Page 25 of A Hidden Hope

A spark of adrenaline had shot through Evie when Dok Stoltzfus decided to pair her with Charlie for patient care.

She never saw this coming—Wren’s insistence on being supervised exclusively by Dok meant Evie was left in charge of Charlie.

Every day! It felt a bit odd being his supervisor, but the silver lining was that she got Charlie all to herself.

While she’d miss the house calls with Dok, the idea of spending so much time with Charlie—without Wren lurking around—was more than enough to make up for it.

This was precisely what she’d hoped for during her three months in Stoney Ridge: a chance to connect with him on a whole new level. It was finally happening!

After Annie handed Evie the patient list for the day and Dok and Wren left for a house call, Evie went into the exam room to get it prepped for the first patient.

Charlie came in and watched her, taking in everything with a mix of curiosity and eagerness.

“Should I go get Lena Johnson?” he asked, glancing at the patient list.

“Actually, Annie said Lena Johnson called in to say she’s running late. It’s just as well, because there’s been an emergency.”

Charlie’s head snapped up. “An emergency?”

“Just a minor one. Timmy Kauffman got hit by a baseball on his way to school this morning and needs some stitches to his eyebrow.” Evie set out the necessary instruments.

Charlie grinned. “Ah, the classic childhood injury.” Then his grin faded. “I haven’t, um, stitched up an eyebrow before. Or anything else either.”

“You’ve ... never given anyone stitches?”

“Never.”

Oh my. Evie’s first instinct was to say she’d do the stitching and he could watch, but that wasn’t what Charlie needed. He needed experience. “Well, I guess you’re going to start today.”

Timmy, a freckle-faced seven-year-old, entered the room holding an ice pack to his forehead. He looked more curious than scared, but his mom was clearly anxious.

“Hi, Timmy,” Evie said warmly. “This is Dr. King. We’re going to fix your cut.”

Charlie crouched down to Timmy’s eye level. “Hey, buddy. How did a baseball manage to hit you in the head this morning?”

Timmy shrugged and glanced at his mom. “It just came flying out of nowhere.”

Charlie nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah, that can happen sometimes.”

He had such a way with kids! It was a talent Evie had always admired in Charlie—his knack for connecting with patients.

But now wasn’t the time to add to her Charlie list. “Okay, Timmy, I need to clean the area first. And then Dr. King is going to give you a local anesthetic so you won’t even feel the stitches. ”

As Evie cleaned the wound, Charlie observed closely. Quietly, he said, “What’s the best technique for stitching up an eyebrow?”

A gasp. “Hold it a minute,” Timmy’s mother said, reaching out to clasp her son’s shoulder. “I assumed you had experience stitching people up. Maybe we should wait for Dok Stoltzfus.”

“I was just testing Nurse Miller on her knowledge,” Charlie said. He spun on his stool, his knees bump-bumping with Evie as he cast a plea at her.

“We test each other a lot around here,” Evie said. “Keeps us all on our toes. Let’s see, eyebrows.” She looked up at the ceiling, as if reading from a textbook. “Eyebrows are tricky because they have a natural curve. Make sure the edges are perfectly aligned. Timmy doesn’t want a crooked scar.”

“But I do!” Timmy said. “Like Harry Potter.”

“Oh, right!” Charlie said. His finger made a large jagged lightning stroke in the air. “Gotcha.”

“No, no!” his mother said. “I really think we should wait for Dok.”

“Not to worry,” Evie said. “This cut’s not as big as Harry Potter’s, but Timmy definitely needs a couple of stitches.” She made a point to telegraph how many stitches Charlie should make on the eyebrow, just in case he got carried away.

Charlie nodded, absorbing the information. He rolled his shoulders as if preparing for the challenge. “Okay, Harry”—he cleared his throat—“I mean, Timmy. Here we go.” He held the syringe of local anesthesia in the air. “This will just be a little pinch.”

As soon as the anesthesia took effect, Charlie picked up the needle and thread to begin stitching. Evie kept a close eye, offering tips. “The tension should be even ... There you go. Perfect.” One stitch down.

Charlie was so inexperienced, his skills so ... amateurish. But he was so teachable too. So earnest.

Three stitches took much longer than they should have, but Charlie took great care to finesse each one.

Finally, he tied off the thread and leaned back to admire his handiwork.

“Impressive, if I do say so myself, Harry.” He cleared his throat and added, with a wink, “I mean, Timmy.” He held up a mirror for Timmy to admire his new scar.

Timmy peered at it, frowning. “I can’t even see the stitches.”

Charlie beamed. “Music to my ears.”

Timmy’s mom had been hovering anxiously but relaxed when she saw how tiny the stitches were. Charlie applied a Band-Aid over Timmy’s eyebrow. “Dab some Neosporin on the stitches each day. The stitches will dissolve on their own. Just call the office if you’re concerned about anything.”

At the door, Timmy’s mom turned and said, “I’m sorry I doubted you, Dr. King. I can tell this isn’t your first rodeo.”

As the door closed, Charlie swiveled on the chair to look at Evie. “Ah, but it was.”

Chuckling, Evie took away the tray of used tools and set it on the small counter. “You’re a natural with kids, Charlie.”

He shrugged modestly. “Wren would probably argue that’s because I’m still a big kid myself.”

Evie tried to ignore the Wren reference as she finished changing the paper on the examining table. “I’ll go see if Lena Johnson has arrived for her blood pressure check.”

“I’ll go,” Charlie volunteered.

Another win for Charlie, Evie noted. Most doctors wouldn’t dream of fetching a patient themselves.

Lena Johnson, a jolly woman in her seventies, bustled into the room, her face flushed from her hurried pace. “Hello, dear,” she said, puffing, catching her breath. “Sorry I’m late. It’s been one of those mornings.”

“Worked out just as well,” Evie said. “A little boy needed stitches, and we were able to fit him in.” She handed the blood pressure cuff to Charlie. “So you’ve met Dr. King.”

With that, Charlie took the reins. “Let’s see how your blood pressure is doing today, Mrs. Johnson.” He wrapped the cuff around her arm.

As he fumbled with the cuff, Evie almost stepped in to stop him but decided to let Charlie handle it. Another opportunity for him to learn something new.

As Charlie checked her blood pressure, his brow furrowed. “Quite high,” he said, glancing at her chart on the computer. “Higher than usual.”

“Oh dear!” Lena said anxiously. “I’ve been cutting back on salt like Dok told me.”

“And you’re taking the meds every day?” Charlie said.

“Every single day!”

“Sometimes,” Evie said, “just coming into a doctor’s office can spike a patient’s blood pressure, especially if they’re running late. Dok Stoltzfus likes to wait at least five minutes before taking it.”

Charlie gave her a thoughtful nod. “Good tip.” He took the cuff off.

“Let’s wait a couple of minutes and try again.

” He asked Lena about her busy morning, and she launched into a lively tale about discovering a tomato hornworm in her garden that looked like a prehistoric monster and nearly gave her a heart attack.

As she chatted and laughed, Charlie prepared the blood pressure cuff for another try.

“All right, let’s see how we’re doing now.” After a moment, he read the results. “120 over 80. Perfect!”

Lena Johnson’s face lit up with relief and joy. As Charlie opened the door to escort Lena to the front of the office, he waited a moment for her to go through the threshold, then leaned back to whisper in Evie’s ear, “Thanks for that, oh wise one.”

Evie felt fluttery from his closeness, from his clean, warm scent, from the sweetness of his breath. When the door closed behind him, she leaned against it, nearly swooning.

She had found another characteristic to add to Charlie’s list of virtues. His ease with correction and lack of defensiveness was incredibly unique in the world of medicine. Correctable Charlie.

Dok adjusted the rearview mirror as the farmhouse dwindled in the distance, the dusty road behind them giving way to open fields. The tension in the car was palpable, with Wren’s dissatisfaction simmering just below the surface.

House calls had been so easy with Evie. She was thoroughly comfortable with the Amish. Wren kept looking around Mona Beiler’s kitchen as if she was in a foreign country. Dok cringed when she asked Mona why the calendar hanging on the wall was ten years old.

“I like the pictures,” Mona said.

“But how,” Wren said, “do you keep track of the days?”

Mona tapped her wristwatch. “This tells me all I need to know. The Lord is always reminding me to stay in the present.”

The look on Wren’s face! Like she was trying to make sense of that.

As Dok came to a stop to let a farmer send his cows across the road, she said, “I get the impression that there’s something you want to say.”

“The bulging disc in Mona Beiler’s back isn’t going to heal with acupuncture,” Wren said, her voice clipped. “She’s going to need surgery.”

Dok’s gaze remained steady on the cows in front of her. Jersey cows, she noted. Good milkers. “Maybe, maybe not. I like my patients to be part of their own healing journey. If a patient chooses to pursue alternative treatments, I’m willing to support them.”

Wren’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious. Alternative treatments can offer support and comfort, and often complement traditional methods.”

“Complement?” Wren scoffed. “Sounds to me like you’re just indulging patients’ whims. Mona’s back pain is only going to get worse.”

Dok’s patience was fraying. “Nothing will be lost for Mona by trying a few alternative treatments before surgery. Acupuncture could help alleviate her pain. Look, Wren, I’ve seen unexplained recoveries that make me believe in the possibility of healing beyond the conventional.

More than a few times, I’ve observed how hope and patience can play a significant role in recovery.

Prayer too. Especially prayer. I think of those unexplained answers as my Miracle Box. ”

Skeptical, Wren rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m a believer in the miracle of modern medicine. Not hokeypokey stuff. And I think waiting could put Mona Beiler in a worse situation than she’s in now.”

Dok’s tone grew softer. “Sometimes, Wren, time is the best doctor.”

At that, Wren went silent. The farmer hurried the last cow across the road and waved to Dok to cross. The road stretched out ahead, and the silence in the car grew heavier with every mile.

They’d had only two house calls so far. Dok hoped the rest of the morning wasn’t going to be just as contentious.

“What you focus on , you find.” That was Fern’s frequent advice to Dok.

Okay, focus on the good. Wren didn’t contradict Dok in front of the patients. And her assessment of Mona’s back pain was spot-on. Dok was pretty sure that she’d end up needing surgery, so Wren’s assessment was correct.

Dok’s thoughts drifted to her brother David.

She could almost hear his voice in her head, calmly advising her, even if she didn’t want his advice.

He would say that these house calls were Dok’s chance to shape and form Wren’s thinking, to build confidence in her strengths and help overcome her weaknesses.

Thank you , Fern . Thank you , David.

“So what’s next?” Wren said.

“This will be quick. We’re stopping in at Sally Fisher’s. Annie’s mom. She thinks she has a case of shingles.”

Wren’s head jerked to face Dok. “Isn’t she...”

“Yes. A raging hypochondriac. Sally had been doing much better, but something happened recently that’s caused her to slide right back into her pattern of imagined illnesses.

I have found that when she feels listened to, her symptoms lessen.

” She glanced at Wren. “An imaginary illness is worse than a real one.”

Wren let out a long-suffering sigh.