18
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 boilingwater, 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.
