Amish Country Amnesia Page 6

  At the door, John pushed her and Lyddie inside along with Snowball. “I’ll check around. Lock the door, and don’t open it until you see me.”

  She nodded her assent and closed the door behind him. Lyddie dropped to her knees to hug the dog. Desperate to do something with her hands, Sarah unfastened her cloak while she watched through the window as John disappeared into the darkness. A few moments later, his face appeared in the pane. She quickly unlocked the door for him.

  As he hung his hat on the peg, Sarah locked the door behind him. He leaned against the wall and rubbed his temples. “Nothing. I saw nothing.”

  Sarah inhaled a large breath to clear away the anxiety. “Is your head hurting again?”

  “A little.” He hung his coat on the hook and resumed massaging his forehead.

  “Why not sit down for a spell? Perhaps it will ease your headache. If you can feel better, it will help us all.”

  He nodded. “Maybe, but I’ll be right in there—” he pointed toward the recliner in the living room “—and you call me if you need anything.”

  “Jah, I will.”

  As he retreated to rest, she instructed Lyddie to set the table. With her cape and bonnet on the hook, she quickly washed her hands and peeked into the propane-powered oven at the chicken she had put in before she had gone to care for the horses.

  A couple of years ago, Sarah had doubted the choice of a malamute as a farm dog. Everything she had read indicated that they were not good guard dogs, often licking the hands of strangers rather than growling a warning. But her husband had wanted a strong dog, a work dog, and the malamute breed was nothing if not strong. Of course, once Lyddie had held the soft, furry puppy, the decision was made.

  So, Snowball’s warning outside had been a surprise, but perhaps not helpful in the end. They had feared an intruder when it had probably only been a deer searching for food. Now, Snowball settled into her bed on the back inside porch.

  The chicken had browned nicely, and Sarah stood to lift the lid of the pot on the stove top. Chunks of potato simmered in the gently bubbling water. She retrieved a fork from the drawer and speared a piece of potato against the side of the pot. It resisted a little too much, but a few more minutes would finish them.

  Unsettledness dogged her, and she licked her lips to ease the dryness as she reminded herself to keep a steady hand when taking the chicken from the oven. If only John were sitting at the table, would that ease her? It seemed that he had been there with his calming presence for a lot longer than just a couple of days. But that’s all it had been since Lyddie had led her to the man bleeding into the snow near his wrecked snowmobile. She glanced at the table, eyeing what she had begun to think of as his chair. But she wouldn’t bother him. He needed his rest, especially with his headache. Rest was always helpful in recovery, and she prayed that included recovery of memories.

  She paced to the front window and peered out. But when she saw nothing but more nothingness, she pulled the curtain closed and double-checked to make sure the window was completely covered. She tested the lock on the front door, the cold of the metal sending a chill into her fingers. Her path took her through the living room, and John shifted in the chair as she passed. At the back inside porch, an attached but enclosed entryway without coverings on the windows, Snowball lay on her bed in the corner, raising her head for a petting when Sarah stepped in.

  Lifting her long skirt out of the way, she crouched down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. The malamute seemed almost to smile as Sarah spoke to her in her doggy voice. “Are you comfy, Snowball? Is it nap time? Are you tired from all your guarding?” She arranged the blanket around her, gave her one last scratch on top of her head and pushed herself to standing.

  In the kitchen, Sarah thrust her hands into the oven mitts that rested on the countertop and removed the lid of the pot of potatoes into the sink. As she hefted the pot to carry it to the sink to drain the potatoes, Snowball whined from the back inside porch. Normally, she would not have noticed, but since John had arrived, her senses had been on full alert. Snowball had not been acting like herself either, which gave Sarah pause.

  Still holding the pot, she approached the door to the porch to check on the dog, a reassuring sound on her lips. But as she entered the doorway, a man’s scowling face stared in from the window.

  She froze, her hands gripping the handles of the pot. Her heart took up an instant beating against her rib cage, as if trying to break free.

  The man seemed to be looking to her side. He had not seen her.

  Gott, help!

  Before she could think to move, the doorknob rattled. The man’s face pointed toward the doorway. His stare caught her. She looked straight into the most evil eyes she had ever seen.

  What should she do?

  A split second later, the door flung open. A malicious winter wind swirled around her. As the man reached in toward her, a crowbar in his hand, she turned the pot up and heaved the contents toward him. The water and chunks of potato hit him squarely in the face and chest. Water splattered on the floor, and chunks of potato bounced against her shoes.

  The man let loose a cry of agonizing pain. Sarah stepped back but held on to the pot, her mind reeling to figure out what she should do next. With his eyes shut in pain, he continued to advance through the porch toward Sarah.

  * * *

  John scrambled from the chair and made it to the doorway to the back porch as the man emitted a second shout of agony. He quickly assessed the situation—the man clawing at his eyes, obviously in great pain and unable to see, and the Amish woman with the gut instincts to use a pot of boiling water as a weapon.

  With both hands, John pushed the man back out the door. The intruder stumbled away, one hand on his face and the other hand out in front like a blind man trying to feel his way. He emitted a string of words that John was glad Sarah could not hear. Living a sheltered life as the Amish did, she may not even have known what they were.

  John rushed back inside and locked the door. Sarah had returned to the kitchen, placing the pot in the sink and then standing, staring as if in shock. Lyddie peeked from behind the doorway, her eyes wide and her hands worrying the ties that hung loose from her kapp.

  Not for the first time, John felt a desperation for a telephone. There was simply no way to summon help, except for hitching up the horse and buggy. But what help would he summon? The lack of knowledge was more crippling than the lack of a phone.

  “That was good thinking on your part, Sarah.” As he approached, she turned, her eyes puddled with unshed tears.

  “Gott, forgive me. But I was so scared. I... I just reacted.”

  He laid his hand on her forearm and squeezed, a gesture he hoped conveyed his appreciation in her actions that had protected them all. “He’ll be helpless for a while. His eyes were turning bright red and beginning to swell. But it’s just a matter of time before he’s back, probably with a vengeance.”

  Lyddie shrank against the wall. Snowball finally had emerged from her bed and came to Lyddie’s side to lick her hand. “Mamm, are we going to die?”

  Something seemed to shake free in Sarah, and her eyes focused on her daughter. Without heed to the windows or doors, she rushed across the kitchen and dropped to her knees in front of Lyddie, gathering her in her arms. “Ach, liebchen. We have John to protect us.”

  Both females looked to him with pleading eyes. John felt helpless enough on his own, with no memory and all experiences erased from his mind. But he couldn’t let down this mother and daughter. Perhaps now was a good time to start praying. From what he had heard from Sarah over the past days, even though he didn’t know who he was, God still knew everything about him, even down to the number of hairs on his head.

  He embraced them both and impulsively planted a kiss on the girl’s forehead. Then, taking a few steps backward, he grabbed the pitchfork from its resting place near the do
or, tossing up a prayer for protection and guidance. “Right. We need to get out of here. Whoever that was at the door, he’ll be back. There’s no way to tell how soon. It just depends on how much the boiling water hurt him and how soon his vision returns.”

  Sarah nodded, the tiny lines around her eyes seeming to ease a bit as John spoke. “A friend in a neighboring church district was canning last fall when the boiling water bubbled and burst up into her face. She was blinded temporarily, but she said the pain was intense. This water had cooled a little, and I do not think enough water hit him in his eyes to blind him permanently.”

  “Okay. So, pack a bag, Sarah, quickly. Grab the essentials. A change of clothes. Your toothbrushes. I don’t know yet where we’re going or how long we’ll be gone.”

  He looked to Lyddie. She raised her head from her mother’s shoulder, a crease on her cheek from the tie of Sarah’s kapp. “Lyddie, get whatever your mother will allow you to take. Not too much. Just, perhaps, a favorite doll or a blanket.”

  The two stood and began to move toward the stairs, but John had one last instruction. “Turn out the kerosene lamp. We’ll work in darkness. If he returns before we can leave, I don’t want him to be able to see in. I’m going to grab some water and snacks. Be back down here in two minutes.”

  A quick peek out the window revealed that their attacker had not yet returned. John set the pitchfork aside and retrieved some bottles of water and little bags of snacks. Was he surprised that the Amish would buy prepackaged food? They shopped at the grocery stores just like everyone else. Whatever he thought, he didn’t have time to examine it now. One thing he did know about the Amish, or at least about this Amish woman, specifically, she was resilient. She might be scared or worried, but she wasn’t crumbling. Strength and resolve adorned her. Her unwavering faith in God only added to her beauty.

  Sarah and Lyddie returned quickly. With John leading, they dashed across the yard to the barn. Snowball followed, pushing snow around with her muzzle as she trotted behind. By the moonlight that filtered in through the barn windows, Sarah hitched Lightning to the buggy and tied Thunder to the back.

  “Will we move faster if we leave the second horse here?” John couldn’t remember knowing anything about horses. He would have to rely on Sarah’s expertise now.

  “I cannot leave him alone in the barn.” Sarah hitched up her skirt and climbed into the buggy after Lyddie. “Not with that bad man on the loose. And no one will be here to care for him.”

  John only nodded and swung up into the buggy as Sarah gave a tch-tch to the horse. She called for Snowball, and they pulled out of the barn and into the empty yard, the malamute trotting alongside.

  “The snow will muffle the sound of the horse and cover our tracks, jah?”

  “Yes. It should.”

  The moonlight cast eerie shadows across the landscape, and snowflakes flittered down from scattered clouds. A shudder involuntarily coursed through him. Where would they go from here? Was there anybody out there who cared? In the unnerving quiet of the lonely night and with his memory erased, it didn’t stretch his imagination to think that they were the only three people left on the face of the earth.

  A tiny window at the side, about the size of his face, allowed him the smallest of views. Another window about the same size afforded a view out the back of the buggy. The light of the moon reflecting on the snow provided ample light as Sarah guided them onto the road. John peered through his window, trying to see behind, and strained to hear the slightest sound a car might make if one approached. At his instruction, Lyddie kept to the back corner of the buggy, away from the window. As she clutched her blanket and doll, John longed to wrap his arms around the adorable girl and soothe her, but she would be safer if he maintained his vigilance.

  With all quiet out his side, John turned to Sarah. She held the reins loosely, but the skin was tight across her mouth. At least they had what Sarah had called the storm front on the buggy to keep the snow from pelting them in the face.

  He spoke quietly. “Where do you think we should go?” He tapped the brim of his hat. “For obvious reasons, I’m drawing a blank on what our options are outside of your house.”

  She forced a small grin, but the tightness remained. “The Amish take care of each other. We believe the Bible calls us to live in community together. There are plenty of families who would take us in.”

  “That may be true, but I don’t want to bring danger to them.”

  “Jah, you are right.”

  “To have someone innocent hurt because of my problems that I can’t even remember? That’s unacceptable. It’s terrible enough that you and Lyddie have been dragged into this.”

  Sarah chewed on her lip. If their situation hadn’t been so dire, if he could just remember who he was, if she wasn’t Amish and he wasn’t Englisch, it could have been romantic, a buggy ride on a moonlit, snowy night. But there were too many ifs to let that thinking continue.

  “But we need to stay somewhere, if just for the night. I cannot let Lyddie sleep in the buggy. And it is cold.” She pushed some loose hair off her forehead with one hand. “My friend Katie would let us in any time of the night.”

  “Does she live nearby?”

  “Near enough. It will take some time, but I would not have suggested it if we could not get there with Lightning and the buggy.”

  He peered out the window again and then returned to face Sarah. “How do you know her?”

  “She is also a widow and has twin three-year-old girls, Ruth and Rebekah. She struggles on her own.” Sarah paused and swallowed hard. “Like I do. We help each other out with chores. I was supposed to drop Lyddie at her house in the morning to help with her twins while I sold my and Katie’s goods at the market.”

  “Okay. If you think that’s best.”

  Lyddie had fallen asleep by the time they reached the friend’s house. There had been no sign of their attacker, but Sarah had said she was sticking to the back roads. It had taken a little longer, but perhaps they had been safer.

  John waited in the buggy with Lyddie as Sarah knocked on the door.

  The young Amish woman answered quickly, and Sarah and her friend had a hushed conversation. A few minutes later, Katie disappeared and then returned with boots and her cape. She opened the barn, and Sarah hopped back into the buggy to drive the horses inside.

  “What was her reaction?”

  “She was surprised, but of course we are welcome to stay.”

  “Did you tell her everything?”

  “Jah. She has met the new sheriff also and agrees that he is not helpful or friendly to us.”

  John sagged against his seat. So even though law enforcement seemed to be involved, investigating the cause of the smoke, it probably wouldn’t help. He continued to be on his own, struggling to remember and find a resolution to the situation with a deadline he couldn’t quite grasp looming closer. “If I didn’t think you were in danger, I would just leave and take the danger with me.”

  “I cannot just let you loose. You do not know who you are or where you belong. Where would you go? Ach, no. I will take care of you until you are well.”

  Katie unhitched the horses and settled them in stalls, Snowball tagging along into the warmth of the barn. As Sarah carried her bag, John pulled Lyddie from the back of the buggy and settled her against his shoulder, carrying her into the house. The girl was a comfortable weight in his arms, and the ache for a family returned. He pushed it away as quickly as it arrived. As he settled them into the spare bedroom, Sarah and Lyddie said good night.

  In the dark of the living room, John spread his blanket on the couch. He would be the only one on the first floor, protecting them all by sleeping closest to the only entrances to the house.

  He toed off his shoes and laid down, pulling the quilt over him. The tick of the clock tocked against his ear, in time to the worries that ricocheted throug
h his mind. For now, they were safe, and all was well.

  For now.

  But what would tomorrow bring?

  SEVEN

  Sharp sunlight struck Sarah in the face. A peek through one eye revealed that a tiny crack in between the curtain and the edge of the window was the culprit. She raised an arm to cover her eyes and collided with the form in the bed next to her.

  “Ow, Mamm.” Lyddie’s mop of blond curls, unrestrained by her prayer kapp, stirred in closer. The quilt moved across her, pulling nearer to Lyddie.

  Sarah inhaled deeply of the chilly morning air and exhaled slowly, letting her mind absorb all that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. For a moment upon awakening, she had not been able to identify where she was or how she got there. Was that how John felt all the time? Her heart pounded within her at sympathy for the man whose life had been erased, and she took a moment to utter a silent prayer for the restoration of his memories.

  She hugged Lyddie tightly and then eased out of the bed. Jah, she had been tired. But if the sun was that bright and that high already, the day was disappearing while she lollygagged in bed.

  But it was beginning well, safe and warm and with, she was sure, a hot and hearty breakfast soon. Maybe fresh-baked biscuits with a dollop of apple butter, eggs with cheese and bacon, juice, milk, coffee. How could a day not feel like a fresh start with that kind of nourishment at the beginning?

  She gently eased the straight pins through the fabric to fasten her skirt to the bodice, then twisted her hair into its customary bun and fastened on her prayer kapp with bobby pins. How would the day end, though? Here at her friend’s house? At home? Or at another location?

  The fresh aroma of coffee forced the musings from her mind. She would take life one day at a time and recite to herself the verses from the psalms that had comforted her in both her move from Pennsylvania and her husband’s death. So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom... O satisfy us early with Thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. However many days she had left—and considering their present dangers, it seemed to be fewer and fewer—she would rejoice and be glad.