Page 39 of A Hidden Hope

David cleared a chair for his sister to sit on, wondering why she’d come to his office. He knew how busy her days were, but she had a look on her face like she had something on her mind. She’d come for a reason.

She sat down and gazed around the room, a contented look on her face. “Your office always feels cozy.”

“Messy. Cluttered.”

“True. A little too hot in the summer for my liking, a little too cold in the winter.” She smiled. “But always nice to see my brother seated behind the desk.”

“So you’re here as a sister? Not a doctor.”

“Both.” She took a deep breath. “David, something important has come up, and it involves you, and some of your church members—who have already died—and it involves me. Sort of. But I’m hoping to extricate myself from it and hand it over to you.”

Thoroughly confused, he said, “I was following along until you mentioned church members who had died.”

“Right.”

She set three musty old files on his desk. “You’ve met Wren Baker, one of my residents, haven’t you?”

“I’ve crossed paths with her once or twice.” Never very pleasant experiences for him.

Dok paused and tipped her head. “Does she remind you of me when I was her age?” Then she waved that away.

“Never mind. Don’t answer that. Anyway, Wren found these old patient files when she and Charlie were emptying out the basement to remodel.

They’re from the Max Finegold era.” She lifted a finger in the air.

“To be perfectly accurate, Wren didn’t just stumble upon these files.

She came to Stoney Ridge specifically to look for evidence about her grandmother from the 1970s. A woman named Mary Baker.”

David’s eyebrows knit together. He was already confused, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Mary Baker was part of a clinical trial for a drug to help postpartum depression. Two other Amish patients were in that same clinical trial. But in all three files, there’s no consent form.

It appears that these three women weren’t aware of the risks of a clinical trial.

There should have been signed documentation from every patient.

Finegold’s mistake, but a catastrophic one for the drug company.

They hadn’t ensured that every trial participant was fully informed and had given proper consent.

And there were serious risks. The drug never made it past the trial phase before Pharmogen took it off the market. ”

David had an uncomfortable feeling that his sister was about to dump this all into his lap.

“Apparently, there’s a civil lawsuit brewing against Pharmogen.

Wren Baker has spoken to the attorney who is leading the charge, and now she wants to speak to the descendants of the two Amish families who were involved.

Oh, I forgot to mention that Wren’s grandmother, Mary Baker, left the Amish long ago. But the other two women remained.”

“Do you know their names?”

“One is Fisher and the other is Zook.”

David cringed. “Half our church is named Fisher or Zook.”

“Right.” Dok knew that. “You don’t even need to say a word about how you feel about lawsuits, David.

How everyone in the church feels about them.

But on the other hand, these women were in a vulnerable frame of mind, and they were taken advantage of.

Seems like that should be addressed. Maybe it would be good for these families to just listen to Wren. ”

David gazed at her. “Why would it be good for them to listen to her?”

Dok sighed. “Because ... there are Amish who struggle with depression, for different reasons, and they’re forced to hide it.

When it comes to postpartum depression, there’s such an assumption that a new mother should feel blessed and happy to have a child.

But when she doesn’t, she can’t find the help she needs. ”

David felt his stomach clench. It had completely slipped his mind to heed Birdy’s warning to talk to Jacob Zook about providing help for Clara.

“So, what do you think? Would you be willing to gather those families sometime this week so Wren could explain what she’s discovered? You’re welcome to use my new garden-level waiting room.”

Despite the seriousness of the topic, David laughed. “Garden level? Ruth, there’s no garden down there. It’s a basement.”

“Maybe not,” she said with a smug smile, “but it has a nice ring to it.”

He dropped his chin, asking the Lord for guidance.

Trusting it would come. Slowly, he lifted his head.

“Let me host the meeting at the store. That’ll help you stay out of this.

In fact, don’t even come to it. I’ll oversee it.

I’ll talk to the families and plan for an early morning meeting before the store opens. ”

“I’d prefer it to be sooner rather than later. Wren can be...”

“Determined. Relentless. Tenacious. And yes, she does remind me of you at her age.”

Dok scowled at him. “I told you not to answer that ques tion.” With a huff, she gathered her musty old files and left his office.

Annie Fisher sat in Dr. Fitzgerald’s waiting room, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her apron. The curious glances at her from other waiting patients only added to her nerves. She kept checking the clock, wishing for a bit speedier passage of time.

When her name was finally called, she was led into a fancy exam room and questioned by the nurse.

Then came more waiting, until the ENT finally knocked on the door and came in.

He looked as young as Charlie, though he carried himself entirely differently.

A tall man with a neatly trimmed beard and glasses that magnified his gaze.

“Hello, Annie. I’m Dr. Fitzgerald. I hear you’re having a little trouble with car sickness? ”

Annie’s gaze stayed on the top of her shoes. “More than a little.”

The doctor nodded sympathetically. “Let’s do some tests and see what’s going on.”

First up was the hearing test. He handed her a pair of bulky headphones. “Just raise your hand when you hear a sound.”

The beeps from the headphones seemed to come from all directions, and Annie tried her best to stay focused. She raised her hand with each beep, feeling like she was participating in an odd exercise routine—each beep a cue to respond.

Next came the VNG system, whatever that meant. The doctor handed her a pair of large goggles and said, “These are to track your eye movements. Follow the lights with your eyes.”

The lights moved in a pattern that reminded her of the flickering lanterns used for evening gatherings. Following them felt less like a test and more like an exercise in patience.

Then came the caloric stimulation test. The doctor carefully placed a small device in her ear. “We’re going to use warm and cool water to check how your balance system responds.”

The warm water trickled in first, followed by the cool. The sensation made her head feel like it was being gently rocked, though not in a pleasant way. She focused on her breathing, determined to stay steady even as she felt wobbly.

When the tests were finished, the doctor removed the equipment. “I’ll review the results and send them over to Dr. Stoltzfus. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

The problem, Annie thought as she guided the horse and buggy onto the road, merging with cars, was that getting to the bottom of this might signal the end of her dream.

Dok hung up the phone, having just received the ENT’s report on Annie’s tests. She exhaled deeply, a hint of worry slipping through. After a moment, she called Annie in.

“Have a seat,” Dok said, gesturing to the chair across from her desk, her voice steady but serious.

Annie sat down, hands clasped tightly in her lap, as if she already had an idea of what was coming.

“So, Dr. Fitzgerald called. He is convinced you’ve got something called vestibular dysfunction. It’s a condition with the inner ear, and when there’s a mismatch between what your inner ear senses and what your eyes see, it can cause this kind of severe motion sickness.”

Annie’s shoulders slumped, her disappointment palpable. “I’ve read about it. It’s not something that can be fixed quickly—maybe not at all.”

Dok leaned forward, resting her forearms on her desk top. “I realize what this means to your plan to become an EMT.”

“Kills it,” Annie said, her eyes shiny with tears.

“Maybe ... postpones it indefinitely. But until then, I’ve been thinking of an alternative path for you. Similar, but different.” She paused, waiting for Annie to meet her eyes. “What would you think about becoming a public safety telecommunicator? You know, a 911 dispatcher?”

Annie blinked back tears, clearly taken aback. “A dispatcher?”

Dok nodded. “You’d still be involved in emergency response work but from a different angle. I looked into it, and you’d make an excellent candidate. You’re over eighteen, you have a GED, you’re CPR certified, and you have no criminal record, no felonies—”

Annie’s eyebrows shot up.

Dok smiled. “I mean, you meet the basic requirements.”

“Is it like becoming an EMT? I would think I’d need to take classes.”

“Yes and no.” Dok felt encouraged that Annie hadn’t automatically dismissed the idea. “Once you’re hired, there’s a state-approved training program. It lasts about six to twelve months, but it’s on the job.”

“Would it be difficult for me to get hired?” Annie’s tone was skeptical but curious.

“Not at all,” Dok said firmly. “Your EMT training would give you an edge, and you’re exactly the kind of person who’s needed in emergencies—calm under pressure, quick on your feet. You don’t panic, and you think clearly. Plus, it’s less dangerous work, which might sit better with your mother.”

“Dok, do you think my mother would agree to this?”

“I’m confident she’d be in favor of this over EMT work.” Fairly confident. Sally Fisher had a remarkable capacity for catastrophic thinking.

Annie’s chin was tucked. Quietly, she said, “I wouldn’t be working with Gus.”

Dok raised an eyebrow. Gus, of course—that EMT who seemed to drop by the office quite regularly.

“No, not directly. But you’d still be a crucial part of the team, making sure help gets where it’s needed most.” She pushed a file folder full of dispatcher information across the desk to Annie.

In it was a job application. Dok was tempted to fill it out for Annie, but she held back.

Matt was always accusing her of overhelping.

Annie stared at the file Dok pushed across the desk. She didn’t pick it up right away, just looked at it as if the paper itself held answers she wasn’t quite ready for. “I just thought ... I’d be doing something different.”

“I know,” Dok said. “But this is still important work. You’re needed, Annie. You’ve always had a calling to help people. This is just a different way to answer that call.”

Annie finally reached for the folder, her fingers lingering on the edges before she picked it up. “Thanks, Dok. I’ll think about it.”

“I know you will.”

Annie stood, gave Dok a quick nod, and walked out with the file tucked under her arm, her expression thoughtful yet impossible to read.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Dok leaned back in her chair with a knowing smile. Annie Fisher was going to read every last word in that folder—probably twice.