Page 33 of A Hidden Hope
The next day, midmorning, Dok turned onto the long, winding driveway of Windmill Farm, her car tires crunching over the gravel.
The familiar sight of the weathered red windmill came into view, its blades creaking in the slight breeze.
Before Dok had left the office, Annie had just finished organizing a line of patients down in the clinic’s garden level for their flu and Covid shots.
With Evie in charge of supervising—not just the process but mostly keeping an eye on Charlie and Wren—Dok felt confident the team could handle it.
That left her with a perfect window to slip away for a quiet chat with Fern.
As soon as she opened the car door, she knew what task Fern was busy with: canning peaches.
As she inhaled the sweet aroma of Fern’s freshly canned peaches, a flood of memories washed over her.
She was transported back to her own childhood, standing in her family’s hot, cramped kitchen, helping her mother can fruit.
She could never seem to do it quite right.
Her mother would hover over her shoulder, criticizing the way she held a knife, the way she sliced a peach.
Not the kind of memories the majority of Amish women had of their mothers. Most of Dok’s friends adored their mothers and wished only for more of their attention. Not Dok.
When Dok was fifteen or sixteen, on a sweltering August day of peach canning, she’d worked up the courage to talk to her mother about something that had been gnawing at her for months. “I’ve been thinking,” she had said, her voice a bit shaky, “that I want to get my GED.”
Her mother spun around from the hot stove. “Why?”
“I miss school, Mom. I want to learn more. I want to keep learning.”
Her mother’s reaction was immediate and fierce. “Du bist so dumm as Backholz,” she snapped, eyes blazing. You’re as thick as a stick. “You can’t even cut a peach in half properly, and you think you’re smart enough for more schooling?” The words cut deep.
Dok never ate another peach.
Now, decades later, she had a better understanding of what was behind her mother’s harsh anger—fear of change, fear of losing her daughter to a world she couldn’t understand. But back then, all Dok felt was hurt and a burning determination to prove her mother wrong.
From that moment on, Dok had stopped sharing her dreams with her mother.
She kept her plans secret, quietly studying whenever she had a spare moment, preparing herself for the GED.
The day she passed the exam felt like a triumph, but it was a victory she couldn’t share with her family.
Not even her brother David, and he was a stellar secret keeper, even back then.
She didn’t want to put him in a difficult position.
And then, one day, she just left. She packed a small bag, took a deep breath, and walked away from the only life she had ever known.
And oddly enough—as her gaze swept over Windmill Farm—she had returned to that former life. But in her own way.
She followed the sweet aroma of peaches into Fern’s kitchen. “Wie geht’s?” Dok said, stepping inside. How goes it?
Fern turned from the stove, her face red from the boiling water, her glasses steamed up. “Dok! I made a batch of sun tea. It’s in the refrigerator, if you don’t mind helping yourself.”
Dok shook her head, smiling. “I’m fine, thanks. I just wanted to have a chat, see how things are going with your boarders.”
Fern continued her work, not missing a beat as she sliced peaches and packed them into jars. “It’s going nicely. Evie and Charlie are good company.”
“And Wren? How’s she settling into life on a farm?” Dok asked, leaning against the counter.
Fern shrugged, her hands never stopping. “Don’t see much of her. Always studying or working.”
“She’s very diligent.”
Fern nodded. “Seems like it.”
Dok watched Fern for a moment, then asked, “So what else do you think of Wren?”
Fern didn’t look up. “Doesn’t eat much.”
Dok raised an eyebrow. That didn’t surprise her. Wren was quite slender, quite disciplined, and Amish food was carb-laden. Designed to provide energy to farmers. “Anything else?”
“She has plenty of opinions.”
“Yes.” Dok smiled. “Yes, she does.” All this, she knew. “What else?”
“She bosses Evie around. But Evie lets her.”
Yes, Dok had noticed that too. Then again, Wren bossed everyone around. Most doctors did, Dok had to admit.
She waited, sensing there was something Fern was reluctant to say. “What do you really think of her, Fern? I’d like to know. I need to know. I trust your instincts about people.” Fern could be surprisingly savvy. Plus, she had no patience for drama or disingenuousness.
“What do I really think?” Fern paused, knife held midair. Then she pivoted on her heels to look straight at Dok. For a moment she said nothing, and her mouth kept that tight, stern look. “I think that girl is up to something.” She turned back to her task.
Dok stilled. Fern had just answered a question that Dok didn’t even know she was asking. That girl is up to something.
A long moment passed before she straightened up, having gotten what she came for. “Thanks, Fern. That’s helpful.”
As Dok put a hand on the door, she turned. “Do you go into the buggy shop much?”
“Once or twice. Nothing in there but books and boxes.” She lifted her knife in the air. “I’ve told Wren and Charlie that those boxes need to go when they go.”
“Would you mind if I just popped into the buggy shop? Wren said she left some files in there.”
“Go right ahead.”
A few minutes later, Dok opened the door to the shop.
It was just like Fern had described. Banker boxes of Finegold’s old files, neatly stacked against the wall.
Textbooks laid out on every horizontal surface, with study notes for each topic.
Inside, she turned in a circle. Wren had pretty much claimed the small living space.
There wasn’t much sign that Charlie lived here, other than an unmade bed and an open suitcase left on the floor, full of wrinkled clothes. No wonder he always looked so rumpled.
As Dok walked back to her car, Fern hurried down the porch steps to hand her a jar of canned peaches. “Save that for a cold winter day. It’ll remind you of summer.”
“Thanks, Fern. I’ll do that.” Dok took the jar, feeling the warmth of the liquid through the glass. She just might try another peach.
All day, Evie did her best to keep her distance from Charlie.
She asked Annie to assist him with the patients who came for flu shots so she could work side by side with Wren.
Not enjoyable, not at all, but definitely easier that way—safer.
If she didn’t have to interact with him, she could try to ignore the heavy ache in her chest.
Charlie, however, seemed to catch on quickly that she was avoiding him.
During the lunch break, he caught her refilling the supply closet—something Annie always did. “There you are. I was hoping you could run through some study cards with me.”
“Can’t today.” Or any other day. Ever again. She got back to business, stacking boxes of gauze pads. “Try asking Annie.” It came out more snappish than she intended to sound. Then, softer, she added, “Annie’s got her EMT exam coming up. I’m sure it would be helpful for her to work with you.”
He held up a tin. “Fern gave me a whole bunch of brownies. Plenty to share.” He opened the tin to reveal Fern’s thick, dark, chocolatey, fudgy brownies. Indulgent, decadent, crave-worthy.
“Nope.”
His brows lifted in surprise. “Really?” he said, like she sounded odd.
No, of course not really. She loved Fern’s brownies.
Loved them. But her emotions felt so fragile that she couldn’t trust herself around Charlie.
Too much interaction and out would spill her big tangled mess of feelings, which would only make everything worse.
She was sad, disappointed, heartsick ..
. but mostly she was mad. At herself. It was her own fault for falling for a guy who was already involved with someone else.
Hadn’t Darcy warned her? Yes! She’d even wondered if Evie was self-sabotaging by setting her sights on a guy who was unattainable.
“One of the patients this morning told me about his church. Meets in a gym. I thought we could try it out on Sunday.”
She stopped, holding a box of gauze pads in her hand. “Sorry. I’ve already made plans.”
Swaying from foot to foot, he studied her for a few seconds. “Evie, have I done something wrong?”
“No,” she said, her voice clipped. She knew she wasn’t being honest, but she couldn’t help it. It was the best way she could think of to protect herself, to keep from crumbling. If he considered her as a friend, then she would try to see him in the same light. Pals. Chums.
Charlie’s puzzled expression deepened. “You’ve been acting weird all day. You’ve barely said two words to me.”
Evie shrugged, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “The office has been super busy,” she said flatly, hoping he’d drop it.
But he didn’t. “Busy avoiding me, it seems.”
“Avoiding you?” She coughed a laugh. “Why, I’ve hardly given you a thought.
” Lie , lie , lie. Plus, the words sounded way too harsh again.
She was never harsh to anyone, not even to Wren, who often deserved it.
The look on his face made her regret it immediately, but she couldn’t let her guard down.
Not now. Not when she was hanging by a thread.
She just had to get through the day. She could fall apart later. Not here.
Charlie’s shoulders slumped slightly, the hurt in his eyes unmistakable. “Evie, if there’s something going on—if I’ve done something to upset you—you’d tell me, right? I don’t want to lose our friendship over a misunderstanding.”
So there it was. He said it to her face. Friendship. Pal-zone. Evie took a deep breath, steeling herself. “You’re overthinking. There’s nothing to talk about, Charlie.”