It was a gloriously sunny day albeit as cold as a well digger's instep, as Isolde tied off the last knot on the lad’s arm.<br/><br/>“Now, stay away from broken windows, young man.” She scolded with mock severity. He nodded with brown eyed solemnity. His mother was wringing her hands in a wore apron, avoiding eye contact. Isolde knew she had nothing with which to pay for the services rendered today.<br/><br/>More and more frequently people were coming for treatment and all they had to offer were hard luck stories. Most tales had a bread winning husband or son taken to do road maintenance for the Nazis. There had been vague promises of wages to be earned but when Friday would come, the paymaster would put them off with grandiose boasts of their sacrifices paving the way for the Fatherland. Isolde and everyone else recognized this rhetoric for slave labor and starving families.<br/><br/>Waving the woman and boy away with a shooing motion, Isolde said,<br/>“The sun will shine again on this great country and when prosperity lines your pockets once more you can donate generously to the clinic. Away home with you both now.<br/>”<br/>The woman still clung to remnants of pride and she shook her head, as she answered,<br/>“Money, I do not haf, but strong and willing hands I do<br/>,”<br/>Isolde looked at the reddened and swollen knuckles.<br/><br/>“Tomorrow, I will scrub your floors and Wilhelm will keep the fires going for you. We will repay your kindness through our small service, Yah?<br/>”<br/>Isolde smiled and leaned in to hug the frail woman,<br/><br/>“Yes, tomorrow, but not too early. I might wish to be a sluggard and if you were to be here before the nurse, the good doctors might frown at me.” Isolde answered with a soft chuckle. “Tomorrow, then<br/>”<br/>As the woman and boy were leaving, a small young woman entered. Isolde had turned her back to clean the examining table when she realized the person had not spoken nor taken a seat. Turning back Isolde said,<br/><br/>“ Have a seat. I need to clean..” she began but stopped short.<br/><br/>“You are bleeding. Quickly,” she said with an authoritative tone. Isolde yanked a clean sheet from the pile, whirled it over the examination table and gestured for her patient to have a seat there. As she readied her supplies, she stopped again and looked this time at the woman’s face.<br/><br/>“I believe I know you. Are you not Adina, the seamstress<br/>?”<br/>Without waiting for an answer, Isolde unwrapped the wound and began the cleaning process.<br/><br/>“I’m afraid you are going to need stitches. Are seamstress’s knives so sharp as to slip so dangerously?”<br/><br/>She rubbed some antiseptic and numbing agent over the palm. Opening a drawer, she took out a fine needle pre threaded with black thread.<br/><br/>“I’m glad to see you again,” Isolde said as a way to distract from the stitching process as much as to speak a courteous truth. “Where have you been hiding?”