Amish Country Amnesia Read online

  Sarah surveyed the area. With what Lyddie had said about the man being attacked, she didn’t want to risk any danger on their part. But all seemed still and silent there in the woods.

  On the other side of the boulders, a man in a gray snowmobile suit lay with a fine layer of snow on him. A gash on the side of his head trickled a bright red flow of blood. A little bit of blood had dripped onto his shoulder and the rock where he had apparently hit his head. His snowmobile suit was torn in a couple of places, but other than that, he appeared well. His eyes were closed as if in sleep, but Sarah flew to his side. She kneeled on the snow next to him and pulled down the collar of his protective jacket to feel for a pulse. His heartbeat was strong. She released a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. The man was still alive. She lowered her head and turned to listen for his breath. It was even and steady. She then gently felt every bone, but each felt solid and unharmed.

  So far, everything had checked normal, but he still had not reacted to her touch.

  She prodded his shoulder, lifted his hand, rolled his ankle. “Hello? Can you hear me? Can you wake up?”

  He remained unresponsive.

  A chill shook through her. Whether it was fear or the cold did not matter. She needed to be careful of her surroundings, for her sake, for the sake of her daughter and for the sake of this unknown man. But she also needed to get him to warmth and shelter to treat his wounds.

  She shook her head, a desperate attempt to understand human beings. What kind of person would allow an injured man to lie in the snow and not care for him? Obviously, not a good one. Lyddie had said that there were two on snowmobiles chasing the man. She had even mentioned a gun in the hand of one of the pursuers. Had they hoped to kill him? Thought he was dead?

  Sarah stood and looked back to the site of the accident and what was left of the tracks in the snow. Thankfully, all remained quiet. But what if the attackers returned? Lyddie had said they had driven off and out of sight. But if they were evil enough to leave a hurt man here, a man who appeared to be dead, what would they do to an innocent Amish woman and her daughter? There were no other footprints besides their own and a couple of sets of prints near where the snowmobiles had stopped. It seemed as if they had dismounted but then left again. There were also no other snowmobile tracks, but the falling snow was quickly filling in everything. Soon, there would be no visible signs of any human presence left.

  The best thing to do would be to get the man to the house immediately. To safety. A neighbor had a telephone in his barn for business, but the neighbor was farther from here than the distance to her own home. If his pursuers did return, Sarah did not want to be there, exposed, nor did she want the injured man to be, whoever he was.

  “Lyddie.” Sarah kept her voice to a loud whisper. “Bring the sled. There.” She pointed to a path around the rocks.

  As the dog brought the sled, Sarah leaned down to the man. “My name is Sarah, and my daughter, Lyddie, is here.” Could he hear her? She had no way to know, but she needed to try. “You are injured, and I am taking you to my house. We will load you on the sled.”

  Lyddie led Snowball to pull the sled until it sat alongside the man. Squatting down, Sarah put her arms under the man’s shoulders and instructed Lyddie to get him by the ankles. “We will move you now,” she said to the man, then nodded to Lyddie, and together they swung him onto the sled, then tucked the quilt about him.

  The man moved his head from one side to the other, a low groan issuing from his lips, but his eyes did not open.

  With Lyddie’s encouragement, the dog strained against the harness to haul the sled. Sarah grabbed the handle and helped to pull through the snow, as well. As the hum of snowmobiles sounded again in the distance, Sarah urged the dog to haul faster. Safety behind her locked doors was close, and her hands perspired within her gloves at the thought of being out in the woods if those men returned.

  The man continued a low groan off and on through most of the walk back to the house. At the back door, Sarah released Snowball and rubbed her ears, conveying her gratitude for the dog’s help. The stranger had moved in the sled, so Sarah leaned down and shook his shoulder again. “Can you hear me? We are home, and I need you to stand and walk inside. Can you get up?”

  When he didn’t stand, Sarah grasped one arm and put Lyddie on the other. Together, they pulled him to a sitting position. That movement seemed to awaken something inside him, for he stood, leaning heavily on them. With his eyes mostly closed, he staggered into the house as Sarah guided him into the downstairs guest bedroom. He was not overly tall, but his solid form filled out his snowmobile suit, and Sarah knew she would never be able to get him up the stairs.

  As he lay down on the quilt, his head thrashed and his eyelids fluttered as if with some internal struggle. His eyes opened suddenly, and she gasped to look into such vivid green eyes. He startled, grabbing toward his hip as if reaching for something, a harsh and intense look on his face.

  She jumped back, clutching her skirt.

  Perhaps he was the dangerous one after all?

  TWO

  An eerie quiet filtered through his mind, a stillness that felt foreign and uncomfortable. With what felt like great effort, he opened his eyes only to find more darkness, softened slightly by moonlight coming through a window. Before he could form a coherent thought or try to lift his head, the darkness consumed him again.

  His next sensation was a sharpness in his temple. Without even opening his eyes, he knew it was daylight. He released his eyelids to a slit. Bright sunshine streamed through windows on either side of the bed.

  He lifted a hand to his forehead, trying to locate the source of the stabbing pain. His hand came into contact with what felt like a bandage, but the hurt seemed to come from all over his head. Just the act of moving his arm made him aware of an aching soreness that consumed his entire body. Shading his eyes, he opened them further.

  The walls around him were a stark white. Light blue curtains hung at the windows, but they were thin enough that they did not block the light very much. He was in a bed, covered with a colorful quilt, a wood armoire standing against the wall across from him. Near the door, a young girl with a blue dress and white cap on her head sat in a straight-backed chair, reading a book. She must have noticed his movement, for she looked up and their stares locked. Her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise, and she dashed from the room.

  Before he could try to sit up, the girl returned with a young woman who wore a similar dress and cap.

  The woman pressed her lips together as if concerned, and tiny crinkling lines formed around her eyes. But her gaze radiated warmth and care. “How are you?” Her voice was quiet and calming.

  She pulled the chair up to the bedside and sat, her hands clasped in her lap. Her face seemed to be completely devoid of makeup, and yet a beauty radiated from her that he hadn’t seen in... Well, he couldn’t remember when.

  He cleared his throat, trying to summon his voice. His mind was a complete blank, yet a sense of discomfort, danger even, seemed to hover over him. How was he? “I’m... I’m sore.”

  “I am glad to see you are awake. I bandaged the cut on your forehead last night.” She fluttered her hand up to the side of his head. “May I check it?”

  He nodded. She peeled back part of the bandage, her touch a whisper against his skin. “It has stopped bleeding. That is gut.” She stood and stepped to the window, lifting the curtain to look out. She stood there a moment, surveying, a frown creasing her brow. But as she returned to the chair, she seemed to force a small smile. “Now. Introductions. I am Sarah Burkholder. This is my house. And this,” she motioned the girl forward, “is my daughter, Lyddie.”

  She looked at him, expectation etched around her eyes and mouth.

  But his mind was blank, a black hole of nothingness. He closed his eyes to block out any distractions, including the woman’s pretty face and
the sweetness of the little girl, and searched for any information about who he was. What was his name? What was his job? What had happened yesterday that landed him here in this home? And why did he have such a pervasive feeling of danger?

  He had no idea.

  He opened his eyes to find the woman still watching him, waiting for an answer. “I don’t know.”

  Confusion flitted across her face. “You do not know your own name?”

  He thought again. “No.”

  “Where do you live?”

  Again, he searched and came up blank. “I don’t know. Here? With you?”

  “No. Not here.” She giggled, a musical sound that calmed him. “What is your job?”

  “I don’t know. What can you tell me about yourself? Where is your husband? Where are we? How did you get me here?”

  She held out a hand. “In good time. First, I will send Lyddie to fetch the doctor.”

  At a nod from her mother, the girl ran out of the room. A few moments later, an exterior door slammed.

  The woman settled herself again on the chair. “My husband was killed two years ago when a car hit his buggy. We are near Nappanee in Indiana, in the home my husband built when we moved here. We are Amish.” She gestured to her dark blue dress, her white apron, her starched kapp.

  “Yes.” Somehow, he knew the word Amish and had a vague inkling of what it meant. That’s why the girl went running for the doctor. There would be no telephone in the house.

  “Lyddie and I brought you here on a sled pulled by our malamute, Snowball. I did not see it, but she told me that you were chased by two men on snowmobiles. You crashed into a tree. I think you hit your head on a rock by the creek.”

  “What about the two men?”

  “They left you. They must have thought you were dead.” She paused, clearly thinking through her next words. When she spoke again, it was haltingly. “I do not like to bother the sheriff. He is...not friendly to me. To our way of life. But I will contact him if you wish.”

  “No!” He struggled to sit up in bed, ache consuming his body. Where did that vehemence come from? A dark foreboding invaded his mind when he thought of law enforcement, and he clutched his head in an effort to calm himself. “I... I can’t explain it. I don’t know why. But no, don’t bring the police into this. Not yet.” Maybe if his memories returned and he could figure out who he was and what sort of situation he was in, then he could involve law enforcement. “I wouldn’t know what to tell them anyway.”

  She laid a hand on the quilt as if to calm him. “I will respect your wishes. But you need a name. Are you sure you cannot remember your own?”

  “My head aches so terribly that it hurts to try to remember anything.”

  “May I call you John?” She tilted her head, and one side of her mouth quirked up. “John is a good Bible name meaning Yahweh is gracious. Would you not agree that the Lord has been gracious to you, saving you from worse harm?”

  Something pinged in his brain. “Yes, the Lord has been gracious.”

  “You are a religious man? You believe?”

  A comfortable warmth filled him as she asked the questions. “I don’t know for sure, but I think I do.”

  “That is gut. But also, you are a John Doe. Is that not what the Englisch call a person with no name?”

  “How do you know that?” This beautiful Amish woman whose presence soothed him was certainly a mystery.

  She ducked her head, the top of her kapp catching the sunlight. “I love to read.”

  As if to change the subject, she stood and crossed the room to the armoire, pulling out an Amish-looking pair of trousers and shirt as well as a pair of suspenders. “Your clothes need to be laundered. You may put these on for the time being. They belong to my brother, but he left them here after his last visit.”

  A whistle sounded from another room, and she laid the clothes at the foot of the bed.

  “That is the kettle. I will bring you some herbal tea. Chamomile. It will help relieve your headache and your muscle soreness. Do you like tea?” She stood and moved to the door.

  Did he like tea? He had no idea, but the lovely Sarah was so kind and so accommodating that he would drink just about anything she could bring him. A nod would have to suffice to show his agreement, as a spasm of pain shot through his head.

  Why couldn’t he remember anything? Who was he? Why was he there, in the Amish countryside, and who were the two men from yesterday? A blankness settled over him, but it was cloaked in darkness as the overwhelming sensation of danger returned, and he feared not only for his future but also for the future of the beautiful widow who sheltered him.

  * * *

  Sarah dropped the bag of tea leaves into the cup and slowly poured the boiling water over it. She inhaled deeply of the soothing scent, in need of some calming herself after the events of the prior twenty-four hours.

  A shiver threatened her, and she returned the kettle to the propane-powered stove top before she stepped to the window to survey the yard again. Her sleep had been fitful the night before, her dreams filled with burning snowmobiles and strange men come to harm her and her daughter.

  Who was this man in her spare bedroom, and what sort of danger had he brought to her peaceful household?

  For what must have been at least the tenth time, she mentally retraced the events of yesterday. It certainly had looked from the snowmobile tracks like this man in her house was the one being chased. But did it follow, then, that he was innocent? Good? She had no way of knowing, and it seemed, neither did he. Did it matter? She had a Christian obligation to help those in need.

  As she watched, the doctor’s car pulled into her drive. Lyddie flew out of the passenger side and toward the kitchen door. Ach, the child would be so excited about a ride in the car she would chatter of nothing else for days. The tall, thin Dr. Jones unfolded himself from the driver’s seat, retrieved his black bag from the back seat and approached the door as Lyddie waited for him. The hair around his temples sported more gray than the last time Sarah had seen him, and a pair of glasses perched on his pointed nose.

  He stepped inside the back room, and Sarah rushed to hang up his coat. “Dr. Jones, danki for coming.”

  “Hello, Sarah. I’m always glad to visit my Amish friends and keep up the traditions of my father. Family and community are important to some of us Englishers, as well.” A teasing twinkle sparkled in his eye. He looked pointedly at the remains of the apple pie on the stove top.

  “Would you like a piece of pie before you go? I would not want you to leave hungry.” The banter was as old a tradition as the house calls, but Sarah relished her friendship with the doctor.

  “If you insist.” He smiled with warmth and touched her shoulder before he turned toward the downstairs bedroom. “Now, Lyddie tells me you have a man in there who was in a snowmobiling accident yesterday?”

  Sarah filled him in on the details she knew, few as they were, including the man’s apparent amnesia, as she led him into the room and pointed him to the chair at the bedside. John had changed into the Amish clothing, creating quite a change in his appearance, and was resting on top of the quilt.

  “Dr. Jones, this is John. At least, he has agreed to be called by that name. I gave him my brother’s clothes to put on.” She turned to the patient. “John, this is Dr. Jones.”

  John attempted a smile, although it looked painful, and shook hands with the doctor. “You make house calls? I didn’t know anyone did that anymore.”

  Dr. Jones laid his black bag on the bed next to John and opened it. “My father made house calls, so I choose to continue that practice, at least with the Amish. They have a bit more difficulty in getting to the office than other folks. And there’s never a poor return on being neighborly.”

  As the doctor retrieved his stethoscope from his bag and instructed John to unbutton his shirt, Sarah stepped out
to finish making the tea and shooed Lyddie upstairs to her room to work on her stitching. She took as long as she could and then grasped the tray and stepped toward the door. “May I come in?”

  “Yes, that’s fine.”

  She entered the room to find the doctor slowly moving an instrument back and forth in front of John. He followed it with his eyes but without moving his head. But when he spotted her, her breath hitched as his green eyes smiled at her.

  The doctor placed the instrument back in his bag and snapped it shut. He stood and moved back to allow Sarah to place the tray on the bedside table. “Your patient seems quite well, Sarah. You bandaged that nasty cut on his head quite admirably, and it should heal nicely. Apart from that, a little soreness and his memory loss, I would say he is in fine shape. I don’t see any problems.”

  “That is gut.”

  He held up his hands in caution. “However, my ability to examine him is limited here. I would suggest that as soon as he feels able, he get to the hospital for an MRI and a thorough examination.” He pulled a small bottle from his bag and placed it on the table. “Here is some acetaminophen, in case your chamomile tea doesn’t relieve the pain like he wants. However,” the doctor turned to John, “you should take it only as a last resort. Allergies to acetaminophen are rare, but because you can’t remember your medical history or what medicine you might be allergic to, we don’t know how this might affect you.”

  “What about my memory, Doctor?”

  “Well, amnesia is a tricky thing, and we medical professionals still don’t know much about it. Your memory will most likely return in time. How long I cannot say.”

  John shook the doctor’s hand and thanked him for coming, then accepted the cup of tea from Sarah.

  Dr. Jones looked at Sarah and nodded toward the kitchen, and she stepped in front to lead him there. As she approached the pie, he laid a hand on her arm. “Can you wrap it to go, please? I have an appointment and can’t stay.”