A Simple Faith: A Lancaster Crossroads Novel (2 page)

Haley grinned. “He’s a patient, like any other. And he needs real nursing care, not just sympathy and back rubs. Believe me, I’d switch with you if Swanson wouldn’t blow a gasket over it.”

“At least you’re considering my gaskets before you make an arbitrary change.” The clipped voice made Haley and Aeesha look up from the counter. Dr. Sonia Swanson, their clinical supervisor, stood there beside a young man in a navy suit with the bluest eyes Haley had ever seen.

“Dr. Swanson …” Haley stammered. “We were just—”

“Comparing notes? Broadcasting patients’ personal details? Displaying blatant unprofessionalism?” She glared at Haley and Aeesha as if they’d been dancing down the hall in bikinis.

“Sorry.” Haley wasn’t sure how much their instructor had heard, but she couldn’t let this incident impact her grade. With her test anxiety, she was counting on a high clinical evaluation to bring up her overall grade. Her scholarship would dry up if she didn’t maintain a B average, and she couldn’t afford to continue nursing school without that stipend. “We were just wondering if our patients might be better off if we made a switch.”

“We’re just trying to work things out so that we can play to our strengths,” Aeesha added. “No disrespect intended.”

“None taken.” Swanson pinched a button on her crisp white jacket with her name monogrammed over the pocket. “But before you go trading patients like stocks, you need to know that I don’t sling out assignments randomly. When you’re certified staff nurses, you’ll need to work with patients who do not play to your strengths, and you might as well learn to do it now.”

“I get your point,” Aeesha said, “but does it really matter if Haley changes a dressing while I help Mrs. Pendergrass onto the toilet?”

“It does.” Swanson cocked her head to the side, as if she needed to see Aeesha from a new angle. “You need to review your class notes on assessing patient needs. Mr. Yoder is showing signs of post-traumatic stress, and just because Mrs. Pendergrass isn’t diagnosed yet doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve your time and attention.”

“We treat the body and the mind,” the young man said. “At least, we try to.”

When the man spoke up, Haley was glad to have a chance to ease away from the glare of her professor. He wasn’t from around here—she could tell by the smooth suit and the crisp-collared shirt. Plenty of doctors wore suits, but they weren’t quite so designer perfect. Or was he too young to be a doctor? Haley couldn’t tell, but she liked his vibe. She would have smiled and chatted him up if she weren’t still facing the wrath of Swanson.

“Are you a doctor?” asked Aeesha.

Swanson gestured toward the young man and introduced Aeesha and Haley. “Meet Dr. Dylan Monroe. He just joined our staff as a psychologist.”

“I’ll be coordinating the community outreach program.”

So he was here to stay. That was good news. “Welcome to LanCo General, Dr. Monroe,” Haley said, trying to smooth over the shaky introduction. He probably thought she was a slacker, trying to dump Mrs. Pendergrass on another nursing student.

“Please … call me Dylan. If I’m going to blend with the community, I can’t stand on formality.”

As Dr. Monroe shook her hand, Haley wanted to tell him that there was no way he would blend in here wearing a suit like that. Lancaster County was the land of Amish and rolling hills, apple butter and quilts. But for once she kept her mouth shut and smiled up into his bedazzling eyes. The new doctor was one good-looking guy, but he didn’t seem to know it. By the end of the week, he’d be the talk of the nursing staff, students and RNs alike.

No wedding ring, Haley noticed. Of course, she was just curious, not looking for herself. After the disastrous results of a wedding called off at the last minute in June, she was taking a break from relationships and commitments. Her mind spun to the image of the gold band she’d purchased for Graham, which had been returned to the jeweler for a partial refund.

“Back to our patients.” Swanson looked up at the scheduling board, squinting in calculation. “Dylan, perhaps you can assist Haley in her assessment of Mrs. Pendergrass.”

He nodded. “I’d be happy to.”

Swanson turned to Aeesha. “As for our Amish patient, I will show you how to direct visitors out of the room so that you can care for Mr. Yoder.”

“It’s not that simple, Dr. Swanson,” Aeesha objected. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Plain folk are very big on rules,” Dr. Swanson said, leading the way down the hall. “You just have to look them in the eye and communicate, same as with anyone else.” She motioned Aeesha away from the nurses’ station. “Come on. Let me show you how we do it.”

“So …” Dylan turned to Haley, showering her with the full force of his blue eyes. “Where is Mrs. Pendergrass?”

“In 312.” She pointed down the hall, reminding herself to breathe. What was this stupid, silly giddiness brought on by this man? It was more than the embarrassment over the bad first impression she must have made. She hadn’t felt this way since … well, since her parents had given her a puppy for her thirteenth birthday.

“You’re new here?” she asked cordially.

“This is my first day.”

“Where did you come from?”

“St. Xavier in Philadelphia.”

“What brought you here? You don’t look like the type to be lured by Amish quilts and jams.”

“Really?” The corner of his mouth curved a bit. “So I guess you’re not interested in my quilt collection.”

“I’m just saying, most city people who head out this way are looking for a quaint country weekend. They don’t come to stay.”

“City life doesn’t hold much appeal for me anymore,” he said as they walked side by side down the corridor. “And I am interested in the Amish, but not for their quilts. I’d like to develop a community outreach program for the Amish. A program that really works.”

“But they keep to themselves.” Haley considered her personal experiences, growing up side by side with the Amish here in Lancaster County. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve barely exchanged a dozen words with Amish people. Mostly I notice them when I’m passing their horse-drawn buggies on the road or waiting in line behind them at Walmart or the ice-cream parlor.”

“Even Old Order Amish are allowed to be treated by medical doctors,” Dylan pointed out.

“But you’re a psychologist. You think they’re going to turn to you with their problems?”

“That’s the way the psych thing works.”

“I don’t think they’ll go for that. They’ve got lots of family and ministers to help them work things out. You won’t find an Amish person in therapy or anything.”

He turned to her, rubbing his knuckles over his chin. “Do you like seeing rain ruin a parade? Ice-cream scoops drop from cones? Babies cry?”

“I’m not that way. I’m just telling you—”

“Someday we’ll have the conversation about the glass being half full or half empty. For now, tell me about the patient.”

Haley swallowed back the defense of her cheerful disposition and reeled off Mrs. Pendergrass’s profile. “She’s eighty-two and lives alone. No significant medical history, but came to the ER with complaints of abdominal pain. Nothing showed up in her film or blood work.”

“So far there’s no diagnosis?”

“Right, but she’s very cranky. She’s worried that the pain will return once she’s home alone.”

“And do you think her pain is real?” he asked.

“I know it’s real,” she said carefully. “I just don’t know if there’s a medical explanation for it.”

“Excellent answer, Haley. Do you think she’ll mind if I ask her some questions?”

“I think she’ll like it.”
I would definitely like it
, she thought.

Outside the patient’s door, he reached for Mrs. Pendergrass’s chart. His hand brushed hers as she gave him the clipboard, a casual contact that seemed so personal. It was personal. This was a guy
who lived in the moment, not like the other doctors who seemed to have their minds on a thousand different things.

“Mrs. P is a talker.”

“That works. I’m a listener.”

Looking up at him, she suspected Dylan Monroe was an excellent listener.

Later that day, before her shift ended, she checked the schedule and changed her hours to coincide with Dr. Monroe’s. Sometimes destiny brought people together. And sometimes destiny needed a slight schedule change.

2

E
lsie Lapp stepped onto a stool so that she could open the curtains to the warm glow of the sun rising over the trees. Orange and pink chased away the purple and sapphire of the night sky, promising another glorious day. Cold air seeped in, and she traced her fingers along the sill to a gap at the base of the windowpane.

Another repair for Dat and Caleb. She would put it on their list, but she didn’t expect them to get to it anytime soon. Lately their days had been full of work, trying to get the old carriage house into shape.

She could hear them now, putting new shingles on the roof in the chilly air of early morning. The sound of hammering was music to her ears.

Dat planned to start a business in the old building, a wheelwright or harness shop. Folks were always asking Tom Lapp’s advice on how to fix their buggies, and it made good sense for Dat to make a living doing what he knew best.

And leave me to run the Country Store
, Elsie thought with a little smile as she smoothed down the last quilt. Although she was only seventeen, Elsie managed the store these days, with a little help from her father and her older brother, Caleb, and it was a task that brought her great pleasure. The store that had been in Mamm’s family for three generations had begun to fail in the past few years. Mamm’s death had plunged Thomas Lapp into a business he didn’t know or understand.

It wasn’t Dat’s fault that the merchandise had crossed the line. A few years back, Bishop Samuel had ordered Dat to stop selling plaques that depicted Amish folk. The bishop had been emphatic that the carved statues violated the Ordnung, the strict rules that the Amish lived by. Graven images were forbidden by the Bible, and the bishop deemed that the images of Amish children violated that rule. Dat had gone and pulled all the Amish crafts from the shelves of their shop—including homemade jams and quilts, trivets and birdhouses.

Just like that, the Country Store, once a popular stop for tourists in Lancaster County, had withered into nothing more than a corner convenience store providing folks with bottled water and candy bars.

Such a sad, dusty store it had become.

Not at all what Mamm would have wanted.

Elsie had been just six years old when her mother died. A child, ya, but old enough to recognize her father’s heartbreak and his unease at running the shop. At the age of eight she’d started helping out in the store after school and on weekends. As soon as she’d finished her schooling, she’d become the full-time face of the Country Store, greeting tourists and Amish alike, creating decorative displays in the shop windows and bringing back Amish crafts like homemade soaps, heather, honey, and sock dolls.

With each new product, Elsie had seen sales and profits increase, bringing in enough income to support their family. The Country
Store was on its way back, and Elsie was ready to take the next step—selling to vendors in Philadelphia.

For that move, she needed to talk to Dat.

She grabbed the broom and hurried down the stairs, eager to talk to her father at breakfast. If he could spare a day away from the work here, they could go to Philadelphia together and work everything out.

The kitchen was warm and animated with the chatter from the gathering family … her loving family. After Mamm died it had been just the four of them—Dat, Caleb, Emma, and Elsie. Then, when Elsie was still a girl, Dat married Fanny Yoder, and now they were a family of seven. Amish families were usually large like that—lots of siblings and lots of love. But for Elsie, family mattered even more because of her lack of social life. To the rest of the world, she was an oddity—a tiny person with wide-spaced, pebbled teeth and misshapen ears. But here, she was just Elsie, a true helper, a caring sister and daughter.

Heat from the woodstove cut through the chill that lingered in the rest of the house, reminding Elsie of the reason why the kitchen was her favorite place in the house. Food to feed the body and conversation to feed the soul.