As Joe drove away from the church and toward home, Daisy didn’t move; in fact, she barely blinked. How could he have trusted a stranger with his daughter? Had she really tried to bite the woman? If so, how could he ever know how to help her control that kind of rage? How could he parent a child he didn’t understand?
As he left town and the rural countryside began to fly by, he caught sight of Dr. Sherman’s grand house in the distance on a hill. Some would say that a house sat on a hill, but this house didn’t. It stood there. Tall and stately with gables in every corner, it was the yellow color Irene would’ve called buttermilk, and it made him hate the house because it had been her favorite color. As he got closer, he slowed. The good doctor and his wife, in their Sunday best, had just arrived home themselves and were climbing out of their red Buick that easily could’ve cost over a thousand dollars. As he drove past, both Dr. and Mrs. Sherman waved.
In a moment of desperation, he spun around in the middle of the road, drove back to the doctor’s house, and pulled into the drive. Dr. Sherman had been at Joe’s house when Irene died. Before that day, he’d liked the man, but ever since, he was sure that the good doctor hadn’t done enough—that he could’ve done more. But what choice did he have in the moment? He needed help.
Dr. Sherman and his wife were still walking into their house when they paused on the porch steps, watching him. Gravel flew from his tires, and the truck stopped abruptly. The tall doctor patted his wife’s shoulder, and she went into the house, but not without giving Joe another glance up and down. He looked down at himself and wondered what was so distasteful. He was wearing a buttoned shirt and pants—but his shirt tails hung out, his hair flopped down on his forehead, and he had a cigarette in his mouth. He hadn’t even remembered lighting it.
“Doc, I need to talk to you,” he yelled up toward the porch.
“Now, son, this is the Lord’s Day. My office isn’t—” the doctor started saying.
Joe walked briskly. The gravel crunched beneath his feet, the sound grating on his nerves. His stomach pulsed and his heart felt empty. Nothing was right. Nothing felt right.
“I don’t care about your office hours,” Joe said. “My Irene died on a Sunday afternoon a lot like this one and you came. Are you telling me that you didn’t work that day because it was the Lord’s Day? You didn’t do anything to save her, so maybe you didn’t.”
The doctor let out a heavy sigh and waved Joe to the porch bench. It was too pretty to sit on, so he stood.
“Listen, Joe, your Irene was too far gone. You saw how much blood she lost.” The doctor had his arm around Joe now and it was so heavy on his shoulders that he couldn’t shrug it off. “Why are you here, son?”
Joe felt sobs push up through his stomach, then his heart, and filled his mouth as he spoke.
“It’s my little girl, Doc. I don’t know what to do.” He pulled away from the doctor and walked back to his truck. Daisy still sat there as blankly as before. He gathered her into his arms and walked back toward the doctor. “It’s Daisy. She needs your help—I need your help.”
Dr. Sherman eyed the girl in Joe’s arms and led them into the house rather than the clinic. Joe followed. He then told the doctor the whole story as Daisy sat motionless on the parlor couch.
“I saw your little girl once. That Amish woman was doing real good with her. What happened, son?” The doctor’s voice was the complete opposite of the doctors out in the field. When there’s blood everywhere and limbs lost, you don’t get words like son or the inflection of a gentleman.
What happened? The man asked what happened? Joe had happened. Joe hadn’t died in Saipan but had lived to tell the tale of what hell was like. He squeezed his eyes shut when he heard a mortar round, yelling, gunfire—everything was red. He told the doctor the story of their morning.
“You’ve gotta help her. I don’t know what to do. I’m no good at being a dad now that Irene’s gone, and even when I try really hard, I just mess everything up.”
Mrs. Sherman came into the parlor and handed each of them a tall glass of lemonade. When Daisy didn’t respond, she sat the glass on a coaster on the coffee table in front of her. The lack of enthusiasm—or any emotion—made Joe put the ice-cold glass against his face to cool him. The woman smiled so nicely at him too. He didn’t deserve her smile.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She nodded back at him, then quickly brought the doctor’s black medical bag.
Dr. Sherman moved to sit next to Daisy and waved a hand in front of her eyes without response. He examined her eyes with a small light. When he lifted her arm and released it, it flopped down onto her lap without any resistance. He rubbed his jaw before patting Daisy’s knee then returned to his chair.
“I believe, given what you said she just experienced this morning, that Daisy is in a state of catatonia.” Dr. Sherman leaned back into his chair and pulled a leg up onto his knee.
“What does that mean? Can you cure her?” Joe scooted to the edge of the couch and instinctively took Daisy’s hand, finding it limp in his own.
“From what you’re telling me, she’s been accustomed to a very different life. Her life has been very protected and comfortable with this Amish woman. She’s taught her how to manage in the world around her, but this morning she was in what to her was a vastly different situation. And for her to be put into a closet—dark and with the door shut—that may have been enough to push her into this state.” He paused and studied the little girl from across the room for several moments. “Her deaf and dumbness is a condition that the medical world has come to understand a great deal about, and there have been advancements made—though I’m far from an expert—but there are still things we cannot understand. Imagine not being able to communicate and that the world around you lacks any empathy toward you. It continues to move at a pace you cannot keep up with. Eventually what response would you have? I would venture to say that among the deaf and blind, this is common with exposure to something new.”
“So, what can you do for her? Is there a medicine you can give her?”
“I’m sorry, Joe, but there’s not.”
“But what am I going to do?” Joe gestured toward Daisy. “Look at her. Look! You can’t leave her like this.”
“Here’s what I suggest.” The doctor leaned toward Joe. “Now, I’m no expert in something like this, but I have a few thoughts. First, I’d get her back into a situation that she’s familiar and comfortable with. I’m not sure exactly what that is for her, but I’m guessing you might know. She has experienced some trauma, but I think she’ll pull through with a little time. Familiar, comfortable, with no stress. That’ll be a good start.”
“Okay.” Joe took it all in and nodded his head. Just as he’d suspected, he was the problem.
“But that isn’t going to work forever.”
“What do you mean? This is going to keep happening?”
“Now, now. Keep your shirt on, son. Let me finish.” He raised his eyebrows at Joe as if questioning whether he wanted to hear anything further.
Joe sighed.
“I think she’ll come back around, but in the long term, I think you should consider a deaf school.”
Joe stood and brushed away the doctor’s words with his hands.
“I’m not sending her away to some institution. My mother did that with my brother, and he was dead in a few years.”
The doctor stood as well.
“Your mother sent Jason to an asylum. I’m talking about a real school. Now, Joe, I’ve known you most of your life, and I know that where your brother was sent is not what I’m proposing. These are schools that help deaf children learn to get on in life, read—speak even.”
“Speak?” He wanted to shake his head at what he was hearing.
While there was something to what the doctor was saying, Joe would never send her away. Esther would never forgive him and he would never forgive himself.
“I’m not sending her away.” The darkness in his voice cast a shadow over the room.
“You might not have to, Joe. But you do have to do something if you want more for her life than this.” He paused for a few moments. “Come to think of it, I might have a pamphlet about a school.” The doctor excused himself.
As Joe waited, he began imagining how it would be to hear Daisy speak clearly. It would almost be as if she wasn’t deaf at all. Right?
“Here you go.” The doctor handed him a pamphlet. “Esther’s done right fine for her—more than anyone would’ve ever expected—but she’s probably taken Daisy as far as she can at this point. These schools, however, have trained teachers who could take her the rest of the way through her education—and into life.”
Joe took the brochure and opened it up like an accordion. There were pictures of children smiling at their teachers. A schoolroom filled with children who were apparently deaf, and it looked nicer than the school he had taught in years earlier.
“This says the school is for residents of Alabama.” Joe pointed at the small print.
“The tuition for students from Alabama is covered by the state’s funding. Daisy would have to pay tuition, but I’m sure there are grants or scholarships available.” He paused. “I’m sure something could be worked out.”
Joe left the doctor’s house after much apology and thanks. Joe cradled Daisy again and took her back to the truck. After sitting in the truck for several minutes, Joe knew what he needed to do.