Anna's Forgotten Fiancé

by Carrie Lighte

  “It wasn’t like you at all,” admitted Tessa. “I couldn’t understand why you were standing me up—we’d made a date to walk over to the mercantile during my break to look at material. I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind about asking me to be a newehocker.”

  “Jah, and when you made a remark about not being able to get past me at the door of the bakery, I took it as a judgment on my weight,” Katie confessed. “Especially since I was carrying a load of goodies. Which, by the way, I was purchasing to bring here for dessert—it was my turn but I’d had a cold and I didn’t want to spread germs by baking for everyone.”

  “Neh, not at all!” Anna assured them. “I simply couldn’t—I can’t remember any part of my life after August. The doctor says those memories may return soon and I hope they do because by all counts, I’ve heard we’ve had many gut times together.”

  “We still can,” Katie suggested. “And nothing makes for a gut time like a treat from Faith Yoder’s bakery. Follow me and I’ll show you where I’m keeping a secret stash!”

  * * *

  Fletcher scanned the yard for Anna, wondering if she’d stepped outside for a breath of air. They had a long-standing practice of “bumping into each other” under the tallest tree in the church hosts’ yards after he helped put the benches into the bench wagon and she participated in dish cleanup. He wondered if there was any chance she’d remember and meet him there that day. But beneath the Hooleys’ oak, he happened upon his uncle instead of Anna.

  “My knee acts up when I sit that long so I have to get out and move around,” Isaiah explained to his nephew. “Especially when the weather is damp and dreary like it is today.”

  “It must run in the family,” Fletcher replied. “My daed suffered from arthritis, too.”

  “Jah, I remember. Speaking of suffering, how is Anna?”

  “She’s not in much physical pain anymore, but her memory still hasn’t returned.”

  “It will, son.” His uncle’s confidence was comforting. Isaiah continued, “She’s young. It’s not like when you get to be my age. The memory just goes. The other day I climbed down a ladder to get a tool and couldn’t remember what I was looking for. I climbed back up, remembered, climbed back down and forgot again by the time I reached the landing.”

  “No wonder your knee hurts, with all that ladder climbing.” Fletcher chuckled. Then he confided, “I wish it were just a single item Anna couldn’t remember. But she doesn’t remember events, she doesn’t remember people... She doesn’t remember me.”

  “Mamm sent me to round you up, Daed,” Aaron interrupted, suddenly present at Fletcher’s side. “One of the girls has a headache and needs to get home.”

  “Jah, alright. But speaking of headaches, if you need to take Anna to her doctor appointments, you go right ahead, Fletcher, you hear?” Isaiah ordered.

  “I’m glad you mentioned that, because she has a follow-up appointment on Tuesday afternoon in Highland Springs. It’s possible Naomi or Ray—”

  “Neh, it’s better if you’re the one who brings Anna to Highland Springs,” Isaiah interjected. “I trust you to manage your workload. As for Anna not remembering you, she will. Just wait a little longer, pray a little harder and keep spending every spare moment you can with her. Either way, the more she’s with you, the more she’ll know you. And as they say, to know you is to love you.”

  “Denki, Onkel, that’s gut advice,” Fletcher said as Isaiah clapped him on his shoulder before meandering away. He was heartened by his uncle’s perspective.

  “Like Daed said, it’s okay if you leave early Tuesday afternoon, but you’ll need to clear it with me in the future if you change your schedule,” Aaron remarked. “You can’t just leave the site without notifying anyone where you’re going or when you’ll be back.”

  “Of course,” Fletcher agreed, even though he was thinking that Aaron was the one who left the work site without telling anyone where he was going. Upon waking that morning, Fletcher had asked the Lord to forgive him for his annoyance about Aaron’s get-well gift, so he didn’t want to slip back into a resentful attitude. He also prayed that while he waited for Anna’s memory to return, he’d be able to maintain a more positive outlook about their future. “Have you seen Anna around?”

  “She and the Fisher sisters were eating doughnuts on the side porch a few minutes ago.”

  Approaching the house, Fletcher heard the trio’s laughter before he saw them. “That’s the sound of old friends,” he said as he hopped up the porch steps.

  “Who are you calling old?” Katie teased him.

  “I meant to say it’s the sound of gut friends,” Fletcher clarified. “Gut friends and gut women.”

  “For that, you may have the last doughnut.” Tessa passed him a cream-filled pastry.

  As Fletcher chewed, he noticed how reserved Anna seemed. She had dark circles under her eyes and he hoped he hadn’t exhausted her with yesterday’s activities. Or was there another reason she appeared fatigued? What happened after he left the previous evening? Did she remember something? Was it about Aaron? Determined not to let his dread get the best of him, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and stood up.

  “May I take you home, Anna?” he asked. “I know your family must have had a full buggy this morning.”

  “Jah, denki, Fletcher,” she answered formally. “Mach’s. Gut. Ka-tie. And. Tes-sa,” she said slowly, and for some reason, this elicited peals of laughter from the Fisher sisters.

  “Why did you use a funny voice when you said goodbye to Katie and Tessa?” Fletcher asked conversationally as they rode away.

  “It was a private joke,” was Anna’s terse reply.

  “Oh, I understand,” Fletcher said, although usually Anna enjoyed sharing her funny stories with him.

  “Jah, I figured you might, since you like to keep certain matters private yourself,” she replied stiffly.

  Now Fletcher knew something was wrong. He jerked the reins, causing the horse to detour down a gravelly side road overlooking a meadow where stubbles of crocuses, tulips and wildflowers were beginning to poke through the rich soil.

  When they stopped, he said, “If there’s something troubling you, Anna, I wish you’d tell me outright.”

  “Ha!” she declared. “You’re one to talk, considering what you haven’t told me!”

  “I honestly have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  “I’m referring to the one very important, very personal thing you neglected to tell me!” Anna harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Fletcher was utterly baffled. Was the issue that was upsetting Anna now the same issue that caused her to write the note? “I’m sorry, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about your first fiancée,” she said, staring straight ahead.

  Fletcher noticed he’d curled his fingers into a fist. The mention of Joyce always caused him to tense up. He loosely shook his hands and then rested them on his knees. “What about her?”

  “Then you don’t deny you were engaged to someone else before me?”

  Fletcher snickered. “Of course I don’t deny it. I told you all about her shortly after we first met.”

  Anna wasn’t satisfied. “Perhaps, but why didn’t you tell me about her after my accident?” she pressed. “You knew I wouldn’t have remembered hearing about her.”

  Fletcher’s temper flared, imagining how Anna might have learned about his first engagement. “Who has been telling you about these things from my past anyway? Was it Aaron? Melinda?” he guessed. “Or did you find your diary and read something there?”

  “The question isn’t who told me about your past, Fletcher. The question is why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  “It didn’t seem important,” he stated.

  “Not important?” she challenged. “How can you sa
y being engaged isn’t important?”

  She was sobbing into her hands now, and Fletcher recalled Dr. Donovan’s concern about unprovoked emotional outbursts. He was worried that this might qualify. Then he realized that if it did, he also probably needed to consult a doctor because he felt disproportionately emotional, too. He had to calm down himself if he was going to be a comfort to Anna.

  “Anna,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his. “I didn’t tell you about my allergy to mushrooms, either. Now that was important, but I didn’t bring it up because at the time, it didn’t seem relevant. That’s the phrase I should have used. My first engagement didn’t seem relevant.”

  Anna’s giggle reassured Fletcher there was no need to seek medical attention: her tears had nothing to do with her concussion. His mind eased, he offered her a handkerchief, and soon her sniffing had quieted and she’d dabbed her cheeks dry.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized and carefully folded the handkerchief into a triangle, ashamed to face him. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night, but even so, that wasn’t a very mature way for me to approach this topic.”

  “I should be more understanding,” Fletcher acknowledged. “I can’t imagine what it feels like to lose your memory.”

  “It feels like the sky looks,” Anna said, pointing to the white, overcast expanse. “It feels vast and empty and colorless. I want to remember, but when I try, there’s nothing there.”

  “Then it’s up to me to do a better job of filling in the blanks,” Fletcher stated firmly. “Joyce Beiler was the name of my first fiancée. We courted for a year and although in hindsight I wouldn’t say we were in love, I did care deeply for her and believed she felt the same way about me. Anyway, the summer before we decided to get married, Joyce’s brother-in-law’s cousin, Frederick, came to live with him and Joyce’s sister, to help with growing and harvest seasons. I thought it was only natural that Joyce spent a lot of time with Frederick, since she was responsible for helping her sister and brother-in-law at the farm, too.”

  Noticing Fletcher’s voice drop, Anna said softly, “It’s okay, you needn’t explain. I think I understand what happened.”

  But Fletcher cleared his throat and continued talking. “Eventually, I had a conversation—I had several conversations—with Joyce about my concerns, but she assured me she felt nothing but a sisterly type of fondness for Frederick. She and I completed our meetings with the deacon and announced our wedding intentions to our families and to the leit in church. Four days before the wedding, she told me she couldn’t go through with it—she was in love with Frederick.”

  Anna gasped and touched Fletcher’s forearm. “Oh! That must have been so painful for you.”

  “It was.” He grimaced and hung his head. “At the time it felt personally excruciating and publicly disgraceful. I have to admit, I was relieved to leave Green Lake.”

  Anna understood only too well; Aaron’s betrayal had wounded her deeply, too. But her relationship with Aaron hadn’t progressed nearly as far as Fletcher’s relationship had with Joyce, nor was the reason behind Anna’s breakup public knowledge. She winced to imagine the extent of disbelief, disappointment and dejection—not to mention, embarrassment—Fletcher must have had to overcome, and her admiration for him burgeoned.

  The air was silent except for the sound of the horse occasionally swishing his tail or shuffling his hooves, and after a few moments, Anna apologized. “I wish I hadn’t made you relive that memory.”

  “It was necessary in order for me to clear it up with you,” he replied. “I have nothing to hide so I don’t want you to feel as if I’m keeping anything from you. I don’t want you to feel as if there’s something you need to keep from me, either. No matter what it is.”

  “Of course,” Anna pledged pensively, noting the edge in Fletcher’s tone. Did he think she was keeping something from him? If so, what? There was no other man in her life. The only person she’d ever walked out with was Aaron, and they’d broken up more than six months before Fletcher arrived in town. Since Fletcher was Anna’s intended, she assumed she must have confided her intimate secrets to him, just as he’d confided his to her. That meant she must have told him what happened with Aaron and Melinda, didn’t it? But, maybe she hadn’t. Without asking, she couldn’t be certain.

  “What have I told you about my past?” Anna questioned.

  Fletcher looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  “I must have told you things about my life, but I can’t remember what they are. What do you know about me?”

  Fletcher wiped his upper lip. “Well, you told me about your mamm dying when you were a bobbel and how your daed and you lived with your groossmammi until she passed, too. I know that your daed married Naomi when you were sixteen, and it was a big adjustment for you to suddenly have four brothers around. You felt as if they were forever underfoot or spying on you.”

  Anna giggled. “Sometimes, I still feel that way about Eli and Evan.”

  “Jah, but you also said that helping Naomi care for them as young kinner made you eager to have bobblin of your own one day.”

  “What did I tell you about Melinda?”

  Fletcher tilted his head from side to side, as if to work a kink out of his neck, before he said, “You said her daed sent her to stay with you because she was getting into trouble during her running-around period. He thought you might be a gut influence on her, since her mamm died long ago and she hadn’t any female relatives living nearby.”

  “Go on,” she prompted him.

  “You tried to set a gut example and invited her to attend social events with you and Aaron, whom you’d been walking out with for about two and a half years. But then last February, you discovered Melinda and Aaron, um...”

  Anna concluded his sentence for him, “Kissing behind the stable.”

  “Jah,” Fletcher acknowledged.

  “Did I tell you how I felt about that?”

  “How you felt?” he repeated hesitantly. “Anna, are you sure you want to relive this?”

  “I have no need to relive it—I already distinctly remember that part of my life. It happened long before my accident. What I want is to know what I told you about it. As your betrothed, I must have confided my innermost secrets in you. What did I tell you?” she challenged.

  “You told me you were devastated at first, of course. But you said you soon realized it wasn’t that Aaron had broken your heart as much as he’d broken your trust that pained you. Compared with losing your daed, you said ending your courtship with Aaron was easy. That’s how you knew you hadn’t truly been in love with him—because losing Aaron didn’t split your heart in half.”

  “That’s right.” Anna nodded, contented to confirm Fletcher knew exactly how she felt. “What else did I tell you about the months following the breakup and my daed’s death?”

  Fletcher’s voice was gentle with compassion. “You told me spring was a blur. That everyone said how strong you were in the wake of your daed’s passing, caring for Naomi and the boys and putting up with Melinda’s antics besides. You told me your secret was that you made yourself numb and kept as busy as you could. You said the only thing you looked forward to was the half hour you allowed yourself each day to weep in private—in the hayloft during the spring, and then beneath the willow by the creek in the warmer summer months. Which, as I’ve indicated, is where we first met.”

  Anna’s eyes smarted. I must have trusted him wholeheartedly to confide those emotions in him, she realized.

  Aloud, she said in a raspy voice, “Denki for telling me all that. It helps me to know we’ve both shared our feelings and experiences so openly.”

  * * *

  “Of course,” Fletcher replied. Although time would tell if she’d come to remember she hadn’t quite been open about sharing all of her feelings, he was grateful for the sense of calm that seemed to h
ave settled over Anna. He wouldn’t have forgiven himself if she’d gotten so upset they needed to call Dr. Donovan.

  “Melinda told me I’ve seemed prickly since my accident,” Anna said, interrupting his thoughts. “I don’t mean to be that way, but it’s frustrating trying to make sense of things. So I’ll probably continue to ask you a lot of questions.”

  “Please do. As I said, we spent our early courting days down by the creek, just talking. We told each other all about our dreams and disappointments, our triumphs and our failures. We used to spend hours talking about our faith and our families, and we shared other details from our lives, too. For example, I even know that when you were a girl, you believed lightning bugs were actually made out of lightning.”

  “You mean they’re not?” Anna laughed before requesting, “Now tell me some little thing I know about you that I don’t know I know about you.”

  Relieved to engage in a little levity after such an intense discussion, Fletcher pushed up his coat sleeve and lifted his arm. “See this scar? You know that I got it hurtling over a fence.”

  “Who was chasing you?”

  “It wasn’t a who, it was a what. It was Thistle, the neighbor’s goat, to be precise.”

  “Ach! The mischievous animal!”

  “Actually, I was the one who was mischievous. I was taking a shortcut, which amounted to trespassing. My first and last time.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Oh, around twenty-two,” Fletcher said.

  “Neh!” Anna exclaimed. “Really?”

  “Neh,” he admitted. “Not really. I was about eight or nine. Definitely old enough to know better.”

  Laughing, Anna asked, “Did I confess any of my wayward escapades to you?”

  “Only that you once burned your finger snatching an oatmeal cookie from your groossmammi’s oven. And that you used to climb trees to hide on your brothers.”

  “I still do that sometimes.”

  “Really?” Fletcher questioned.

  “Neh, not really,” Anna echoed impishly. “I’d like to think my behavior is a little more mature than that now. Although I haven’t forgotten how to climb so I still could if I wanted to.”