Free Plain Peace (A Daughters of the Promise Novel) by Beth Wiseman

coming down the hallway. Francine ushered the woman into Noah’s office, then left.
    Alice looked exactly like she had last week. She even wore the same clothes—a faded green dress that hung to her knees and worn white tennis shoes. Her tousled gray hair was loosely pulled into a bun, and the lines of time covered her face. She was a tiny little thing, and Noah didn’t think she weighed more than eighty pounds. He wondered what her story was. He’d have bet money that she had an interesting one.
    “Hello, Mrs. Turner,” he said when she edged closer. “How’s your ear?”
    The woman squinted like maybe she didn’t hear him, but then she held out a paper bag. “I brought you some strawberries. You said you like them.”
    Noah took the bag and peeked inside to find at least two dozen plump berries. “These look great, but you didn’t need to do that.”
    “You like them, right? You’ll eat them?” She crinkled her nose, sniffled, then squinted again.
    Noah smiled. “Yes, I will. Thank you very much for bringing these to me.”
    “What other fruit do you like?” The older woman scratched the side of her face, and Noah noticed the action left a smudge of black on her cheek. He glanced at her hands, hoping she wouldn’t ask him to eat one of the strawberries before he had a chance to wash them.
    “I like all kinds of fruits. And vegetables.” He put the bag onhis desk and sat back down. “But, Mrs. Turner, I was happy to help you with your earache. You don’t owe me anything.”
    She scratched her cheek again, and Noah noticed the dirt thick beneath her nails. He’d suspected she might be homeless when she was here before, but this visit almost assured it. And there was a distinct odor in the room. He wanted to do something for her, but he didn’t want to insult her either. There was no telling when she’d last had a good meal. And where did she get the strawberries?
    “Do you have a large garden?” Noah leaned back in his chair, recalling years past when he’d had a room full of patients waiting and no time for this sort of chitchat. “Or do you just grow strawberries?”
    Mrs. Turner took a step forward so that now she was right on the other side of Noah’s desk. She pressed her thin lips together and let out a breath of air through her nose, then said, “You saved my life.”
    Noah shook his head. “No, no. You just had an earache, and I gave you some medication that evidently helped.”
    She wagged her small head back and forth so hard that more strands of gray hair came loose from her bun. “No. I was hurtin’ real bad. Thought I might die or go plumb insane from the ringing I heard. I was about to jump out in front of a car and end it all.” She flattened her palms on the edge of his desk and leaned forward. “You saved me from doing that. I wouldn’t have met the Lord if I’d have done that.”
    “Well, I was happy to help.” Noah smiled. His practice was shot, but at least he’d been able to help this lost soul.
    She pointed a finger at him and squeezed her lips together again. “I’ll see you soon. I always pay my debts!”
    She spun around and left his office. Noah sighed. I’m sure I’ll be available .
    He picked up his cell phone to call Carley. Jenna had been sick the past few days with a nasty cold, and he wanted to check on both his wife and daughter. But before he made the call, his thoughts shifted back to Bishop Byler.
    The man had only been upholding a rule that had long been in place. Noah had been shunned for leaving the community following baptism and also for writing a book about his Amish upbringing—a subject matter that hadn’t sat well with members of the community, especially his family. According to the Ordnung , no one in the community should have had anything to do with him. But his family had forgiven him anyway, and old Bishop Ebersol had made allowances so that community members could visit Noah’s clinic.
    Isaac Byler was a tough old coot, though,