Karen said, “We have gas lamps. Have you ever used them before?”
“I don’t know.”
She cringed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. There’s no point in tiptoeing around with your questions. Either I’ll remember a thing or I won’t. I won’t know until you ask.”
Striking a match, Karen raised it to the lamp and lit it. A soft glow filled the room, pushing back the growing darkness. She glanced at John and found him watching her intently. Suddenly, it seemed as if the two of them were cocooned alone inside the light.
The lamplight highlighted the hard planes of his face. She became acutely aware of him, of his size and the brooding look in his eyes. The tension in the room seemed to thicken. His gaze roved over her face. Her palms grew sweaty as her pulse quickened. She wondered again if she had made a serious mistake in bringing him here.
Yet, she could not have left him in Hope Springs any more than she could have passed by him in the ditch without helping. There was something about John Doe that called to her.
He tried to hide his discomfort and his aloneness, but she saw it lurking in the depths of his eyes. He was afraid. She wanted to help him, wanted to ease his pain. He needed her.
The white bandage on his forehead stood out against his dark hair. She gave in to an overwhelming urge and reached out to touch his face. Her fingertips brushed against the gauze dressing. “Does it hurt?”
He turned his head aside. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re forgetting that I saw the gash.”
The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I’ve forgotten a lot of things.”
She let her hand drop to her side. How foolish of her. He wasn’t a stray puppy that needed her care. He was a grown man, and she was flirting with forbidden danger. For the first time in her life she understood how a moth could be drawn to the flame that would destroy it.
She must harden her heart against this weakness. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”
He grasped her arm as she started to turn away. “I can manage. If I need anything I’ll find you. Right now, I’d like to be alone. It’s been a long day.”
“Of course.” She handed him the box of matches.
“Be sure and turn off the gas lamps when you leave the house. There are kerosene lamps, too, if you need them. Supper will be ready in about an hour. You may join us at the table or I can bring something to you.”
“If it’s all the same, I’m not up to company and I’m not really hungry. Thank you, though, for everything.”
Slowly, he withdrew his hand from her arm in a gentle caress. She rubbed at the warmth that remained. She must not confuse his gratitude with affection nor give in to her feelings of attraction. To do so would be unthinkable.
She mumbled, “It is our Christian duty to care for those in need. I will be back with linens and a pillow for you in a little while.”
As she left the house, she paused on the porch to slow her racing pulse. Her family must not see her flustered.
She did not doubt that God had brought John Doe into her life again for a reason but that reason was hidden from her. Was it so that she might help this outsider? Or had John Doe been sent to test the strength of her faith? Would she pass such a test or would she fail?
John drew a deep breath as soon as Karen was gone. He couldn’t seem to concentrate when she was near. He didn’t understand why. The woman wasn’t a great beauty, but she had an elegant presence he found very attractive. Perhaps it was the peace in her tranquil blue eyes or the surety with which she carried herself.
She knew exactly where she belonged in her small reclusive world while he was adrift in an ever-changing sea of turmoil that sought to swallow his sanity along with his memories. Her empathy had quickly become his lifeline. One he was afraid to let go of.
“Get real. I can’t hang on the apron strings of an Amish farmer’s daughter.”
Pushing his attraction to her to the back of his mind, he studied the small kitchen. He was surprised to see a refrigerator. On closer inspection, it turned out to be gas not electric, but it was empty and had apparently had the gas turned off. The few drawers were filled with normal kitchen utensils. The stove was wood burning.
Did he even know how to cook?
He opened a cupboard and pulled out a heavy cast-iron skillet. Hefting it in his hand, he suddenly saw it full of sizzling trout. He saw himself setting it on a trivet, hearing murmurs of appreciation, a woman’s lighthearted laughter.
He spun around to face the table knowing someone sat there, but when he did—the image vanished.
“No!”
The loss was so sharp he doubled over in pain. Who was the woman with him? His mother? A sister? A wife? Where had it taken place? When? Was it a real memory or only a figment of his imagination?
He looked at the pan he held and saw only a blackened skillet. Setting it on the stovetop he rubbed his hands on his thighs. It had been a real memory, he was sure of it. But had it been a month ago or ten years ago? It held no context. It faded before he could grasp hold and examine it.
Pulling himself together, he blew out a shaky breath. Okay, it had only been a flash. But it could mean he was on the mend.
Hope—new and crisp—flooded his body. Maybe the doctors had been right and time was all he needed. He had time. He had nothing but time.
Using the matches Karen had given him, he lit a kerosene lamp sitting on the counter and began walking through the rest of the house. The wide plank floors creaked in places as he entered the sitting room containing several chairs and a small camelback sofa. None of the furniture shouted “kick back and relax.” It was utilitarian at best.
Down a narrow hallway he passed a small bathroom and noted with relief the modern fixtures. At the end of the hall he opened the door to a sparsely furnished bedroom.
The narrow bed, covered with a blue striped mattress, stood against a barren white wall. A bureau sat against the opposite wall while a delicate desk graced the corner by the window. The walls were empty of any decorations. The one chair in the room was straight-backed with a cane seat.
Crossing the wooden floor, he set the lamp on the bedside table. He stared at the thin mattress, then sat down and bounced slightly. It was one shade better than his hospital bed but only two shades softer than the floor. Apparently, the Amish didn’t go in for luxury.
He lay back on the bed and folded his arms behind his head to stare at the ceiling. Was his own bedroom this bare? He waited for another spark of memory, but nothing came.
The pain in his head had settled to a dull ache he’d almost grown used to. There were pain pills in his duffel bag, a prescription filled at the hospital pharmacy, but he didn’t like the idea of using them. His thinking was muddled enough without narcotics. He closed his eyes and laid one arm across his face. Slowly, the tension left his body and he dozed.
A rap on the door brought him awake. He sat up surprised to see it was fully dark beyond the window outside. Karen stood in the doorway, her arms loaded with sheets, quilts and a pillow. She asked, “Did I wake you?”
“No. I was only resting.” John wasn’t about to make Karen feel bad after all that she’d done for him. He rose to take the linens from her. Their fresh sun-dried fragrance filled his nostrils.
Taking a step back, she folded her arms nervously. “I left you a plate of food on the table. You should eat. You need to regain your strength.”
“Thanks.” He expected her to hurry away, but she lingered.
“Is the house to your satisfaction?” she asked.
“It’s great. Better than a four-star motel. That’s a place where people can stay when they’re traveling—if you didn’t know.” Did he sound like a fool or what?
An amused grin curved her full lips. “I know what a motel is. We do travel sometimes. I have even been to Florida to visit my great aunt and uncle there.”
“I’ll bet the horse got tired trotting all that way.”
Her gi
ggle made him smile. A weight lifted from his chest.
Composing herself, Karen said, “I took the train.”
It surprised him how much he enjoyed talking to her. He asked, “Can’t you fly?”
“No, my arms get too tired,” she answered with a straight face.
He laughed for the first time since he’d awakened in the hospital. “I don’t know Amish rules.”
“We can’t own automobiles, but we can hire a driver to take us places that are too far for a buggy trip. With our bishop’s permission, we can travel by train or by bus and even by airplane if the conditions are warranted.”
“That must be tough.”
“That’s the point. If it is easy to get in a car and go somewhere, to a new city or a new job, then families become scattered and the bonds that bind us together and to God become frayed and broken.”
“It’s an interesting philosophy.”
“It is our faith, not an idea. It is the way God commands us to live. How is your headache?”
“It’s gone,” he said in surprise.
“I thought so. You look rested. And now you must eat before your supper gets cold.”
He followed her down the hall to the kitchen. A plate covered with aluminum foil sat on the table. He peeled back the cover and the mouthwatering aroma of roast chicken and vegetables rose with the steam. His stomach growled. He was hungry. “Smells good.”
He hesitated, then said, “I remembered something tonight.”
Her eyes brightened. “What?”
If he shared his small victory would she think he was nuts? He didn’t care if she did. He was tired of being alone.
“I’ve cooked trout before. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it’s my first real memory. At least, I believe it was a memory.”
“It is a start. We must give thanks to God.”
His elation slipped a notch. Wasn’t God the one who’d put him in this situation? If he were to give thanks it would have to be for remembering something important—like his name.
She said, “At least you know one more thing about yourself.”
He could cook fish, he had no criminal record and he didn’t crave drugs. Yeah, he was off to a roaring good start in his quest to collect personal information. Maybe tomorrow he’d find he knew how to sharpen a pencil.
Depression lowered its dark blanket over him. “Thanks for the supper.”
“You are most welcome. I will expect you at our breakfast table in the morning,” she stated firmly. The look in her eyes told him she was used to being the boss.
Her family would be there, people who would stare at him with pity or worse. Was he ready for that?
Not waiting for his answer, she said, “I will send Jacob to get you if you don’t appear. No, I will send Noah. His endless questions will make you wish you had stayed in Hope Springs. The only way to silence him is to feed him. Guten nacht, John Doe.”
“Good night, Karen.”
The ribbons of her white bonnet fluttered over her shoulders as she spun around and headed out the door. It appeared he wouldn’t be allowed to hide here in the house if she had her way.
That was okay. He wouldn’t mind seeing her face across the breakfast table or at any other time. Why wasn’t she married?
He reined in the thought quickly. It was none of his business. She was an attractive woman with a vibrant personality, but he was in no position to think about flexing his social skills. What if he had a wife waiting for him somewhere?
He stared at his left hand. No discernible pale band indicated he normally wore a wedding ring. It wasn’t proof positive, of course. Not every married man wore a wedding band. Did he feel married?
How could he remember frying trout and not remember if he had a wife?
The creaking of a floorboard in the other room caught his attention. Was there someone in the house with him? His mouth went dry as a new fear struck.
Had someone come back to finish the job and make sure he was dead?
Chapter Four
Grabbing a knife from the drawer beside the sink, John walked slowly to the doorway of the sitting room and scoped it out. It was empty.
Was he imagining things now? He started to turn away, but another sound stopped him. He focused on the sofa just as the face of a little girl peeked over the back. The moment she saw him watching she ducked down again.
Relief made him light-headed. Karen had mentioned she had a sister. It seemed one Imhoff was too curious about him to wait until morning. He said, “I see you.”
“No, you don’t,” came her reply.
Feeling foolish, he laid the knife on the table, then he crossed the sitting room and bent over the sofa. Looking down, he saw her huddled into a little ball. “Okay, now I see you.”
Wearing a dark blue dress with a white apron and a white bonnet identical to her older sister’s she looked like a miniature Karen. She nodded and grinned. “Ja, now you see me.”
Scrambling to her feet, she sidestepped to the other end of the sofa. “You are my dead man. I saw you in the ditch. Everyone said I made it up, but I didn’t.”
“I was in the ditch, but I wasn’t dead.”
She moved around the room trailing her fingers along the furniture. “I know. God didn’t want you, either. We are just alike.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m not sure we are.”
“It’s true,” she insisted. “This house belonged to my grossmammi.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
She cocked her head sideways. “Really? It means grandmother. These are her things, but God wanted her in heaven, and she had to leave her things here.”
John sat on the sofa. “Do you think your grandmother will mind that I’m using them?”
She shook her head. “She liked it when people came to visit.”
He said, “My name is John. What’s your name?”
“Anna.”
“It’s nice to meet you Anna. What did you mean when you said we are the same?”
“God didn’t want me to go to heaven the day my mother died. Seth, Carol and Liz got to go to Heaven with Mama, but God didn’t want me. And he didn’t want you. Why do you think that is?”
“I have no idea.”
She came to stand in front of him. Tipping her head to one side, she said, “Papa says it is because God has something special for me to do here on earth. I don’t think it’s fair, do you?”
John stared at his toes in hopes that an appropriate answer would appear. None did. He wasn’t up to discussing the meaning of life with this odd child. “I think maybe you should talk to your dad or Karen about it.”
“Okay. Are you going to eat all that chicken?”
“I was, but I’m willing to share.”
Spinning around she bounced toward the kitchen and settled in one of the chairs. He followed her and took a seat at the head of the table. Uncovering the plate, he pushed it toward her. “I’ll let you choose the piece you want.”
“I like the leg, but you are the guest.”
“That makes it easy because I like the thigh.”
He watched her bite into his supper. “Anna, can I ask you a few questions?”
She considered his request for a moment then nodded. “Okay.”
“What’s with the bonnets that you and your sister wear?”
Reaching up to touch her head, she asked, “You mean our prayer kapp?”
“Yeah, why do you wear them? I know you do because you are Amish, but why?”
She looked at him with wide eyes. “Are you joshing me?”
“No.”
“It says in the Bible that I should cover my head when I pray. I should pray all the time so I wear this all the time. Sometimes I forget to pray, but Karen reminds me. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why were you in our ditch?”
“I don’t remember what I was doing there. I don’t remember anything that happened to me b
efore you saw me. John Doe isn’t even my real name. It’s a name they gave me because I can’t remember my own.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Now you are joshing me?”
Shaking his head, he smiled and said, “I wish I were.”
The outside door opened and a teenage boy entered. He frowned at Anna. “You should not be here.”
She rolled her eyes. “Neither should you.”
“She’s not causing any trouble,” John said in defense of his visitor.
The boy ignored him. “Come now or I will tell Dat.”
Anna finished her chicken and licked her fingers. “This is my brother, Jacob. He says having an Englischer stay here will get us all in trouble with the bishop.”
John looked from Anna to her brother. “Is this true? Will my being here cause trouble?”
Jacob came into the room and took Anna by the hand. Looking at John he said, “You should leave this place.”
Turning around, Jacob left, taking his little sister with him.
It seemed getting to know the Imhoff family was going to be more difficult than John had anticipated.
Karen was cooking breakfast when John knocked at the door the following morning. She hadn’t had to send one of the children to wake him. After bidding him enter, she turned back to the stove and smiled as she stirred the frying potatoes. John was an early riser. That was one more thing he could add to his list about himself.
She moved the skillet off the heat. “Take a seat, Mr. Doe.”
He said, “Please call me John.”
Noah and Anna were already at the table sitting opposite each other but Eli and Jacob had not yet come in from the milking. Anna pointed to the chair opposite her. “Sit by Noah, John.”
He settled himself into the chair she indicated and looked at the boy beside him. “You must be Noah.”
Karen glanced over her shoulder to see Noah fairly bursting with curiosity. “Ja, I am Noah. Is it true you can’t remember your name? Not even where you came from? Do you remember that you’re English or did someone tell you? How did you know how to talk? If you need to know how to use a knife and fork I can show you.”
Patricia Davids Christmas Brides of Amish Country: An Amish ChristmasThe Christmas QuiltA Hope Springs Christmas Page 4