A Simple Faith: A Lancaster Crossroads Novel (5 page)

A good question.

So he’d taken his therapist’s advice and left the city, and here he was in Lancaster County, land of sprawling farms and horse-drawn buggies. Sometimes he fantasized that he had not just changed locations but gone back to a simpler time where you couldn’t be in a rush because your horse didn’t move so fast. A time when your day ended at sundown because there were no electrical inventions to keep the mind churning against sleep.

Of course, he had a car and electricity; still, the notion of simplicity helped to clear some of the cobwebs from his mind, and it seemed like good karma to be living among the peace-loving Amish people. He had the best of both worlds, with an apartment overlooking an Amish farm and a job at LanCo General, where he’d been able to work outside the shadow of grief.

The farmhouse door flew open when the Jeep pulled up, and a woman in her twenties waved them in. “Dr. Trueherz, thank you for coming. I’ve been so worried. Her fever’s so high, and you know me. No experience with kids.”

“Remy, don’t undersell yourself. You’ve got all the tools these kids need. Where’s our little patient?”

Henry made quick introductions as Remy directed them into the kitchen, where a little wisp of a girl, two, maybe three years old, was curled up on a daybed. Her little face, barely visible for the cloth doll wedged under her chin, seemed aglow, with two patches of red dotting her cheeks.

“Well, hello there, Katie. What’s going on with you today?”

The little girl’s mouth puckered as she looked up at the doctor.

“Too sick to talk? Well, we’ll see what we can do about that.”

Henry washed up at the kitchen sink, and then opened his black satchel. He scanned her forehead with a thermometer and whistled softly. “A hundred and two. Have you given her Tylenol?”

“Children’s Tylenol, but the last dose was last night.”

Henry placed his hands around the child’s neck, checking her
glands. “I’ll do a quick test, but I’m fairly certain she’s got strep throat.”

“I should have known.” Remy sat beside the girl and rubbed her back. “I used to get strep all the time when I was a kid.”

Dylan noticed that her speech pattern didn’t have the same rapid-fire cadence as other Amish people he’d met. And something about her demeanor—or maybe it was her flaming red hair—struck him as distinctly un-Amish. Englisher, as the locals called it.

The door off the kitchen opened, and a tall man in a wide-brimmed black hat looked in from a side porch.

“How is she, Doc?”

“I don’t like this fever, but from the looks of this throat I’d say it’s strep.”

“Could it be the GA, like Susie has?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. We’ve been testing her since she was born, and it’s been negative.”

“Okay, good. Then I’ll get back to work.” The man turned to Dylan and nodded.

“Adam, this is Dylan Monroe. He’s a psychologist shadowing Dr. Trueherz,” Remy said, looking up from the sick little girl.

Adam nodded again. “I’ll get back to it, then.” He turned away, the door closing, along with an opportunity.

“Excuse me,” Dylan said before following the man out through an enclosed porch to a path to the barn. “Adam? Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Come, and you can talk.”

“This is quite a farm. Dexters and Jerseys?”

Adam turned to face him, his stern face softening. “You know dairy farming?”

Dylan had been to a farm once in his life, but he’d done his research. “Just a bit. But I’ve never milked a cow. I can’t imagine the man-hours it takes to keep this place running.”

“This farm has been in my dat’s family for years. We got some new milking machines in the last year. That made things easier, but now we’re down a set of hands, with my brother Jonah helping out a neighbor.”

“If you ever need some temporary help, I’m your man.” The words flew out before Dylan had really processed them, but he had no regrets. A little hard work would do him good while it got him involved in the community.

Adam grunted. “Thanks. We can manage, but you can help me now. Two make work much lighter.”

They had arrived at the red barn, where Adam led the way through wide-open doors.

Stepping into the darkness ripe with the smell of hay and manure, Dylan sensed that he truly had entered another world.

“Here.” Adam tossed something from the shadows.

He caught the ball of soft leather—a pair of gloves. A few bales of hay needed to be transferred from the floor of the barn to an open cart.

“You take one end; I’ll take the other,” Adam said, and they lifted together.

“I wanted to talk to you about a program I’m starting here in Halfway.” The hay bale was heavier than Dylan had expected. “Counseling services, open to everyone. We’ve got funding, so the treatment will be free.”

“Mmm. There might be some Englishers who would do it. I can’t speak for them, but Amish? Probably not.”

“I’m just trying to get the word out. I figure that if the help is available and it’s free, people might take advantage of it.”

Adam did not waver. “We work out problems on our own. The family takes care of things, or else we take serious matters to our ministers.”

“I hear you.” Dylan braced his muscles as they lifted another
bale. “But I’m committed to this program. Everyone needs help at some time in their lives.”

Dylan had needed therapy, and he suspected that Adam could have used some counseling when he lost his parents … and by such violent means.

Adam grunted, and Dylan wasn’t sure whether it was an answer or a reaction to lifting the heavy weight.

“Don’t get me wrong. I respect your traditions and rules.” He admired the culture’s complex social system, designed to deal with matters within the community. “But there’s no rule against getting help from an outsider, right? You wouldn’t get in trouble for getting counseling?”

“No trouble. Folks just wouldn’t do it.”

Dylan was not surprised by Adam King’s mild rejection. Maybe the closed Amish community was part of the reason he’d accepted the position here. He liked a challenge, and he’d been getting burned out on the city.

“You know, back in the city, people would have jumped at the offer of free therapy. I used to do counseling there, and some of my clients couldn’t choose a flavor of ice cream without calling for a consult.”

Adam’s lips twitched, then he smiled. “I lived in the city for a few years. Providence. People had so many problems, so much to talk about.”

“But you came back home.”

“I came back, and I don’t miss the life I had out there. This here—tending cows, working the land. This is how a man should live. Close to the land, close to God, surrounded by family. Not that I’m criticizing what you do. It’s a good thing, being a doctor and caring for others.”

“No offense taken. I’ve only been here a few weeks, and I don’t miss what I left behind.” He thought of his old apartment, his
familiar neighborhood with the kids on the playground across the street where he used to take Angela. The landscape had become a source of pain for him.

And he thought of his friends, always concerned, always trying to ease the pain that would never go away.

He had needed a break.

The last hay bale hit the cart with a thud. “Thanks for the help. I hope you can find some Englisher folk who need your counseling.”

Dylan nodded. “I’m sure I will. And I meant what I said about pitching in. Get in touch if you need some help around here.”

He handed Adam a card and headed back to the house, undaunted by Adam King’s attitude. When the time came that someone in this community needed help, he would be here. Right now, Dylan just needed patience.

What had Dr. Trueherz said? Just give it twenty years. Looking ahead, Dylan could see himself spending the next few decades here in Lancaster County. The solitude, the rolling hills, the pastoral charm … it was a world apart from the life he’d lost. The perfect escape.

4

I
n the hospital break room, the usual forum for talk of catheters and sponge baths, Twizzlers and vitamin water, there was one topic on everyone’s mind.

Dylan Monroe.

Haley had plenty to say about the new psychologist, but she didn’t want to put it out there.

“I think he’s waiting for Ms. Right to come along,” Caitlin said as she stirred creamer into her coffee.

“And you think that’s you?” Danica asked, leafing through a chart on the table.

“Haven’t you guys noticed that he’s all about me?” Madison tucked a fat blond curl behind one ear. “Did you not see? Yesterday, he spent the whole day with me.”

“Because you landed the patient who decided to practice his tai chi on the double yellow line of the highway,” Danica said. “Of
course he’s going to stick with you if you’ve got the only psych patient on the floor.”

“Cat fight!” Haley teased, and she made a noise that sounded like an angry cat’s meow for emphasis.

“Y’all don’t have to get all fanatical about it,” Aeesha said. “He’s just a therapist. Not even a real doctor.”

“But he’s so nice.” Caitlin took a sip of coffee and cocked her head to one side. “He cares about your problems. He can tell when you’re having a bad day. I’ve never met a doctor who was that sweet.”

“Forget about a doctor; I’ve never met a man who was that sweet,” Danica said. With a son in school, Danica was the oldest nursing student and the most focused on the doctors at LanCo General. She knew who was married, who was divorced, who was looking for marriage, and who was looking for fun. “There’s something about him, some secret he’s holding back. I don’t know what it is, but he sure is buttoned up about it.”

“It’s that mystery that makes him so irresistible,” Madison said.

“That and the fact that he’s gorgeous,” added Caitlin.

Aeesha tapped a lacquered nail on the table. “He sure is eye candy.”

“And those designer suits don’t hurt.” Danica closed the chart and sighed. “Like he stepped out of the pages of a magazine.”

“Did you notice how he stopped wearing the suit jacket?” Caitlin asked. “Just a shirt and tie now. Crisp shirt and designer tie. I think he didn’t want to make the other doctors look bad.”

“Maybe he just wanted to fit in,” Aeesha suggested. “No one’s really fancy around here.”

In the week or so since he’d joined the hospital, Dr. Monroe had softened his style a bit. Haley had noticed every little nuance. Gone were the immaculate suit jackets. Instead, he wore a crisp white clinical jacket over his shirt and tie. It was a step toward a more
casual look, though the pants were so well pressed that Haley was sure you could cut butter with the crease.

Reluctant to add a comment, Haley wiggled her toes in her clogs as images of Dylan played through her mind like a romantic slide show. Working with him over the past week, she’d been struck by his kindness, his compassion, his sense of humor. The way he held a patient’s hand as she cried. The way he listened. The way he made everyone feel better after being around him. The way he made tedious tasks enjoyable.

The way the air sizzled between them whenever he was around.

Oh, she had it bad, and she knew it. But right now, she didn’t want the other nursing students to know. Admitting that she had a crush on Dr. Monroe would be like tossing chum off the boat before a swim. She didn’t want to be shark bait.

Fortunately, break time was winding down and the women began to file out of the room.

“Have you noticed that he rarely smiles?” Danica asked. “Almost never. Somehow, he communicates compassion without smiling. But it makes you wonder what happened to make him so serious.”

“There is something about a man with sadness in his eyes.” Aeesha gave a sigh. “Makes you just want to snuggle him up and make him all better.”

Aeesha was right; Haley had felt the same urge to reassure Dr. Monroe. As if she had the power to make him feel better with a hug. She frowned. This hen session was ridiculous. All of them really needed to leave Dylan Monroe alone.

“He may be a man of mystery,” Madison said as she tossed away her coffee cup, “but Dylan Monroe sure keeps things interesting around here.”

Haley smiled, knowing Madison was right. Since Dylan had joined the staff, Haley looked forward to coming to the hospital for clinicals.