzy, but only just so, and with seven people already skating in a counter-clockwise circle around the smooth floor the area seemed quite crowded. In the back corner Moira could see flashing lights and could hear the cacophony of a small arcade. Directly to their left was a counter, which looped around in a large L shape across the front side of the center. From the signage it would seem that this register, at which an older man with a bit of a paunch and a friendly face stood and smiled at them as they entered, was for skate and bowling shoe rental and reserving bowling lanes, while if you moved further down there was a food counter and she could see a few people behind the counter preparing orders.
It was pretty busy, Moira was displeased to see, but Angela didn’t seem to be bothered as she took Moira’s hand and pulled her toward the man at the counter. As they reached the counter the man smiled at Moira and looked down at Angela with an even bigger smile,
“Hallo frau Angela, was kann ich heute für dich und deinen freund tun?” he asked, and while Moira did not understand the question she noted he knew Angela’s name. Or a German word sounded a lot like Angela. Moira wasn’t certain.
“Wir würden gerne skaten, bitte. Meine Schuhgröße beträgt elfeinhalb, denke ich. Oh, einen moment bitte,” Angela responded sweetly, and then turned up to look at Moira, “What size skate do you wear, Moira?”
“Ah,” Moira scratched the back of her head, careful not to mess her hair, “I will just watch you skate, it’s crowded out there, and I don’t really like skating.”
Angela frowned up at her, and Moira was afraid they would argue about this, but it seems Angela decided to pick her battles, and she turned back to the man and continued speaking for a moment. The man handed child-sized skates to Moira, who handed them down to Angela and placed the skate rental fee outlined on the print-out taped to the table to the man. She nodded her thanks to the man, who smiled brightly, and she left Angela lead her to a pair of plain plastic chairs.
“Do you need help getting your skates on?” Moira offered. She really didn’t know what to do at this point. Obviously she had to stay here while Angela skated, and should watch her in case she should fall or someone should start bothering her, but she felt very out of place. She was not babysitter material, that was one of the lessons she would take away from her summer abroad.
Angela shook her head, and indeed she was quick to lace up the skates and stand, a bit wobbly at first, but she found her balance quick enough. She skated quickly over to the border of the rink and turned back to hand her shoes to Moira, pointing to a small line of cubbies with many shoes already filling them, “Can you put these away, Moira? I’m going to skate for a while. I’m really good and can go really fast, watch!”
The girl was off like a shot and Moira mumbled quietly “Be careful” because she’s pretty sure that’s what she should say in this situation, but Angela wouldn’t have heard. She shoved the girl’s shoes into a cubby and watched Angela make a few laps. Angela waved at her the first few times she swung around, and Moira awkwardly waved back, but soon Angela seemed to be in her own world. It amused Moira how seriously Angela seemed to take it, like she was on a mission of some sort known only to her. After a few moments Moira looked around the room again. If anyone cared about the lanky red-head who looked far too overdressed for a bowling alley no one seemed to indicate it, and that suited her just fine. She relaxed a bit.
The music wasn’t very good, and most of the conversations around her were in German so it was easy to tune-out. Angela was clearly in her own world herself, and soon Moira began to grow bored. Her eyes fell on the food service counter, and it occurred to her Angela would probably be thirsty from all the activity, and she could use a drink as well.
As she waited in line behind a pair of boys about ten years old Moira spotted the draft taps. Her brothers had assured her that in Switzerland, like in Ireland, she would be able to get beer but not liquor. She had stared them down and insisted that her travels were not world tours of fraternization and parties and she was going to learn, and would not be drinking. But, she realized, she also hadn’t been expecting to be escorting a six year old to a roller rink. It had been an age since she’d had a drink, and the very thought appealed far more than she expected it to.
“Nächste!” Even in German, the word ‘next’ was recognizable, and Moira side-stepped the boys in front of her to speak to a different counter employee. Moira’s heart fell into her stomach as she came eye to eye with a girl she definitely recognized from outside of the ice cream shop.
It was different this time, though. The girl gave a friendly smile toward Moira and motioned her to wak closer to the bar. “You and the doctor’s kid were getting ice cream last week, ja?” Her voice was sweet, and it made Moira uneasy, but she nodded anyway, “Was wondering if we’d see you here eventually. What can I get for you?”
“Uh, a bottle of water and a Guinness, please.” Moira responded, already pulling out her ID.
The girl took it and looked it over for a long while, “Ireland, huh? Well that explains the cute hair and accent,” she winked at Moira as she handed it back to her, and Moira felt her cheeks burn, she prayed it was too dark to tell. The girl set to work grabbing a bottle of water from a container of ice, and began filling a pint for Moira.
“Yeah, I’m visiting for, uh, work,” Moira didn’t know how to explain her position with Dr. Ziegler, especially if English was not this woman’s first language, but work seemed the most similar. She took the cool bottle of water in hand and tried not to watch the girl too closely. She was probably about Moira’s age, maybe a year younger. No younger than that, Moira noted, or she’d probably not be allowed to serve alcohol. She had long brown hair in a big braid which fell behind her head and Moira could not see where it stopped, and she wore a plain black polo shirt which seemed to be the “uniform” of the establishment.
“Sorry if my friends bothered you the other day,” she smiled kindly as she set the glass on the counter and pushed it across to Moira, “They can be real idiots.”
I noticed. “It’s, ah, it’s fine. I don’t speak German, if they said something to me I didn’t hear it.”
“My name’s Sara, by the way, Moira,” Her voice was sweet, almost teasing, and Moira panicked that she knew her name, before realizing she’d just been studying her identification. As she accepted Moira’s money and returned the change she leaned forward a bit, adding quietly, “You should come back later, after you take her home. I get off at 5 come, right before then. The next one’s on me.”
Moira nearly dropped the pint in her hand, and her mouth went dry and useless. She swallowed hard, “Um, I’ll try?” Without knowing what else to do, she turned on her heel and took the drinks back to the little plastic chair. What the feck was that?! Moira’s mind was reeling as she took a large gulp from her glass and then stared down into the suds, eyes wild she was sure.
That was flirting, right? The girl was hitting on her? That didn’t happen, never. Sure, a very small factor in why Moira presented herself the way she did was that she hoped one day maybe someone would pick up on . . . But she wasn’t even subtle, there wasn’t even a second meaning. If Moira came back tonight without Angela . . . ugh what is happening?
Angela. Moira’s eyes shot to the rink, and she was relieved her distraction had not been problematic, Angela was still skating in circles, though she seemed a bit slower, and her shoulders were hunched now. Soon afterward Angela caught her eye and skated out of the rink to fall into a chair beside Moira. Moira handed her the water, “Having fun?”
Angela noded and took a big drink from the bottle, “Thank you for the water, Moira. Thank you for coming with me.” Her eyes fell on Moira’s glass, “Can I have some of yours?”
“Oh, uh, no,” Moira said apologetically, and thought for a moment before throwing her head back and draining the remaiing ¾ of the pint in a few large gulps. Somewhere behind her she heard someone give a victorious ‘whoop!’ cry as she finished it up, and she made a mental note that people here probably didn’t drink like they drank back home.
Angela pouted, certain Moira was hogging all of the soda to herself, but she just slumped back in her chair and continued to drink her water.
“How much longer do you want to stay, Angela?” Moira was suddenly feeling very antsy. She was certain the girl at the bar was watching her back, and she didn’t know if she wanted to get away from Sara just to be away, never to return, or if she wanted to drop Angela off at home as quick as she could so she could return.
Angela shrugged, “My feet are tired and we still have to walk home. We can go now,” Angela looked imploringly at Moira, “Unless you want to come skate with me now? I can skate more if you want to skate with me?”
If Moira wasn’t interested in skating before, she was vehemently opposed to it now, where she might make an embarrassment of herself in front of the first girl who ever . . . Moira shook her head, “No, I don’t think I want to skate today, maybe some other time. I’ll go get your shoes while you take off your skates.”
As they returned the skates to the man behind the desk Moira chanced a glance at Sara, who looked back at her, waved, and winked, and Moira’s face was bright red as they exited the rec center into the bright sun.
“If you wanted to stay and skate why didn’t you skate with me?” Angela pouted at Moira as the older girl sat on the side of her bed, a different tie in each hand, a look of consternation on her face. Angela had been taking a nap after returning from the rec center, but had plodded angrily into Moira’s room a few minutes ago after she’d overheard Moira discussing her plans to return to town with Dr. Ziegler.
“Because, I’m not going to skate,” Moira mumbled as she crumpled a tie in each hand. Who was she kidding? There’s nothing she could wear that would make her look ‘cool’ by normal standards. She pulled long, thin black necktie from her bag and held it against her white button-down to be sure it worked with the grey slacks and vest and the black braces and shoes. Timeless, yeah, like da always said? Without many better options, Moira set about tying the tie around her neck, “I talked to someone while you were skating and they asked me to come back, that’s all, I’m going to talk to them.”
Which is basically what she had told Luka as well, that she had met a friend who wanted to hang out that evening and she was hoping it was alright with him if she went. It was Saturday and the next day would be her day off, and he was happy to see her finally being more sociable and make some friends her own age, so he had no problem with it and welcomed the change. He offered her the use of his car, but Moira was not accustomed to driving and felt the walk would do her good, keep her head clear. If he caught the way her voice hitched when she said it was a girl who wanted to see her, and if he cared to speculate on Moira’s interest, he did not indicate it and Moira tried not to think about that too much.
“I can change my clothes and come with you,” Angela insisted, but Moira shook her head, “Why not, Moiraaaaa?”
“Because ye can’t, right?” Moira was a bit more gruff than she meant to be, but she was already on edge and Angela whining at her was not helping. The gruffness did the trick, however, and Angela made a little whimpering sound and whispered a quiet ‘okay’ as she slumped off Moira’s bed and left back to her own room.
Moira felt guilty for a minute, but reminded herself she was not in Switzerland to be the girl’s caretaker. Angela would survive one missed trip to the rec center. Besides, Moira would be shite company, she was all nerves. She walked into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She was pale with anxiety, her freckles too apparent against the white skin around them. She washed her face, made sure her hair was in place, and that she looked alright.
You’re being a wanker, Moira, she said to herself, She just wants to make up for her eejit friends, this isn’t a—a date. Moira ran her long fingers up and down her face, careful not to mess her hair, and pushed away from the vanity. Well, only one way to see what the night held for her.
Angela had been sitting at the top of the stairs with a pouting demeanor when Moira had walked stiffly past her and out the door. Moira would have felt bad if she could feel anything but anxiety right now, but she could not. She was nearly there; the sun was dipping lower but it was not so late to be evening yet, but it was nearly 4:45 as she took a deep breath and stepped into the rec center. It was still noisy, though the crowd had become more mixed, with a few older couples here and there. She scanned the employees behind the bar and spotted Sara talking to a boy across the bar, one of the others from the ice cream shop. She hesitated, and her palms were sweaty. What to do, what to do . . .
Sara spotted her standing awkwardly near the door, and didn’t make any move to actually call her over. She turned to say something to the man leaning against the counter as Moira walked a bit too quickly for her tastes over to them, and nodded at the young man, who raised his chin in greeting, “Hey,” his accent was thick, but Moira understood, and nodded back a hello.
“What can I get you?” Sara said flatly, her sickly sweet smile from earlier now absent. Moira wasn’t sure what was happening, but she was sure it was not good.
“Uh . . . Guinness?” Moira coughed out. An uncomfortable tension hung between the three of them as Sara silently served the drink.
“Four francs,” Sara said plainly as she pushed the glass toward Moira.
I guess she forgot the drink on me thing, Moira said to herself, but she was not so stupid to think that whatever was happening here was a simple mistake. She pulled out her wallet and passed four francs across the table and took the glass. She stood silently for a moment, looking down in the glass, not sure what to do or say.
“Well?” The guy at the bar asked with a laugh, “Piss off, mannweib, my girlfriend and I were in the middle of a conversation.”
A ‘tsk’ sound came from Sara, but she said nothing and when Moira’s eyes flicked to hers she seemed wholly disinterested in Moira’s predicament. As Moira nodded into her beer and turned on her heels to walk away, she heard both of them laughing, and she heard Sara whisper something in German, earning a hardy laugh from the man. Moira stood up straight, fighting the urge to slump her shoulders and slink off, and walked stiffly to the first open seat she saw, one of the little plastic chairs that looked toward the roller rink. She sat down and took a small sip of her drink, suddenly thankful it had been poured in her full view. She felt absolutely crushed.
She hated herself more than she hated the girl. She was so stupid to get invested in this, to think this could be a date. Stupid stupid stupid. In self-pity she nursed her drink for half an hour, long enough to be sure that Sara and her boyfriend had left. Not feeling like doing anything but crawling in a hole and dying, Moira ordered a second round for herself, and finished that in the following half hour. Was she gone long enough that she could return home without being gone for a suspiciously short period of time? She thought so. She sniffed at herself. She didn’t smell too much of beer, either. Now was a good time to stop.
She pushed herself up from her uncomfortable plastic chair and stretched her neck from side to side with a groan. If anyone had taken notice of the dejected-looking Irish woman sitting by herself they hadn’t said anything to her, and Moira exited the rec center into a fairly cool night for the time of year. She wished she’d brought a jacket after all.
The moon was bright in the sky and even as she exited the village her way was fairly well-lit along the road. She shoved her hands into her pockets and walked with only a hint of a sway from her drinking. Her brogues crunched along the gravel at the roadside with each step, and the sound was joined by her own quiet, forlorn whistling. She didn’t bother to strike a tune, she just wanted to hear the sound of something other than the empty night.
She diligently moved further onto the shoulder as headlights approached from behind her. She was so deeply lost in chiding herself mercilessly that she barely had time to fall to the side as the motorist sped up next to her. She was fairly certain she wouldn’t have been hit even if she hadn’t have moved, but the roadside gravel sprayed over her as she fell to the ground and the car came to a sudden halt.
The headlights blazed brightly in her face, she couldn’t see the car or driver, only the light, but she heard the car doors open and shoes on gravel.
“Don’t worry, I’m, uh, I’m fine,” She coughed out, taking stock of her bloodied palms where she’d caught herself from smashing bodily into the ground, hoping the reckless driver would leave once he knew he hadn’t hurt her. Truly there was no grievous harm done.
“Nein,” Was the gruff response she heard from the direction of the blazing light, and a silhouette loomed above her, filling her vision with shadow. He bent down, and Moira felt two strong hands take hold of the front of her shirt, hauling her unceremoniously up to her feet.
Moira opened her mouth to insist she was fine, that she was just walking home and got a little stumbly, but choked on her words as finally the new height brought the situation into view. The young man from the recreation center, the one talking to Sara, and another of his friends from the ice cream parlor. Moira had but a moment to register their faces and choke out a “No, wait—“ before Sara’s boyfriend continued his rough handling, whirling around an throwing her so that she fell back against the hood of his car with a loud bang.
The friend moved around the passenger side and stood so that they both boxed her in, though she’d had the wind so thoroughly knocked out of her she doubted she could run even if he hadn’t. “Wohin gehst du, mannweib? Hast du ein aufregendes date?” The friend said in a taunting voice.
“P-please,” Moira choked out, trying to push herself up onto the hood of the car, anything to put space between them. If she got fully onto the car maybe she could roll off the side and run, “I don’t speak German. S-spreche nicht, spreche nicht!”
“Ah, look at that, she doesn’t speak German,” Boyfriend grabbed out at her, and caught her collar again, dragging her back to inches from his face, “Leon, wie sagt man ‘mannweib?’”
Leon grunted, “Dyke.”
“Ah, yes, that’s it, dyke,” Boyfriend sneered, though it was difficult for Moira to see as they were all lit from the headlights below and and behind her, and her head was swimming and she was filled with panic. Not this. Not this. She raised her hands to try to push Boyfriend off, and began wildly kicking with her feet. The men laughed, “What’s wrong, dyke? Dress like a man but can’t fight like one?”
Moira didn’t know what else to do, and gave in to her angry impulse and with all her might she spit into his face. Boyfriend cursed something in German, and Leon laughed which made Boyfriend all the angrier. Moira regretted her decision as her ears rang and the world swam around her. She’d fought with her brothers when she was younger, yes, but they had never hit her square on, full force in the face. This was something new, something painful, something head-splitting. The light around her dimmed, but she did not sink away, only fell against the car as Boyfriend dropped her after taking his swing, “Dumb bitch,” he grunted as Moira lifted her hand to her face. She could already feel blood, but wasn’t sure if it came from her nose or mouth. She wasn’t even sure where exactly she’d been hit it had happened so fast. After a moment Boyfriend was grabbing her by the back of the collar and pushed her down on the side of the road, where she fell hard on her hands and knees in the dirt, blood and spit dripping onto the ground head of her. Instinctively she made to crawl away, but it was only a moment later she reeled in pain as a stiff workboot met with her ribs, knocking the wind out of her once again. She fell onto her side and tried to curl into a ball.
Leon laughed, and it was the last thing she heard before feeling the crack of a boot to the other side of her face, and the world fell away.
The moon was still high in the sky and climbing higher as Moira’s vision swam back to her. She could feel the gravel on the back of her head, smell the grass around her, and she smelled blood. She reached up her hand, and even doing so hurt. She held her hand in front of her, a few fingers were swollen and bruised. She must have tried to protect her head with her hands. She reached for her face, and still felt the blood, some dry, some still flowing, all over and around her mouth. Her face felt swollen and bruised, and her whole body felt sore. She pushed herself up and looked around. She could see where the gravel was disturbed by the car, and she could see the men had pulled away and driven back toward the village. She was alone. With ringing in her ears and fear gripping her chest she took stock of herself. There was no way to describe the relief that her clothing had clearly not been disturbed save for the kicking she recalled, and the blood and dirt stains which would hopefully wash out. But that was . . . that was fine. It could have been worse, so much worse.
Moira spit onto the gravel, and the red glistened in the moonlight. She pushed herself up off the side of the road and began again to walk, holding her aching ribs as she winced with each step. What was she going to do? Dr. Ziegler would already be asleep, so she could sneak in, clean herself up. But she couldn’t mend herself overnight, couldn’t hide her face for long enough. And she was fairly certain something was broken. Fingers, ribs, nose, take your pick, they were all likely candidates. Fucking culchies. Moira spit again as blood pooled behind her lower lip, but the very act made her hurt all the more and she resolved not to spit anymore.
Time seemed to slow down and each wincing step seemed to count a minute or more, but she finally saw the porch light of the Ziegler home ahead. She was thankful that seemed to be the only light on. She hobbled quietly up to the house and knelt with only a little groaning to remove her shoes outside. Quietly she crept inside and up the stairs and into her room, and she gingerly laid herself down on her bed. She wanted to bury her face in the pillow, but knew the pain it would bring, so she turned her face to the side, and watched the moon through the windows, and tried to calm herself. Slowly she willed herself to breathe evenly, though she could not breathe deeply without lightning through her sides. Her heart rate slowed, and she closed her eyes.
She did not intend to fall asleep, but she must have done so or she’d have heard the footsteps, and the door creak open and shut again. But the first thing she heard was a quiet gasp, and when her eyes shot open she saw a small, pajama-clad girl with sleepy hair and scared eyes gripping the side of her bedspread, “Moira,” Angela whispered with a shaky voice, “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Moira honestly didn’t know what she could say. She didn’t even know what she would tell Luka, let alone a child, about what had happened, “I’m fine, I just need to rest. Go back to sleep, Angela.” Moira knew her face and clothing was caked with blood and dirt, and she had probably swollen up in all sorts of places.
“I’ll go get papa, he’ll help,” Angela assured Moira hurriedly and spun around. She was wearing her blanket as a cape, just as she had the first night Moira had stayed there.
“No, don’t,” Moira jerked up to stop Angela, but groaned and fell back onto the bed as white lightning shot up through her sides and through her head.
Angela stopped and turned her worried face back to Moira, “But . . . you need a doctor, Moira. Papa can help you.”
Moira knew she’d need Luka’s attention eventually, bones may need to be reset even. But she couldn’t bring herself to wake him on her behalf, or to let anyone who didn’t absolutely have to see her in this state. Ah ha, an idea.
“You can help me, can’t you Angela?” Moira said quietly, and tried to smile. It came off as more of a grimace through the blood, “I think I saw a first aid kit under my sink? Go get it?”
Angela took a deep breath and tightened the knot in her blanket and quickly ran into the bathroom. After a few minutes she returned and set the large white box plastic box on the nightstand. She switched on the light, and even the soft glow was enough to make Moira see spots.
“Do you know what to do, Angela?” Moira knew that Angela could do basic first aid like cleaning and dressing small cuts, she’d seen Angela handle herself quite impressively when she skinned her knees playing outside.
Angela nodded, and as she began unpacking things from the first aid kit she whispered softly, “Hold still, Moira, ich bin da.”
Honestly Moira wouldn’t have let Angela do this if she wasn’t so exhausted and thoroughly beaten, physically and emotionally. She doubted Angela could do much more harm than was already done, and actually she seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it. For a child she was fairly precise in her movements, and she did seem to have an aptitude for first aid. Undoubtedly her father had already taught her how to perform basic field dressings, and she did a better job than most of the first year residents that Moira had seen when shadowing Luka in the hospital.
“What happened, Moira?” Angela quietly asked again as she dabbed at Moira’s face with antiseptic. There was apparently a large amount of damage across her left eye socket, perhaps where she had taken the second boot Moira reasoned.
Moira kept her eyes closed and gave a quiet grunt, “Arseholes, that’s all.”
“But why? Why don’t they like us?” Angela’s voice cracked a bit, but she continued to see to Moira’s more superficial wounds.
Moira opened the less injured eye and regarded the girl for a moment, “It’s not us, it’s me. They don’t like me. You’re fine, Angela, you’re safe.”
Angela withdrew her hand and shook her head, “We’re a team, a doctor team, remember?” She put her hands defiantly on her hips, one still gripping bloodied tufts of cotton, “So if they don’t like you then they don’t like me and I don’t like them.”
Moira couldn’t help but smile, and she saw no reason to argue with Angela’s determination, and a more pressing matter was at hand. Whether it was due to being an early riser or they had made more noise than they should have, Moira could hear Luka on his way to check on them. She closed her eyes tightly, readying herself as she invited him in at his knock.
As the door swung open Angela turned with a proud smile toward her father, and Luka gasped at the still fairly rough looking Moira on the bed.
“Mein gott, Moira, what happened to you?” He closed the distance quickly, and kindly but firmly shooed Angela to the side. She frowned a bit, but moved to the other side of the bed, not willing to leave her first ever patient.
Moira’s mind fell on the first thing she could think of that would possibly explain a random, senseless beating by strangers, “I don’t know. Football hooligans?”
Luka frowned, and it occurred to Moira that the Swiss were not so prone to football hooliganism as the UK was. Oh well, she tried. She gave a defeated shrug, “I don’t think the locals like my accent.”
“Who?” Luka asked firmly, angling the bedside lamp to better assess the damage as he sat beside Moira on the bed.
“It’s not important,” Moira said, her tone almost pleading. As their eyes met she was fairly certain Luka knew it was not her accent that caused the foul play, but for whatever reason he saw fit, he apparently did not press it.
“It is important,” He said firmly, palpating the areas around Moira’s nose carefully, “But I can’t force it out of you, and it looks like you’ve been through enough tonight. Oh, Angela, you’re still here. Off to bed with you, you can see Moira in the morning. And really, child, you should have woken me.”
“I asked her not to,” Moira explained, as Angela simultaneously stamped one foot in protest and insisted, “No, Papa, she’s my patient and I’m going to help.”
“I don’t mind if she’s here, she helped me a lot,” Moira gave a wincing smile in the general direction of Angela, and she thought she saw Angela nodding out of the corner of her eye, “She’s a good first responder.”
“Hmmmmm,” Luka said, apparently picking his battles wisely this night. He continued surveying the damage to Moira’s face, arms, and torso. All the while he reported his findings “to” Angela, as though she were his medical assistant. Moira knew it was more for her benefit than for Angela’s, but she could tell Angela appreciated the inclusion. Her ribs were badly bruised but he was fairly sure they weren’t broken, two of her fingers were likely broken and he could x-ray and set them at the office in the morning, and they would determine the shape of Moira’s nose at the same point. He reported she had a large, vertical laceration across her left orbital, and though thankfully the eye was undamaged, the scar would probably be long-lasting. As an afterthought he gave Moira a warm smile and winked, “It’s okay though, Moira, in my experience women love scars.” Moira had no energy left in her to smile, but she felt warmer, comforted. Dr. Ziegler was a good man with a kind heart.
“Now, First Responder Ziegler, I believe you have thoroughly assisted your patient this evening,” Luka turned to his daughter, who beamed with pride, “We’ll see you here for rounds first thing in the morning. Off to bed with you.”
Angela thought for a minute, then nodded to her next assignment. She rounded the bed to hug her father good night, and only stopped her lunge to hug Moira when Luka physically held her back, warning her not to be too rough. Angela nodded, and awkwardly hugged Moira’s upper arm, then ran off to bed.
After Angela left, Luka closed the door behind her and turned quietly back to Moira, his voice still kind, but his tone more serious, “Moira, should I send for a female nurse from the village? For . . . an assault kit, or emergency medications?”
Moira took in a sharp breath, but shook her head to what degree she could, and said lowly, “No, thank you . . . there’s no need.”
Luka gave a sad smile, “Well, God is good to send us some small mercy.” He laid a strong hand on her shoulder and assured her he would check on her in a few hours, and they would go to the clinic when she was ready. Moira nodded, and fell deeply asleep in her blood-stained clothes.
The morning came warm and bright, and after ensuring she was awake and willing, Dr. Ziegler and Angela reported for “grand rounds.” Angela had apparently found a clipboard with several papers, most which seemed to come from colouring books as far as Moira could spot from her position, and her pen had a fuzzy ball on the end of it. The stood on opposite sides of Moira’s bed.
“Alright, First Responder Ziegler, please begin.” It was clear that Luka was as bemused as Moira by the whole situation, but he tried to present himself professionally, only winking at Moira when Angela looked down at her clipboard.
Angela began in the most professional tone she could muster, “Patient is Moira O’De—O’Deor—O’Dorian,” Moira tried to hide the grimace, “Seventeen year old female from Ireland. Came—Presented to house late at night with lots of cuts on her face. We cleaned her up and her next treatment is at the clinic with Pap—Dr. Ziegler.” She shoved the clipboard under her arm and beamed at the other two with pride.
“Everything seems in order,” Luka nodded, and turned to Moira, “How are you feeling, child? Are you alright to come into the clinic? We should be sure it’s soon in case a bone needs to be set. And we should call your mother, as well.” He looked very dour.
Moira’s voice was hoarse, but she did her best to smile, “I am feeling alright, considering. We can go,” She thought about the idea of telling her mother what had happened. Dr. Ziegler was right, she was still technically a child by law and her mother should be informed of this, but she feared her mother might pull her away before the summer was out. She was equally worried that that was the point, that Luka saw it best for her to be sent away too, “Please, I can call home today but . . . I don’t want to tell her this yet, I don’t want her to worry.” Moira looked down dejectedly, “I don’t want to go home.”
“We can discuss that later,” Luka responded, and from his tone Moira felt assured that he was not seeking to unload her outright, “But for now, let’s get you fixed up so you can come home and rest some more. First Responder Ziegler, I trust that you and Sophie can prepare clean bedding for the patient’s return?”
Angela gave a clumsy salute and ran off down the stairs toward the linen closet. Luka let Moira make her way carefully down the stairs and into the car at her own pace, and as they departed for the clinic Moira prayed she would see absolutely no one she recognized outside of the Ziegler home for the rest of her summer.
This was seen to fairly easily, actually, since no longer was Angela interested in going to the village with Moira during Moira’s free days, and Moira wasn’t certain that Luka would let her go off alone even if she wanted to.
She was not sent home, thankfully, but she was no longer able to make the trip to the hospital and walk the length of the wards for rounding, and she had to sit for most of her time at the clinic. Her head cleared quickly, and her two broken fingers were not a terrible burden, but the bruised ribs were painful and difficult to ignore. Her nose, while quite battered, as not broken, and her split lip healed quickly. The laceration across her orbital was slower to heal and required sutures, but it would be closed by the time Moira returned home.
Home. Moira felt she could hear her mother’s hand-wringing through the telephone line as she reported having a bit too much to drink and falling face first into a rocky ditch. She was scolded, and told she should spend her time less like her brothers might, but her mother was not so worried as Moira knew she would have been if she’s known the truth. This was alright, it kept her here.
Luka asked her a few more times who had attacked her, but even if Moira knew and remembered names, she did not want to revisit the issue, or what brought her out that night, or why the men attacked her. She just wanted it all to go away, and eventually Luka allowed it. All the same, Moira now saw he asked Angela to play a bit closer to the house, and she wondered if Angela would be able to go to town alone when she was older.
For the weeks following the incident both Moira and Angela spent most of their time indoors, Moira recovering and Angela happy to claim her as her first official patient. While the summer had taken a harsh downward turn in the middle, Moira later would reflect that taken in its entirety it was a good experience, and one she would not forget. Indeed, when she said goodbye to Angela at the house, and to Dr. Ziegler at the airport, she had to fight the urge to cry, but she hugged and thanked them both, and promised to keep in touch in the coming years.
And here Moira sat, tugging uncomfortably at her collar as she stared at her reflection in the airplane lavatory. The wound across her face had closed completely, but was still red and angry, and she expected the scar would be significant. She touched it with a sigh, thankful her eye wasn’t damaged and she could still see well. It was a good summer, with more joy than pain, and Moira agreed with Dr. Ziegler, thankful for being sent a small mercy.