4

The morning sun shone brightly, hinting of a hot afternoon. David Stoltzfus arrived at the Bent N’ Dent and unlocked the door, breathing in deeply the smells of fresh-dried herbs and spices that permeated the store. His favorite smell. No, better than that. It was his favorite place.

One of the things David enjoyed about running a store was its reflection of everything he loved about being Amish. A store was the hub of a community’s wheel. In less than 1,000 square feet, he tried his best to provide anything and everything that might be needed, which meant that every inch, floor to ceiling, was utilized.

It was all based on the goal of being helpful. To David’s way of thinking, being helpful was an act of grace. Tangible evidence of the loving, kind character of God. That was why he was very open to most—but not all—of the ideas of his son Jesse, along with Hank Lapp, as they sought to expand customer service. A home delivery service was one of the first plans that actually worked—unlike the used self-serve frozen yogurt machine, jerry-rigged to work by aid of a generator, that kept shooting liquid yogurt out the top. Hank Lapp was no longer allowed to make unsupervised purchases for the Bent N’ Dent.

The original plan was for Yardstick Yoder, fastest boy in Stoney Ridge, to make those deliveries. It worked quite nicely for a short time, until Yardstick was offered a job making deliveries for the Hay & Grain at triple the hourly wage that he made at the Bent N’ Dent. David was sorry to lose Yardstick as an employee, especially because his Bent N’ Dent customers were quickly hooked on the home delivery concept. More often than not, David ended up being the delivery boy. In a good way, he touched base with many families he would normally see only on Sundays. In a less-than-good way, it meant he was often home later than expected. Fortunately, Birdy was a very forgiving wife.

She was more than forgiving. She was a wonderful wife, a faithful companion. Just last night, she was in her favorite chair, mending the hem of Lydie’s dress, as he sat at his desk, thinking through a sermon based on Genesis 1. He read aloud verse 21: “‘And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good.’” He swatted an annoying mosquito that kept circling and buzzing around him. “Really? Every creature?”

“Yes,” Birdy said firmly, without looking up from her mending. “We are all creatures from the same Creator. Mosquitos and great whales have their place in the goodness that God has provided.”

The goodness God has provided.

Birdy was right—that was what the Bible said: And God saw that it was good. Even mosquitos—a creature David despised. When he thought of the creation of the animal world, he generally thought only of those creatures that inspired marvel and mystery—the sight of a bald eagle soaring in the sky, the bright colors of a graceful monarch butterfly bouncing around the kitchen garden. Never once had he considered a mosquito to be a creature of awe. Terror, annoyance, but never awe. Never part of the goodness God provided.

It dawned on David how he tended to classify the created world according to his conveniences, his likes and dislikes. He rethought the focus of his sermon, to encourage his church members to see everything as interconnected and complementary in the world of God’s goodness. Without realizing it, Birdy provided that kind of inspiration to him. He had asked God for the gift of a wife. God had given him a gift beyond anything he could imagine asking.

He started the coffeepot brewing for the old codgers who should be arriving soon. He checked the messages on the answering machine in his storeroom office, hoping to hear something from Matt Lehman about what caused the death of the stranger at the Inn at Eagle Hill.

Nothing.

David settled into his desk in the storeroom, filling out some orders, when his sister Dok peeked her head through the partially open door. “Have a minute?”

“For you, always.” He pulled out a chair for her. It still amazed him that his sister was in Stoney Ridge—of all places!—and that they had been reconnected after years of silence and separation. Her Amish upbringing made her a favorite among the hospital staff—as soon as they realized she could speak Penn Dutch, a nickname emerged: Dokdor Fraa, Penn Dutch for “lady doctor.” It was shortened to Dok, a handle that David’s own family quickly picked up because it made it easier for all to distinguish between Ruthie, his daughter, and Ruth, his sister for whom she was named.

This morning, Dok was dressed in blue scrubs, which was not at all unusual, even when she wasn’t at the hospital. David was often caught by the irony of seeing his sister in the modest, nondescript garb. Dok, who so wanted to be independent from anything Amish, was still most comfortable in a type of uniform. “Want a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, thanks. By the way, how are you managing your ulcer? Any new pain or discomfort?”

David poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her with a frown. “Are you here as a doctor or as a sister?”

She smiled. “Both. Always.”

Something was on Dok’s mind, but he knew not to press. She would tell him in her own sweet time. He waited patiently, watching her settle into the chair across from him and stretch her legs out. In her midforties, his sister was quite a lovely woman, with a delicate, heart-shaped face. A sweet Valentine face, he realized, that belied her feisty spirit. Her hair was strawberry blond, like Ruthie’s and Emily’s, with eyes that were blueberry blue. She had the Stoltzfus strong nose and high cheekbones, much like his own.

She leaned back in her chair and tented her fingertips. “David, something happened a few weeks ago at the hospital. Something that I’ve been waiting to discuss with you until after it was all done.”

“Go ahead.”

“A patient came into the emergency room. A ninety-three-year-old woman with dementia. She had fallen and twisted her ankle badly.”

David nodded.

“She’s Amish. From your church. Lives with her sisters, also quite elderly, who watch over her.”

His mind ran through possible identities and came up with one face. “Ella?” He was aware that she had hurt her ankle and was using a walker, but it wasn’t a serious injury. “That happened a while ago.”

“Yes.” Dok rapped her fingers on the desk. “Her primary care physician was notified.”

“Dr. Finegold?” Max Finegold had a medical practice down the road from the Bent N’ Dent. The Amish went to him, but reluctantly.

“Exactly. Dr. Finegold. He insisted that Ella be sent to a nursing home. He said she wasn’t safe. I objected, strongly. I explained that she has her sisters’ help and, by remaining in her home, she would be in familiar surroundings. I didn’t think he should take her away from everyone and everything that was meaningful to her. I suggested that he order some physical therapy. Maybe some occupational therapy too.”

“What did he say?” David didn’t really need to ask. He could guess. Max Finegold was always at odds with the Amish way of handling illness and injury, birth and death.

“He said, and I quote,” she lowered her voice to a growl, “‘She doesn’t need physical therapy. She’s not going to remember how to do anything.’” Her voice returned to normal. “And then he started to fill out an order to have her sent to a nursing home.”

This part of the story he was not aware of. “So . . .”

“So I told him that it was time for him to retire. That he’d gotten too old to learn.”

David’s brows lifted. “And how did he take that suggestion?”

“He slammed down his pen and told me that he agreed with me. And that if I think I’m so all-knowing, why don’t I buy his practice so he can move to Florida and golf year-round.” She grinned. “He might have used more expressive language.”

Oh, boy. David folded his arms across his chest. “What happened then?”

She shrugged. “Well, a few days later, I bought it from him.” She glanced at him. “Stop staring at me like that.”

David didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t believe what she had just said. “You bought his practice?” Max Finegold’s practice? His office was just down the road from the Bent N’ Dent! Why, from David’s office window, he could see when Dr. Finegold’s car rolled in or out, or watch his patients come and go. It was that close in proximity.

“Yes. You don’t seem particularly pleased.”

“It’s not that. I’m just . . . stunned.”

“I’m not hanging up my spurs.”

“Had you been thinking about starting your own practice?”

“Not really. I guess it was an impulsive act, but it had something to do with Ella. And with all the elderly people who come into the hospital with a problem. The hospital tackles them like they are the problem. Like aging isn’t normal. I’ve seen so many people yanked from everything familiar and sent off to nursing homes. I prefer to keep them in their homes, to make adjustments so they still have their independence, their sense of dignity and belonging. I want to make lives meaningful in old age. The Amish . . . for all they do wrong, I think they do old age right.” She paused, watching him. “You still look skeptical.”

“Not skeptical. Still stunned, still absorbing this news. I thought you enjoyed working in the emergency room.”

“I have enjoyed it. I’ve seen more and learned more in a few years than I could ever learn in office practice, but I’m growing a little weary of the hectic pace.”

“It might not be all that different out in the country. Dr. Finegold always complains about those middle-of-the-night house calls.”

“Maybe . . . it’s not just the pace. I’m tired of not knowing my patients. They come in, I treat them, send them to their regular doctor for follow-up. I never have a chance to follow the patients to their homes, to see how they’re doing. Maybe having a private practice would be more satisfying for me. I just feel as if . . . maybe there’s something missing.”

That was an expected confession to hear from his sister, because that was the very reason she had chosen to work in an emergency room. She used to say it was less complicated. It pleased him to hear her flip-flop on this issue. Something was calling her back to her roots. “Community.”

“I guess that’s the word for it, but don’t get all bishop-y on me.”

He smiled. She was prickly, this sister of his. She’d always had a mind of her own, one that didn’t follow all the beliefs of the church. But you knew where you stood with Dok. You always knew what she was thinking. If you asked her a question, be ready for an honest answer. So like his daughter, Ruthie, her namesake.

“So what are your thoughts?”

“I think . . . you’d be a wonderful asset to Stoney Ridge. It’s so important to have a doctor who can understand Amish patients and care for us in a way that respects our convictions and way of life. The way you were treating Ella, for example. You understood what kind of support she would receive at home. Dr. Finegold meant well, I’m confident of that, but he had trouble accepting us. There was always tension between him and his patients. He felt they resisted his efforts to treat them well. They felt he tried to prolong biological life past the time God allotted.”

“No doubt I’ll have some of the same tension. It’s the kind of training we get in medical school—to pursue every possible avenue to heal a patient.”

“Yes, but it’s important to ask the patients if that’s the avenue they want. Not all do. Dr. Finegold didn’t listen to his patients’ wishes.” He smiled. “I’m sure you will.”

“If I do get the patients.” Ruth looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “So how do you think the Amish of Stoney Ridge will accept a female doctor?”

David leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. “This church, it’s always surprising me. Just when I think they’re very conservative, something happens that makes me think they’re very progressive. My guess is that it will take some time, but as they come to know you and trust you, you’ll win them over.”

“It would help to have my brother the bishop come to me as my patient.”

David smiled. “I can do that.” He leaned forward and put his feet firmly on the floor. “Dok, you have a great advantage here. Don’t overlook what you can bring to your patients because of your background, not in spite of it.”

She watched him for a long while, seeming to contemplate his advice, and then got up to go. At the door, she turned around and looked at him again. “Well, do me a favor and add this new venture to your prayers.”

“Done,” David said. “Always.” She didn’t even have to ask.

Dr. Ruth Stoltzfus had told her brother the truth, but not the whole truth. Was that so wrong? She knew that David had made some assumptions about her: One, that she had come to Stoney Ridge merely by accident, a few years ago, when a position was offered to her. Two, he thought she was purchasing Max Finegold’s practice because she was longing for community, harkening back to her Amish roots.

Both accounts were incorrect assumptions. The truth was that she had come to Stoney Ridge to be nearer in proximity to Ed Gingerich, a neurosurgeon who also happened to be the man she loved. And he was the reason she had been unceremoniously fired from her position as an emergency room physician at the hospital. She had covered for a mistake made by Ed late one night over Memorial Day weekend, when the hospital was on a skeleton staff and he was on call as a favor to a general surgeon. A young nine-year-old Amish girl had been brought in by her parents with severe stomach pains. Dok diagnosed it as a possible infected appendix and sent a message to Ed to have the tests confirmed and, if necessary, get surgery scheduled. But the emergency room was so crowded that evening that she was busy with another patient when Ed finally came in to the ER. He decided it was only a bellyache and sent the girl home.

The girl returned later that night with a burst appendix. She had very nearly died.

Ed went to Dok the next morning, begging her to take the blame for him. He had promised her that there would be no repercussions if she admitted that she had made an incorrect diagnosis during a hectic night in the emergency room. “Unintended errors happen all the time in the emergency room. Everyone expects them now and then. But if I were to admit it?” he said. “My career would be over.”

She believed him.

That was a terrible decision.

The head of the hospital called her in and told her she was being terminated. As a courtesy to her, he wouldn’t report her error. Her mind raced ahead, trying to process the news. The only reason for that feigned mercy, she knew, was because the parents were Amish and wouldn’t threaten a lawsuit. Emergency rooms, he explained, were the top hospital departments responsible for malpractice suits. He paused for a moment before continuing. “You understand, of course, that although we understand human error is the root cause for these kinds of things, we can’t tolerate it. It might be unfair to expect perfection, but nevertheless, that is what my job is all about. Expecting perfection from all my departments, even the emergency room.” He stood. “I’m sorry, Dr. Stoltzfus.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Human Resources wants to see you now. They’ll have you finish up some paperwork and escort you out.”

It was at that moment that her situation truly sunk in. Sunk was just the right word for it too. She was sunk! And livid with Ed.

“Ed,” she rehearsed in her mind, “you’ve drawn me into something that was wrong. You’ve made me lie and I never lie. And now I’ve lost my job despite your promises that I would be spared.”

The last phrase struck her by its forcefulness, as if something inside her knew this promise was as empty as all the other promises he’d made to her. In particular, the promise he had made about wanting to marry her.

Ed was waiting for her outside the head of the hospital’s office. “Well?” he said, looking at her expectantly. “Did everything go as planned?”

“Not really. I was fired,” she said flatly.

Ed was filled with pity. And colossal relief. But no regret. No remorse. Dok could see it in his eyes. He was safe. She, on the other hand, had lost her job, her reputation, and her integrity. She was infuriated with him, but it was only one of a thousand emotions whirling around inside her: anger, fear, despair, frustration, indignation, outrage . . . followed by guilt and, mostly, shame at her own foolishness.

What was the matter with her? Why would she, a woman known for being independent and strong-willed, allow herself to be caught in this kind of situation? Because . . . the man was Ed Gingerich. The most fascinating, intelligent, exciting man she’d ever known. What made her feel that stomach-churning longing for one person and not another? It was an exasperating puzzle.

And that’s why she didn’t tell him what she had mentally rehearsed—because she realized that the blame belonged to her alone. Ed was one of the most influential doctors on staff at the hospital. Nothing would have happened to him, even if he had told the truth. She was the fool for listening to him. But there was something about Ed that was hard to resist. If he asked her to do something for him, she would do it. In fact, she had just done it. She was the fool, not Ed.

“Honey, I’ll make it up to you.”

“No. I don’t want you to.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, misunderstanding her intent. “You’re amazing. What did I do to deserve you?” His cell phone went off and he reached for it, his attention diverted. “I’ll call you later?”

She maneuvered around him to walk toward the Human Resources office. “You do that,” she said.

She was walking out to the parking lot with a big box of her things in her arms when she bumped into Matt Lehman, a police officer who was well known at the hospital.

“Let me get that for you,” he said, taking it out of her hands before she could object. He set it in her passenger seat. He kept his eyes on his shoes and cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you’d have time for a cup of coffee?”

Oh Matt. He had a ridiculous adolescent-like crush on her that she tried her best to discourage. “Matt, now’s not a good time.”

He glanced at the box of belongings and connected the dots. “Dok, Max Finegold is serious about wanting to retire to Florida. He told me so this very morning. Small towns need doctors.” He took a step closer to her. “When Dr. Finegold offered his practice to you, he wasn’t kidding. He told me he thinks you’re the one for it.”

She looked at him, and he met her gaze directly. “Did he say that?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What did he say exactly?”

A slow grin spread over Matt’s face. “He said that you’re always meddling with his Amish patients and you should put your money where your big mouth is.”

A short laugh burst out of Dok. “That sounds more like him.” It sounded like her too. She was the world’s worst meddler. A trait she’d inherited from her mother, the one and only Meddling Mammi.

“He has a point. Seems like you would understand the Plain People in a way Max never could. Or other doctors. I’ve seen it myself. You have a way with them.” He leaned across the space between them, his fingers still tucked in his belt loops. “It appears you might be ready for a change. And I know I already said this, but small towns need doctors. You’d be making a big contribution.”

She sighed. He’d found her Achilles heel. She was driven by an inner compulsion to make a contribution, to have something to offer this world. She fiddled with her car keys, thinking through Matt’s remarks. What other options did she have right now? She could probably get her old job back in Ohio, but that would definitely mean the end of a relationship with Ed and she wasn’t ready for that. She might be furious with him for throwing her under the bus, but she wasn’t ready to throw the relationship out the window. A feeling came over her, of things falling into place, coming into focus. Maybe . . . this might just be the path she belonged on. “So how do I get in touch with Max Finegold?”

Matt reached out and touched Ruth on the arm, gently, as a friend. “Let me help.”