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.