The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

sight, bandaged, and I was managing to walk some, and I thought that ought
to be enough.
Miss Smith yanked my foot out. “Behave,” she said.
The doctor unwrapped the bandage. “My, my,” he said, cradling my foot in
his hand. “An untreated clubfoot. I’ve never seen one before.”
“I thought clubfeet were rather common,” said Miss Smith.
“Oh, yes. Certainly. But nearly always successfully resolved in infancy.”
Miss Smith sucked in her breath in a way I didn’t understand. “But why
wouldn’t—” She looked at me and made her voice stop.
Successfully resolved, I thought. My foot was not successfully resolved. It
sounded like I’d done something wrong. Mam always said my foot was my
fault. I’d always wondered whether that was true.
And clubfoot. That was my foot. A clubfoot.
The doctor poked at my clubfoot and twisted it and stared until I couldn’t
bear it anymore. I thought of Butter, how he smelled so warm and good, how
his breath felt against my hand. Instead of going to an empty place in my
head, now I could go to where Butter was, and that was easy.
“Ada,” Miss Smith said loudly, “Ada. Come back. Dr. Graham asked you a
question.” She was tapping my face. The doctor had wrapped my foot in a
fresh bandage. It was over.
“Are you in very much pain?” he repeated.
How much was very much? What did he want me to say? I shrugged.
“Did you understand what he said about seeing a specialist?” Miss Smith
said.
I looked at her. She looked back.
“Yes or no?” she said.
I shook my head.
Miss Smith and the doctor exchanged glances. I felt like I’d said the wrong
thing.
“Dr. Graham thinks a specialist might be able to operate on your foot.”
I didn’t know what a specialist was. I didn’t know what they meant by the
word operate. But I knew better than to ask questions. “Okay,” I said.
Miss Smith smiled. “It sounds scary, I know, but it would be a wonderful