heaven with God.”
Rubbing a hand over his bald head, Doctor Miller leaned back in his leather chair. “Look, I have great respect for your Amish ways. You take it on the chin, and you keep on going. You’re made of tough material that doesn’t rip or tear. But I also know your hearts are tender. You don’t build up those thick layers of scar tissue that make the rest of us so cynical and distrusting. When something like this happens, you lean on your faith and you keep putting one foot in front of the other, believing it’s God’s will. I respect that.”
He stood and picked up a card from a desk cluttered with files and medical supply catalogues. “But sometimes your hearts hurt. I’m just a small town doc who treats broken arms and strep throat.” He held the card out to Catherine. She stared at it like it might be a rattlesnake preparing to strike her. “You need help I can’t give you. I suspect all three of you need it. But especially you, Catherine. You’re suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m afraid it won’t go away on its own. Doctor Baker specializes in this kind of problem. I’ve sent a few vets with PTSD her way over the years.”
Her hand shaking, Catherine finally took the card and handed it to Emma.
Doctor Sheila Baker
. The word “psychologist” jumped out at Emma. The doctor’s office was in Wichita. They’d have to go there to get help for Catherine.
Luke slapped his huge hand on his pant leg. “So you’re saying there’s nothing physically wrong with Catherine?”
“Technically, I could find nothing wrong, but my diagnosis is she is an eighteen-year-old girl with a broken heart.” Doctor Miller’s tone was sharp. “That’s not an ailment to be taken lightly. It’s manifesting itself in physical ways. She’s not eating. She’s losing weight. She’s not sleeping. If this keeps up, she’ll start to have physical problems and she won’t be able to get on with her life. You must deal with it.”
Tears burned Emma’s eyes. Her sister suffered from a broken heart. Emma knew exactly how that felt, even if for different reasons.
Luke stood and strode to the door. His hand on the knob, he looked back. “We’ll take care of her, Doctor.”
Out on the sidewalk, Emma scurried to keep up with Luke’s long-legged gait. Catherine, who was even shorter, practically had to run. Finally, Emma plucked at his sleeve. “Slow down, please!”
He slammed to a halt. Catherine nearly plowed in to him. “Are you angry with me?” Catherine’s mouth quivered. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not mad.” Luke’s gaze swung beyond them. “Not at you.”
Emma turned to see what he was looking at. Miriam stood in front of the harness shop. Josiah, one hand around the waist of Sarah Kauffman, turned away from her and walked down the sidewalk toward the Home Town Restaurant.
Her head down, Miriam disappeared into her father’s shop. Emma didn’t know where to go first—the shop or after Josiah. Luke made the decision for her. He started across the street. A car honked. Another swerved, then whizzed by.
Emma scampered after him, Catherine on her heels. “Careful, Luke!”
“He’s supposed to be at the blacksmith shop.”
“It’s lunchtime,” Emma offered. “He’s getting something to eat.”
“We agreed that he would take his lunch to save money.” Luke jerked open the door. “And what is Sarah doing, coming all the way from Wichita to be seen in public with him? To flaunt herself in front of a good Plain woman?”
Emma couldn’t argue with either point. She’d made the sandwichesand packed the cooler with pickled cabbage and shoo-fly pie. She knew about Josiah’s interest in Sarah and hadn’t told Luke, fearing his reaction. Obviously for good reason. Poor Miriam. Had it been pure chance or had Josiah made it a point for Miriam to see him with Sarah? “Maybe he didn’t know Sarah was coming.”
“Maybe.”
Rubbing a hand over his bald head, Doctor Miller leaned back in his leather chair. “Look, I have great respect for your Amish ways. You take it on the chin, and you keep on going. You’re made of tough material that doesn’t rip or tear. But I also know your hearts are tender. You don’t build up those thick layers of scar tissue that make the rest of us so cynical and distrusting. When something like this happens, you lean on your faith and you keep putting one foot in front of the other, believing it’s God’s will. I respect that.”
He stood and picked up a card from a desk cluttered with files and medical supply catalogues. “But sometimes your hearts hurt. I’m just a small town doc who treats broken arms and strep throat.” He held the card out to Catherine. She stared at it like it might be a rattlesnake preparing to strike her. “You need help I can’t give you. I suspect all three of you need it. But especially you, Catherine. You’re suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m afraid it won’t go away on its own. Doctor Baker specializes in this kind of problem. I’ve sent a few vets with PTSD her way over the years.”
Her hand shaking, Catherine finally took the card and handed it to Emma.
Doctor Sheila Baker
. The word “psychologist” jumped out at Emma. The doctor’s office was in Wichita. They’d have to go there to get help for Catherine.
Luke slapped his huge hand on his pant leg. “So you’re saying there’s nothing physically wrong with Catherine?”
“Technically, I could find nothing wrong, but my diagnosis is she is an eighteen-year-old girl with a broken heart.” Doctor Miller’s tone was sharp. “That’s not an ailment to be taken lightly. It’s manifesting itself in physical ways. She’s not eating. She’s losing weight. She’s not sleeping. If this keeps up, she’ll start to have physical problems and she won’t be able to get on with her life. You must deal with it.”
Tears burned Emma’s eyes. Her sister suffered from a broken heart. Emma knew exactly how that felt, even if for different reasons.
Luke stood and strode to the door. His hand on the knob, he looked back. “We’ll take care of her, Doctor.”
Out on the sidewalk, Emma scurried to keep up with Luke’s long-legged gait. Catherine, who was even shorter, practically had to run. Finally, Emma plucked at his sleeve. “Slow down, please!”
He slammed to a halt. Catherine nearly plowed in to him. “Are you angry with me?” Catherine’s mouth quivered. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not mad.” Luke’s gaze swung beyond them. “Not at you.”
Emma turned to see what he was looking at. Miriam stood in front of the harness shop. Josiah, one hand around the waist of Sarah Kauffman, turned away from her and walked down the sidewalk toward the Home Town Restaurant.
Her head down, Miriam disappeared into her father’s shop. Emma didn’t know where to go first—the shop or after Josiah. Luke made the decision for her. He started across the street. A car honked. Another swerved, then whizzed by.
Emma scampered after him, Catherine on her heels. “Careful, Luke!”
“He’s supposed to be at the blacksmith shop.”
“It’s lunchtime,” Emma offered. “He’s getting something to eat.”
“We agreed that he would take his lunch to save money.” Luke jerked open the door. “And what is Sarah doing, coming all the way from Wichita to be seen in public with him? To flaunt herself in front of a good Plain woman?”
Emma couldn’t argue with either point. She’d made the sandwichesand packed the cooler with pickled cabbage and shoo-fly pie. She knew about Josiah’s interest in Sarah and hadn’t told Luke, fearing his reaction. Obviously for good reason. Poor Miriam. Had it been pure chance or had Josiah made it a point for Miriam to see him with Sarah? “Maybe he didn’t know Sarah was coming.”
“Maybe.”
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