Page 20 of A Hidden Hope

Normally, Evie could be swayed by Darcy, but not this time.

Somehow, she just knew she had to work for Dok Stoltzfus, in Stoney Ridge.

Among the Amish. At least for three months.

This, she tried to explain to Darcy, would help her build her self-confidence.

Darcy shook her head, slow and low, in a way that suggested this was a terrible turn of events.

She might’ve been right. Because, as it turned out, living and working with Wren Baker caused Evie to slip right back in that mental whirlpool of inferiority.

Wren was everything Evie wasn’t—tall, willowy, polished, and not a hair out of place, even in summer’s humidity.

She was memorable. Meanwhile, Evie was short, a little rounder than she wanted to be, definitely not polished, and had frizzy hair that refused to stay down, especially in summer’s humidity. She was forgettable.

Darcy had told Evie, again and again, that all this self-doubt was just in her head, that she was her own worst enemy.

Maybe so, but that didn’t change how Evie felt.

She wished she could silence the doubts that constantly hissed in her ear.

Doubts about her nursing ability, doubts about her lovability.

She wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t enough .

This afternoon, Evie stood at the kitchen sink, her gaze fixed on Charlie working in front of the buggy shop, tools spread out around him.

Watching him, she could tell that he was thoroughly absorbed in his task.

So all in. She admired that quality about him.

Everything he did, he did with his whole heart.

Committed Charlie. She sighed, lost in her thoughts about him, when a sudden voice behind her broke through her reverie.

“Evie, you’re staring so hard I’m surprised you haven’t burned a hole through the window.”

Startled, Evie spun around. “Fern!” Where did she come from? How long had she been there? “I ... I was just ... admiring your, um, flowers.”

“It’s the only place shady enough on the farm for hydrangeas.”

Hydrangeas? Evie turned back to the window, squinting. Oh yes! Right. Big blue blossoms lined the buggy shop.

Fern joined Evie to peer out the window. “You know, if you’re thinking so much about him, chances are he’s thinking about you.”

“Who?” The burn of embarrassment crept into Evie’s cheeks. “Charlie? No, it’s not like that. We’re ... not like that. I mean, we’re just friends.”

“I had to be a little bold with my Amos.”

Amos? Fern’s late husband? “You’ve got it all wrong.” Evie’s face grew even warmer. “Charlie and Wren ... they’re, well, sort of together.”

Fern’s sparse eyebrows lifted skeptically. “Is that so?” she said, as if she knew everything there was to know. Which she kind of did.

She handed forks to Evie and left the kitchen, heading out the door.

Evie, flustered, set the forks on the table. Most embarrassing of all was that her feelings about Charlie were so obvious to Fern. She seemed to know what Evie was trying so hard not to show.

As she was finishing up, she heard the kitchen door swing open again. Fern came in with Charlie, who stopped to sniff the air, like a dog at dinnertime. “What is that heavenly smell?”

“Roast chicken and potatoes,” Fern said, making a beeline for an upper cupboard. “There it is, Charlie. I need that big platter.”

Charlie stepped forward and reached easily into the cupboard for the platter. “I think you or Evie could’ve reached it.”

Fern ignored that. “Say, why don’t you stay for supper and join us?”

“Really?” Charlie’s face lit up with genuine delight. “I’d love to! Honestly, my diet’s been a bit of a joke since I arrived. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and cold cereal on the side. Macaroni and cheese on Sunday, as a treat.”

Evie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Peanut butter and jelly for every meal? I thought there was a kitchen in the buggy shop.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t know how to cook. And I’m on a string-bean budget.”

“Still,” Evie said, “that’s quite a ... limited menu.”

“Standard fare for a med student.” He was practically salivating over Fern’s roast chicken as she lifted the pan out of the oven and set it near the platter.

Fern glanced toward the buggy shop. “Go fetch the other one to let her know supper’s almost ready.”

Charlie flicked a glance out the window. “That’s nice of you, but I’m 99 percent sure Wren would say no. She’s kind of a particular eater.”

A laugh burst out of Evie, the sound escaping as a snort. Charlie caught her eye. A slow smile began, his eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement, and for an instant, she felt one of those jolts of electricity run between them. A spark. Then it was gone. Or maybe she imagined it.

Probably.

Charlie sat at the table and watched Fern and Evie work together in the kitchen, his eyes wide as if the whole concept of making dinner was a revelation.

Fern sat down at the table and tucked her chin.

Evie shot a side glance at Charlie, wondering how he would handle the moment of offering a silent grace.

It was a habit of Plain life, one that Evie was familiar with. Was he?

To her surprise, his head was already bent in silent prayer. Evie followed suit, thanking God for this moment, for Fern’s boldness, for Charlie being here. Oh! And for the food.

And then Fern’s head lifted and she picked up the platter of chicken and potatoes to pass the food around.

Evie had made a salad with freshly picked greens and cucumbers from Fern’s garden.

Charlie chewed and swallowed with such enthusiasm, like he’d forgotten the delight of a home-cooked meal.

He helped himself to seconds, wolfing an entire plate of food down in, like, thirty seconds.

“This is incredible,” he kept saying between bites, his eyes lighting up with every forkful. “Absolutely amazing.”

Evie couldn’t help but smile at Charlie’s delight. She’d never seen anyone so genuinely excited about dinner.

Even Fern seemed pleased. “You should start showing up at suppertime. Consider it an even swap for the farm chores you’ve been doing. You’ve been a big help to me.”

Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Don’t tell me you eat like this every day?”

Fern tried to hold back a grin, waving her hand dismissively. “This is nothing special.”

“You’re pulling my leg,” Charlie said, turning to Evie. “Isn’t she?”

“She’s not,” Evie said, laughing. “Fern is a wonder.” For so many reasons.

Fern left the table and returned with a tin of thick, chewy cookies, dotted with M&M’s.

Charlie’s eyes grew even bigger. “Are those...?”

“Monster cookies,” Fern said with a smile.

Charlie dramatically covered his heart with his hands. “Fern Lapp, you’re never going to get rid of me.”

If Evie wasn’t mistaken, she heard a giggle slip out of Fern.

And it wasn’t just good food that fascinated Charlie.

After supper, he asked her for a garden tour and took quite an interest in it, wandering through the rows of vegetables and fruits.

A late afternoon storm had blown through Stoney Ridge, cooling off the air and chasing away the humidity.

The large garden looked especially green and lush and inviting.

“What’s this?” Charlie’d ask, pointing to a squash or a pepper bush, genuinely curious about everything he saw.

He offered to help stake some tomato plants.

Fern hurried off and returned with a hammer and stakes and twine, handing them to him.

How could anyone resist him? Charlie was helpful, eager, grateful—and just plain fun to be around. Convivial Charlie. By the end of the garden tour, even Fern seemed a little smitten.

Annie was halfway through setting the dinner table when she spotted Gus in his buggy, trotting up the driveway. Why was he here? What did he want? She quickly assessed her chances of slipping out the side door unnoticed.

Too late. Her mother had already spotted him.

Sally Fisher, crossing the yard from the barn, practically sprinted to greet him.

She adored Gus—mostly because she could pepper him with questions about her latest imagined ailments.

And Gus, with extreme patience, would humor her every time, gently explaining how none of her carefully curated symptoms fit the profile of any disease.

Medicine, he’d say in that calm, level tone of his, was like detective work.

Symptoms were clues, pieces of a puzzle.

Sally’s clues, however, never quite belonged to any known puzzle. Not even close.

Gus was a saint.

As her mom bustled into the house with Gus in tow, she shot Annie an eyebrow-wiggling grin. “Look who the cat dragged in for supper!” she said with an exaggerated wink that made Annie cringe.

“Hi, Annie,” Gus said, lifting a brown paper bag slightly, his tone a little uncertain. “I was passing by and thought I’d bring some books that might help with your studies.”

“Thanks.” It came out sounding awkward and shy. Annie never felt that way around Gus. Only around everyone else.

Both her parents seemed oblivious to the odd tension between Annie and Gus.

Dad never said much, anyway. He left the talking to his wife.

Tonight, throughout supper, Annie didn’t mind how much her mother talked—she was grateful, actually.

Anything to keep the conversation far away from the EMT class, the upcoming final exam, or the dreaded ride-along in the ambulance.

She couldn’t commit to it until she could figure out how to stop her motion sickness.

As supper ended, her mom announced she was heading over to Windmill Farm to pick up some extra canning jar lids from Fern, and before Annie could even blink, Gus jumped in. “Annie and I can go for you, Sally,” he said.

Her mother shot her a wink, and Annie winced. Perfect.