The Devoted

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Chin tucked, Ruthie twisted her hands in her apron. “As soon as you give Patrick the all clear to travel, she’s planning to leave. All of them.”

  She knew, she knew. The way Patrick was responding to the B-12 injections, it wouldn’t be long before Dok felt confident his body could handle the long drive back home. Most likely in the next few days.

  Ruthie lifted her head. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to head over to the Inn at Eagle Hill and see how the buggy ride goes.”

  “There is one more thing.” As Ruthie looked around the exam room for the one more thing, Dok said, “I’d like you to consider coming to work for me.”

  Ruthie’s hands flew to her face. “You want me to be your nurse?”

  Dok smiled. “No, no. I want you to be my office assistant. Help with phones, paperwork, billing.”

  “Can I take vital statistics? Draw blood?”

  “Hold on. Let’s just start with areas I need help with.” She thought of the more-empty-than-not waiting room. “I hope I will, that is.”

  “I’d love it! I want to do something important, something that matters. I don’t want to teach school and I don’t want to work at the Bent N’ Dent. Oh Dok, I want to be just like you.”

  Dok pointed to a stool to have Ruthie sit down. “Ruthie, if there’s one thing I wish someone had told me when I was your age, it was that I should be careful not to confuse wanting to matter with what really matters.”

  “You’re doing what really matters,” Ruthie said carefully. “You’re making a difference. You’re healing people. You’re important. You matter.”

  “There’s lots of ways to do what really matters. Your dad is doing what really matters by providing a store to the people in Stoney Ridge. Your brother is providing buggy repairs so the people can get around town. Rose King is providing a place for visitors to rest. All work matters to God. What I’m talking about is what drives a person to work. You’re not going to get what you want out of any work—as a doctor or a store clerk—if you want the work to define you. Wanting to matter is a conversation you have to have with God alone. When that part is lined up, you’ll make a difference in any work you choose to do.”

  “Okay, okay, I get the message,” Ruthie said, a touch irritably. “But you have to admit that being a doctor is important.”

  “Believe me, I know plenty of highly educated, overpaid doctors who don’t make any difference at all. They’re still striving for personal significance. Ego is like a hungry animal that can never be satisfied.”

  Ruthie’s face fell. “You think I have a big ego?”

  “Yes,” Dok said bluntly, truthfully. “So do I. So does most everyone. Maybe not your dad, but most everyone else. I certainly had a huge ego when I was your age. I was sure I knew what was best for me. College, I thought. And then medical school.”

  “Wasn’t that the best?”

  “Twenty years ago, I would have said yes. Ten years ago. Even five years ago. But the older I get, the more I realize that my choice caused the people I love tremendous pain. To be entirely truthful, I’m not really sure it was worth it.” She looked down at her hands. “Maybe that’s why I’m here. In Stoney Ridge. Trying to make it right.”

  “I’m pretty sure Dad wouldn’t want you to feel that way.”

  “No, he wouldn’t. It’s not coming from outside. There’s something inside of me that wants to make amends.”

  “So is this job offer to become your medical assistant your way of trying to persuade me not to leave the church?”

  “Office assistant,” Dok corrected. “And not at all. I’m offering you the job because I think you’d be good at it and I’d like to work with you. The thing is . . . I just don’t want you to romanticize life outside of the Amish church. Being alone . . . it grows weary.” All at once, Dok realized the deeper thing that bothered her about Ed Gingerich, the thing that made a relationship with him not just frustrating but increasingly intolerable: even when she was with him, she was still lonely.

  “So if you were seventeen again, would you choose differently?”

  Dok looked straight at Ruthie. “I think I might have.” That truth shocked her. She slapped her hands on her knees. “But that was then and this is now. ‘Press on,’ Saint Paul said. Forgetting what lies behind, we press on.” She smiled. “I’ve already spoken to your dad about the job. He gave it his blessing.”

  Ruthie grinned. “So I’m going to be a medical assistant.”

  “An office assistant,” Dok corrected. “Big difference.”

  But Ruthie wasn’t listening.

  Her whole being, it seemed to Dok, had begun to glow.

  There was a meaningful silence, for David at least, as he stood to give an announcement after the Sunday church service ended but just before dismissing everyone. He took a moment to let his gaze hover over each church member, men and boys on one side, women and girls on the other. Individuals he had grown to love so genuinely over the last few years. Hank Lapp, who had nodded off during the first sermon and jerked awake with a startled shout during the second one. Next to him was Amos Lapp, David’s trusted friend. Beside Amos was Patrick Kelly, the miracle of Stoney Ridge. Then came his son, Jesse; beside him were his apprentices, who were winking at girls across the room. And there was Freeman Glick, the former bishop, sitting stoic and oblivious to his son Leroy’s constant eye twitching.

  His gaze shifted to the women’s side, past his Birdy sitting with his girls. There was Ruthie, his darling daughter. Something was different. He could see it in her face. Some emptiness, some restless discontent had been filled in her. A wound had healed, perhaps? He might not ever know the specifics, because Ruthie was not one to confide her deepest thoughts, but he knew Whom to thank. This summer, Ruthie had been transformed.

  Beside Ruthie was Fern Lapp, sitting so straight it seemed she had a rod down her back. Next to her, sitting every bit as bolt upright as Fern, was Jenny Yoder. Rose King sat in the bench behind Jenny, her sorrowful heart written on her face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edith Fisher Lapp, fanning herself with a folded newspaper. And there were so many others here, and a few he was missing. Thelma Beiler for one. Luke Schrock, for another.

  He was their bishop, and he loved them, each one. But sometimes love tasted bitter. He braced himself for what was coming next.

  “There’s something important that I need to bring up,” David said. “After a great deal of thought and prayer, I am asking each and every landowner to place a conservation easement on their property with help from the Stoney Ridge Farmland Trust. This will preserve the land for future generations to farm, and only farm, on it. You will still have ownership of your land, but allowing the Trust to hold the easement will restrict development for commercial use.”

  The room was silent, then whispering began. Edith Fisher Lapp spoke first. “What will that do to the oil leases?”

  She was a sharp one, that Edith. “It will mean no more signing of new ones, no more renewal of leases, no more exploration for oil traps.”

  There was a collective gasp, then whispering began immediately.

  “Birdy and I have already done it,” he said.

  “But you don’t have oil leases on your property,” someone blurted out. Ida King, he thought.

  “No, I don’t. Giving the Trust the easement to your property will be voluntary.” David was a great believer in freedom. How could he not, when God gave each individual such freedom? “But I am asking you to consider it.”

  Birdy stood up. “There are federal tax benefits to doing so.”

  “I LIKE THAT!” Hank Lapp boomed and Edith frowned sourly at him from across the room.

  Andy Miller rose to his feet. “You’re asking for a difficult thing, David. We would lose thousands of dollars a year.” He looked around the room. “Why? For what reason?”

  “Because I believe that we are threatened with losing the essence of community through such easy prosperity.”

  “God put that oi
l in the ground,” Andy said. “Is it so wrong to take it? To use it? Haven’t we seen great benefits from the wealth?”

  “Some benefits, yes. I’m not putting a value on the oil. Only on the wealth it brings. We are more in danger of losing what’s truly important than from what benefits the oil brings to us. I’m not convinced that our generation has the wisdom to manage it. Perhaps, in the future, another bishop will make a different decision.” He cleared his throat and concluded this topic in what Birdy called his Old Testament prophet voice. “But as for me, for Birdy, for our household, and I hope for our church, we are saying no and asking each one of you to say no. Not now. Not yet.”

  David gave a benediction and most of the church members scattered out of the barn like untended sheep. Edith Fisher Lapp pierced him with her trademark hawklike stare and muttered, “This is why I liked the old bishop.”

  That old bishop, Freeman Glick, remained on the back bench, the place where he had sat since his ordination had been revoked two years ago, and waited until the room emptied out. Then he walked up to David. A tall man with an impressive beard, gray and flourishing, that conferred considerable authority. “High time that you started acting like a bishop. It’s a lonely job.”

  David looked around the room. No one remained. “Yes, it is.”

  “I told you, did I not, that it is easier to hold an empty cup than a full one?”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  Freeman reached out his hand. “Well done, David.”

  24

  Dok finished up a phone call with an Amish mother whose toddler had jammed peas up his nose. “Bring him in this afternoon,” she told the mother. As she put the phone down, she saw her niece, Ruthie, poking her head around the office door. It was Ruthie’s first day as an office assistant and she took her job very seriously.

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  “Show him into the exam room.”

  “Not that kind of someone. Not a patient, I mean.” She pointed to her head. “The brain doctor. He’s here with flowers.”

  Dok went into the waiting room and there was Ed Gingerich, a dozen perfect long-stemmed red roses in his arms, her favorite. He smiled brightly when he saw her and held the roses out to her. “For you.”

  She took them from him and breathed in their delicate scent. “They’re lovely, but why?”

  “Because I’ve taken you for granted lately.”

  “Lately?”

  Ed tipped his head back and forth. “Maybe more than lately.”

  “Ed, do I like coffee or tea?”

  “Tea. You only drink tea.”

  No, she didn’t. He did.

  “I came by to ask you to go out to dinner with me.”

  “Thank you for asking,” Dok said. “But no.”

  Ed frowned. “What about tomorrow?”

  Dok thought about the next day. She had patients booked for most of the day, her first full day. She couldn’t wait! “I don’t have time.”

  This was met with an expression of extreme skepticism. He wasn’t used to her saying no to him. “Are you trying to punish me for working so hard?”

  “Not at all.” She handed him back the roses. “I don’t want them.”

  He sighed. “You’re mad.”

  “No,” Dok said. “I’m not. I’m not mad. I’m just finished. With us. I’m finished with us.”

  “With us?” His eyes opened wide. “Are you saying you don’t love me anymore?”

  “Whether or not I love you doesn’t matter,” Dok said. “I’m tired of waiting around for you to love me the way I want to be loved.”

  “But I do,” he said. “I love you.”

  “Ed, why? Why do you love me?”

  “Because you understand me in a way no other woman ever will. I love you for that. Ruth,” he said. “Please. I want you to be my wife.” He sank to the ground on one knee. “Will you marry me?”

  “You don’t mean it,” she said.

  “I do! I want to marry you. Isn’t that what you want too?”

  Dok teetered. She wobbled. This was her heart’s one desire. Coming true after all.

  Ed Gingerich was saying all the right things, and it was true that she loved him. But something wasn’t right.

  Suddenly, Matt appeared in the open doorway, holding a decaf caffè latte.

  Dok thought of how Matt had come rushing out to Pinecove Road that night, after she nearly ran into Luke Schrock, to see if she was all right. How often he stopped by the office to check on her. How he brought her decaf caffè lattes. How he looked at her and how she felt like she was the most beautiful woman on earth. He always made her feel special, treasured.

  She looked at Ed. “No,” she said. “It wouldn’t work.”

  “Ruth,” he said. “I know you’ve wanted this for a long time.”

  “I did want it, for a long time, but not anymore. I’m sorry, Ed. Now get up, please.”

  “Ruth. Honey. Sweetheart. You don’t mean what you’re saying.”

  “Dr. Gingerich,” Matt said, suddenly sounding very much like a police officer. “I believe the lady wants you to leave.”

  His head swiveled around. He saw Matt, and recognition came into his eyes. He looked back at Dok, then at Matt, then back at Dok. “You’re trying to tell me that you’re happier with Officer Do-Right than with me?”

  She glanced back at Matt. “It was never a contest.” She looked down at Ed. “Please stand up.”

  He got to his feet.

  “Ed, I’ll walk you to your car,” Matt said.

  Dok closed the door behind them and turned to see Ruthie watching her in a thoughtful way.

  “You said no.” She tilted her head. “Why?”

  Dok nodded. “I wanted more for myself.” She walked past her niece and put a hand on her shoulder. “You taught me that.”

  The cloudy end-of-July morning turned into a stormy afternoon. David was signing off paperwork for the UPS delivery man as Ruthie bolted into the store. “Dad! Come quick. It’s Birdy. Dok wants you to come right away. Birdy’s fallen and hurt herself.”

  David followed behind Ruthie, overtaking her as he ran down the road to Dok’s office. Birdy was on the clumsy side of clumsy, prone to accidents, but there was fear in Ruthie’s eyes. As he burst into the waiting room, he called out for Dok.

  Dok peeked her head out of the examining room. “David, hold on a minute. I’ll be right there.”

  Ruthie came in behind him. “Is she dying? Concussed? Bleeding to death? Do you want me to bring you the defibrillator? Should I call for an ambulance?”

  “No, no!” Dok shouted, frowning at Ruthie. “Ruthie, I’ve told you before not to make medical diagnoses . . . oh, never mind. Just . . . give us a few minutes.” She closed the door with a firm click.

  David and Ruthie exchanged a look. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Birdy came in for a doctor’s appointment. I had just shown her to an exam room, and suddenly, she was on the floor, out cold.”

  “Why had she made a doctor’s appointment?” She hadn’t mentioned anything to David about not feeling well.

  “No idea. Dok won’t let me ask any questions of patients until I’ve taken some medical assistant classes.” She gave him a sideways glance.

  “Not now, Ruthie. What else can you tell me about Birdy? Did she seem to be feeling all right when she came into the practice?”

  “I think so. Honestly, Dad, I’m not sure. I asked her how she was and she said—and I quote—‘Downright jolly.’ The next minute she was on the floor.” Ruthie shuddered. “Her head made a hollow thump sound when it hit the linoleum.”

  David clenched and unclenched his fists. He could feel the muscles of his throat pulse with tension. What could be wrong?

  It seemed like hours before Dok came out of the examining room, though it was only a few minutes.

  David jumped up when he heard the door open. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Dok said. “You can go i
n.”

  Ruthie followed behind her father, but Dok plucked her sleeve as she passed by. “Ruthie, there’s some filing work for you to do.”

  David went into the exam room and there was his Birdy, sitting on the examining table, an oddly serious look on her face. His apprehension grew. “Birdy, vas in die Velt?” What in the world? He put his arms around her, pressing his cheek against her ear. “What happened? Are you all right? Are you hurt? Ruthie said you passed out.”

  “I did. Silly me, I fainted!” she said over his shoulder. “But there’s something I need to tell you.”

  He lifted his head, girding himself for bad news. She pulled away a little, to give herself some room. Then she took his hands in hers and held them to her heart. “David Stoltzfus . . . come Christmastime, we’re going to be given a very precious gift from God.”

  He cocked his head in confusion.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m going to have your baby,” she whispered, almost reverently.

  There was a silence. And then David whooped for joy.

  Matt Lehman did the kindest thing anyone had ever done for Dok. Early one morning, he took her car and had it detailed, inside and out, so clean and shiny it was nearly as good as new. No more vomit smell! When he returned the car to her, it dawned on her that he shouldn’t even be here today. He was supposed to be on a camping trip to Yellowstone with his cousins.

  “They went without me,” Matt said. “I wanted to be here. The last week has been pretty intense for you.”

  “I just . . .” Dok didn’t know quite how to express her feelings. “Why would you do that for me?”

  “Don’t you know?” Color creeped up Matt’s cheeks. “Don’t you know by now?”

  “No. I don’t. You love to go camping. You’ve been planning this camping trip with your cousins for months.”

  Matt’s face was cherry red now. “Because as much as I love camping, I love you more.”

  Her eyes widened. “You love me?” she said, making sure she heard him correctly.