5

The twists and turns of life, David mused, as he drove the buggy past his sister’s soon-to-be medical practice. He could never have predicted such a blessing, to him, to his family, to his community. Never would have thought to ask for it! And maybe there’s a lesson in that. “You have not because you ask not,” the apostle James declared. Maybe David should try to expand his prayers, and ask for more. More evidence of God’s work of redemption, more hearts turning to him, more signs of his church learning to love their neighbors as God loved them. His spirits lifted at the thought.

A life partner for his sister, Dok.

Now, that was a prayer he hadn’t considered to pray yet. He had always been impressed by her medical career, by her calm confidence, her ability to make hard decisions under pressure—something he struggled with. But he worried she was lonely. Of course, she’d never admit such a thing. But everyone needed someone. Es is en Deckel fer alle Haffe. There’s a lid for every pot.

Maybe, he realized, wanting to belong was the reason Dok had come to Stoney Ridge in the first place. She must have known David was living here. She must have. And maybe that was what kept her here too. Close but not too close, to David and his family.

That thought lifted his spirits too. But he was still going to pray for a life partner for her. A man who would love his sister in the way she deserved to be loved.

To be a country doctor, one who actually had patients, Dok would need to embrace house calls. She wanted to be the kind of doctor the Amish needed. They used medical services, but with reluctance, caution, and with one eye on the bottom line, financially. If necessary, a house call could determine whether a patient belonged in the hospital or not. And that meant she had to say goodbye to her beloved energy-efficient Prius and look for some kind of sturdy vehicle that could get through snow and rain.

She stopped by a car dealership on the way home from work—there was only one in Stoney Ridge—and was surprised to find Matt Lehman, in full uniform, talking to the sales manager. She watched their interaction for a moment and realized that Matt was questioning the sales manager in an officious way, taking notes. Was the guy ever off duty?

Matt spotted her and his whole demeanor stiffened as if the Queen of England had arrived. Was it her imagination or did he flush slightly?

Matt was a good friend to her, very good. They had met a few years ago on a Sunday at the local Mennonite church. Whenever he had a reason to be at the hospital’s emergency room, which was often as a police officer, he made sure to find out if she was on duty. Then he would look for her, bringing her a decaf caffè latte (her favorite) from a nearby coffee shop. Sweet, sweet man, great friend, kind and thoughtful, but definitely not her type. As in, he was not Ed Gingerich.

And that thought was something that shamed her. Why didn’t she want to be treated well by a man? What was wrong with her? She seemed drawn to the Ed-types like a moth to the flame and dismissed the Matt-types. Something was definitely wrong with her.

Her mother had a theory, though her mother was never without a theory. Tillie Yoder Stoltzfus believed that Ruth always kept one foot out the door of wherever she was or with whomever, ready to move on if things got too complicated.

There was some truth to that.

But look at me now, Tillie Yoder Stoltzfus! I bought a medical practice. I have a permanent mailing address. I . . . have staying power.

She hoped.

She lifted a hand in a casual wave to Matt and went down a long aisle of pickup trucks, trying to decide if a pickup truck might be the best choice. Or an SUV? She didn’t want something huge, but nothing too small, either.

As she wandered up another aisle, Matt came looking for her. “Hi there, Dok.”

She waited until he walked up to her, a shy smile on his face. “Are you here on police business?”

“No. Actually, I was seeing if there might be a van I can rent for a camping trip to Yellowstone I’m taking with my cousins in a few weeks.”

“Any word about the murder case at the Inn at Eagle Hill?”

“Murder case? Why does everyone keep calling it a murder?” Matt frowned. “There’s nothing conclusive yet about the guest’s death. Anything that’s floating around is pure conjecture. Nothing but rumor. And I’d appreciate it if you would let others know that.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize that.” She was a little surprised by the tinge of annoyance in his voice. “I’ll pass the word.”

Softening, he said, “So, it happened. You did it. You bought Dr. Finegold’s practice.”

“Yes. Effective immediately. Dr. Finegold is probably sitting on a beach in Florida. I’ve hung my shingle and am open for business.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to sound authoritative. “And I would appreciate it if you would let others know that.”

He grinned. “I’ll pass the word.” He gazed around at the trucks. “Are you looking to buy a truck?”

“Maybe.” She started walking down the aisle, looking over each car and truck. “I’d like something that can get me through a snowstorm in the middle of the night.”

“Why?” Matt’s eyebrows lifted. “To make house calls?”

She nodded, peering into a blue truck’s cab.

“I’m impressed.”

“Hold on to that thought until I actually have some patients. The Amish are slow to embrace anything or anyone new, especially a female doctor.”

“I always thought your nickname was a step toward acceptance.” He shrugged. “It’s like . . . getting anointed.”

“I have my brother to thank for that.” She adored David, always had. Ed might have been the reason she came to Stoney Ridge in the first place, but David was the reason she had stayed. And his children too. And now Birdy. She loved them all. She felt loved by them all. It didn’t occur to her that she had missed being a part of a family until she accepted David’s invitations to come to his home. The very first time, Christmas, a few years ago, was as nourishing as a drink of cold water on a hot summer day. She hadn’t realized how dehydrated her soul had become.

“So . . . Ed Gingerich must have been disappointed that you left the hospital.”

Matt didn’t like Ed and made no secret about it. Then again, Matt made no secret of anything he felt. Unless it was official police business, of course. Then he would act as if he was guarding state secrets. But she respected that quality in him. “Let’s just say that Ed’s feelings are not something I considered in making this decision.”

Matt grinned.

“Stop looking so happy,” Dok said, calmly looking back at him and smiling as she made her way down another row of larger cars and trucks. “These are so big.” She walked in a wide circle, frowning. “I’m looking for something easier to manage. Reliable, dependable, determined.” She turned toward Matt and froze. “I think I’ve found what I’ve been looking for!”

He put his hand to his chest. “You mean . . . me?”

She pointed to the silver SUV behind him. “I was talking about the car.”

Yesterday, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. This morning, gray clouds hung heavy over Stoney Ridge, threatening a summer storm. The sky matched Dok’s mood as she unpacked a box of medical supplies, wondering if they’d ever be used, if she’d ever get shelves built for them. She couldn’t afford to hire any office help yet, but it didn’t really matter. So far, her only patient had been her brother.

She did have one appointment today, but she wasn’t sure why the woman was coming to see her. Nora Miller had left a voicemail on her phone, saying she planned to stop in today.

Nora’s daughter was the nine-year-old girl who had nearly died at the hospital from a burst appendix. Dok felt a spike of concern as she wondered why Nora was coming to the office. The hospital would have no doubt let Nora know that Dok had been terminated after the error. She knew how influential a woman like Nora, imbued with a matriarchal dignity, could be among the Amish community. Dok doubted that Nora would say anything of overt blame to others, but she fully expected her to quietly discourage anyone from coming to her practice. That would be the Amish way. Quite frankly, she didn’t blame her.

The rain was pouring, beating the roof, when Nora Miller arrived around eleven in the morning. Dok hurried out to the waiting room to greet her. Nora set her wet umbrella on the porch and walked into the small waiting room, looking around.

Nora was as round as she was tall. She was only in her midforties, but her center part was nearly bare from years of twisting her hair into a tight knot behind her head. The hair roots had been destroyed. But the hair that was left mingled gray and brown along the edge of her cap. She was taciturn, soft-spoken, with her hands folded against her apron. “How are things going for you?”

Dok’s gaze swept the empty waiting room. “Slow.” A long silence followed.

“I came to discuss Malinda with you.”

“Make yourself at home,” Dok said. “Take a chair, any chair.” They were all available. “How is your daughter?”

“She’s fine, just fine. She’s young. The youth recover quickly.” Nora sat down in one of the chairs, crossing her thick ankles out in front of her. “I know that the mistake over my Malinda’s appendix wasn’t yours.”

Dok sat beside her. “How do you happen to know that?”

“Because I remember it clearly. You were examining Malinda, and you asked me questions about her. You asked me if she complained very much and I told you no. Never. Then I heard you say to yourself it must be an inflamed appendix. I heard you say it. Then you told the nurse that you wanted Dr. Gingerich to take a look at her, soon, before the appendix burst. He was the one who decided it was nothing more than a tummy ache. Not you.”

Thank goodness. Someone knew the truth. Dok let out a deep sigh. “Thank you, Nora.”

“You lost your job over this.”

What was the point of denying it? “I did.”

Nora was quiet for a long moment, then she slapped her hands on her sturdy knees. “I’ll spread your name around.”

“Thank you,” Dok said, and she had that feeling again. The feeling that, against the odds, all this might work out after all. Overhead, the clouds parted, this storm moving on.

As she watched Nora Miller climb into her buggy and drive off, she sensed she was looking at a woman who knew exactly who she was and what she was meant to be in this world. Dok felt—what was it?—an envy for her.

It wasn’t unusual for Hank Lapp to drop by with interesting scraps of news or humorous incidents to report. Jesse’s landlady, Fern Lapp, a woman with a knack for taking charge of people’s lives like a house afire, seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing when Hank was heading over to Windmill Farm, and usually had a generous slab of pie or fresh-baked muffins waiting for him.

But it was a little strange to have him come by every single day that week to update Jesse on new details emerging about the murder at Eagle Hill. Hank had heard the rumors at the Bent N’ Dent, where he spent the abundance of his spare time, which was substantial. “LATEST NEWS,” he told Jesse and the wide-eyed apprentices who were supposed to be polishing spokes on the wheels of Edith Fisher’s buggy.

“Hank, it’s not necessary to shout,” Jesse said. “We can hear you fine.”

“So can all the neighbors,” Luke Schrock added. He had shown up out of nowhere.

Sometimes Jesse’s buggy shop felt like a gathering place for all those with a surfeit of spare time. It was a troubling thought.

“Sorry,” Hank said, but old habits die hard and his voice started to rise in volume with each new juicy phrase. “The dead man committed a burglary with his friends, got in an argument with them, parted ways, and hid out in Stoney Ridge. He was planning to turn himself in to the police as an informant in exchange for amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” Jesse said. “I think you mean amnesty.”

“What’s amnesty?” Leroy Glick asked.

“Pardon,” Luke said, grinning. “A free pass. My favorite thing.”

That did not come as a surprise to Jesse. Luke liked to think of himself as a subversive. Casually Amish, he called himself. The phrase would make his father cringe.

Hank wasn’t finished and didn’t appreciate being interrupted. “NOW HOLD ON! Best part’s still to come. His buddies found out and came back to do him in. Broke into the cottage and killed him. IN COLD BLOOD.”

“Who’s the source for this information?” Jesse asked.

“My colleagues at the store.”

The old codgers, he meant. The retired men who spent winter afternoons in the store, sitting in rocking chairs by the woodstove, and summers out on the picnic benches, playing checkers. “Hank, you know they just make things up.”

Hank jabbed a finger in the air. “Perfectly plausible sequence of events.”

“Don’t you think you should wait for the cause of death from the coroner?”

Hank’s tall forehead crinkled in confusion. “WHERE’S THE FUN IN THAT?”

“He’s right!” Luke said. “The Inn at Eagle Hill hasn’t seen this kind of excitement since that lady who was afraid of spiders.”

Jesse remembered hearing about that particular guest. A woman with a serious case of arachnophobia. She was an Irish woman who was unusually skittish, the afraid-of-her-own-shadow type. When she called to make a reservation, she had asked Rose specifically if there were any spiders in the cottage. Any at all. Rose assured her that the cottage was spick-and-span, spider-free, but Luke couldn’t resist the bait. He had placed spiders, easily collected in the barn, in strategic locations all through the cottage—in the refrigerator, in the bathtub, in her bed. Each time this guest found a new one, she shouted hysterically for someone to come kill it.

In the afternoon, the woman sat on the small cottage porch, reading a book. Luke climbed up on the roof above her and quietly lowered a gigantic fake tarantula, rigged to a fishing pole, to gently land on her shoulder. Ruthie said you could hear that lady’s bloodcurdling scream coming all the way from the Inn at Eagle Hill. She had packed up and left.

Whenever Jesse thought about the Inn at Eagle Hill, his thoughts rambled over to Mim Schrock. Actually, he thought about Mim Schrock nonstop. His ardor for her, over the last two years, had doubled and quadrupled. And it seemed as if Mim was growing fond of Jesse. Well, fonder. He thought there might be a chance for him, especially when Danny Riehl moved to Prince Edward Island with the start-up of a new Amish community.

But Jesse wasn’t sure where things stood between Danny and Mim. She wouldn’t say outright that it was over between them. Not over, she told Jesse, but not together. She needed time, she said, to think.

To Jesse, that indicated she was hoping things would still work out between them, despite the distance. What else could it mean? Mim had gone to visit Danny a few weeks ago, and he envisioned the two of them running along the sandy shoreline of Prince Edward Island, hand in hand, barefoot, laughing. Probably laughing about him, stuck in a buggy shop with her little brother for company.

Stop it! Jesse told himself. His imagination was his worst enemy.

Maybe Mim was using the time on Prince Edward Island to decide that she didn’t really like island living, or starting a new settlement, or Danny.

A window-rattling boom interrupted Jesse’s Mim-musing, and everyone looked at Luke, even the apprentices.

“It wasn’t me!” he said, hands lifted in the air. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

The boom came from the house, and Jesse bolted over to it just as Fern opened the kitchen door, waving her apron as smoke billowed out behind her. “Fern! What happened?”

She seemed annoyed but unalarmed as she continued to wave smoke away with her apron. “That stove. Amos hasn’t cleaned it out in months and the flue clogged up.”

Hank, Luke, and the two apprentices came up behind Jesse.

“We’ll take care of it right now,” Jesse said.

Fern stopped waving long enough to sweep her gaze over the five of them. One of her eyebrows went up—a bad sign. “I don’t need five of you messing up my clean kitchen.” She pointed a long bony finger at Luke and gave him a look that could cut a steak. “He’ll do. The rest of you—” she eyed each of them except Hank—“have work to do.”

Talk about the lifting of eyebrows! As Luke Schrock was singled out by Fern, his eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead. He looked colossally worried.

How about that? Luke Schrock was afraid of Fern Lapp.