Amish Country Amnesia Page 7

  Her task for that day, in addition to keeping herself and Lyddie alive and well, should have been to get her goods to the market. Despite the help of the students’ parents, her teacher salary just wasn’t quite enough. The parents were generous with foodstuffs and firewood. Every week, it seemed, a pupil would bring a basket of apples or a fresh loaf of bread. But if she’d learned anything in the past few days with John, it was that the future was not certain. Any little bit of money saved would provide extra security. But her current circumstances did not allow for normal activities.

  Leaning back over the bed, she rustled Lyddie. “Time to awaken, sleepy.”

  Lyddie groaned but began inching her way toward the edge of the bed.

  In the kitchen, Sarah found John with the newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Katie stood at the stove top, a spatula in hand.

  “That smells delicious.” Sarah retrieved plates from the cupboard and quickly set the table. “Scrapple? Did you make it last night?”

  “Jah.” Katie nodded toward the stairs. “Will Lyddie be up soon? We are almost ready.”

  Sarah nodded.

  The paper crinkled, and John looked toward the frying pan. “What’s scrapple?”

  Sarah smiled at her friend. “It is wunderbar for breakfast, made of pork scraps boiled down. Then we thicken the broth with flour until it is a paste. Add some seasoning and chill through the night in the loaf pan.”

  “In the morning, we fry slices in the skillet.” Katie gestured toward the slices sizzling in the pan.

  As Sarah poured milk for the children, Lyddie appeared on the stairs, a huge smile stretched across her face. “Scrapple? Danki!”

  Breakfast passed quickly, and the pork dish won John’s hearty approval. As they cleared the table and washed the dishes, Katie pulled Sarah aside. “I have been watching John. You said he does not know anything about himself. But do you not think he looks like Mammi Mary?”

  Sarah inhaled sharply. “The doctor said the same.”

  “She is at market this morning, selling her baked and jar goods. Perhaps you should go see her.”

  “Jah, I will talk to John.”

  At the sound of his name, John approached from the living room with a detour to peer out the window. “Talk about what?”

  “Both Katie and Dr. Jones have said that you resemble Mary Miller. She is an elderly widow without family in the community and like a grossmammi to me. She is not my real grandmother, but she could be. I wonder if we should go see her, if she might have some clue to your identity. She has been in Nappanee for a long time. She is at market this morning.”

  Katie turned to Sarah, thought knitting her brow. “Did she not have family that left the Amish church? What happened to them? I think she has mentioned something about Fort Wayne, but I just cannot remember.”

  John stroked the stubble on his chin and walked first to the front window to look out and then to the enclosed back porch to peer into the yard. “Yes, let’s go. The market will be crowded, right? We should be safe there, in a public place.”

  “And the market may help you remember. There could be something familiar there, something you see or smell or hear. The doctor said that even health professionals do not understand much about amnesia, so anything could be helpful.”

  “Perhaps.” But he didn’t look hopeful.

  Her friend laid a comforting hand on Sarah’s arm. “But I will keep Lyddie while you go, jah? It will be better for her here.”

  “Jah. Lyddie will help with the twins, so you can get your work done.”

  “I will pray that you and John find some answers.”

  “Pray for our safety, as well.”

  John donned his coat and hat, and Sarah hugged Lyddie long and hard. “Be helpful. Be careful,” she said, although she knew her daughter did not need the admonishment.

  As Sarah tied the strings of her winter bonnet under her chin, John checked outside. When he was satisfied that all was secure, they stepped quickly to the buggy.

  Sarah hitched her skirt and stepped up to the buggy seat. Her friend held out a dried-apple pie to her. “For Mammi Mary. Every conversation goes better over a piece of pie.”

  Sarah shifted her foot against the brake and clucked to Lightning. The buggy jerked forward. “Danki, Katie. ’Tis true. We will see you in a little while.”

  She hoped, but would they?

  As her friend waved goodbye, Sarah faced forward and turned the buggy onto the road. “Mammi Mary makes the best hot cider in all of northern Indiana. She may have a thermos of it at market.”

  As Sarah guided Lightning, she warmed inside, but was it from the handsome man next to her or the thought of hot cider with lots of cinnamon?

  * * *

  If only it could be a leisurely drive. But John wouldn’t allow himself to relax back into the seat. Instead, he repeatedly checked every window for approaching vehicles, whether automobile or snowmobile, his hand gripping the edge of the seat.

  He was fairly certain he wasn’t Amish, but he didn’t know exactly what kind of life he had lived before the attack or the speed at which he conducted it. This pace, though? Being able to see the tree limbs burdened with snow and rabbit tracks in the fields? The clip-clop of the horse in front? He wished it could be tranquil. Rather, it was frustrating, being out in the open with no real option for a speedy getaway. He leaned forward on his seat and stuck his head out for a good look around. All was clear for that instant. But what would the next minute bring?

  So far, amnesia had been equal parts disconcerting and comforting. He had had moments of panic, of sweaty palms and racing heart, not knowing who he was, where he lived, who his relatives were. Did he like asparagus? Had he had a good childhood? Were Christmases warm and enjoyable or lonely and agonizing?

  But it was also oddly comforting. Whatever bad memories he had had, they were gone. Had he had an argument with someone? A falling out? A difficult moment? It was now all erased. He had a fresh beginning in front of him. He could be whoever he wanted to be.

  His nose began to tingle from the cold, and he rubbed a gloved hand over it. This riding in an open buggy was not for those who easily chilled. Sure, they had the storm front, and a couple of heavy blankets were available in the back if he wanted one. For sure and for certain, as Sarah would say, the Amish were a hearty bunch. Yes, they were peaceful, but they had endurance.

  He checked the windows again and listened carefully. The hum of a car engine sounded faintly in the distance. Through the side window, he scanned the horizon, but a small hill rose up and prevented much visibility. John’s fists clenched as he waited for the vehicle to appear.

  “A car?” Sarah’s voice held a tremor of something. Apprehension?

  “I think so. Just keep driving. Is there a turnoff coming up? Anywhere to go?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  The humming became louder, and as the vehicle crested the rise, the sound became more of a rumble.

  John pressed his face to the cold glass to see what was coming. A moment later, it slowed as it approached. A delivery truck with the name of a popular beverage passed the buggy, veering around them and into the other lane to make a wide berth.

  Sarah’s exhalation matched his own. Relief filled him, and John turned forward to see that she slumped against the seat. The sooner they arrived at the public marketplace to see Mammi Mary, the better.

  They rode in silence, and Sarah’s lips moved occasionally. He continued his vigil through the windows but needed a distraction. He hated to interrupt what was probably prayer, but a little more information about their destination would also be helpful.

  He waited for a pause in the movement of Sarah’s lips, a waiting that was not unpleasant as he studied her pert nose and the way her eyelashes fell gently on her pink cheeks. She must have sensed him watching, for she turned and narro
wed her eyes at him. “Jah?”

  “I just was wondering about Mammi Mary and how she came to be like a grandmother to you.”

  “Each church district is close. Close together in where they live and close together in relationship. That is one of the best benefits of being Amish.”

  “Right. I understand that. But you talk about her as if you have a special relationship with her.”

  “I guess I do. She is also from Lancaster, so we have that in common. Her husband died many years ago, and she has no other family. I think there was a child, but she does not speak of him or her.”

  “So, you’re both alone here in Indiana?”

  “Jah.” She paused to swallow. John wanted to kick himself. Was it sadness that clogged her throat? “I have suggested that she move in with me, but she will not. She says that she is hoping I will marry again.”

  Now it was John’s turn to swallow hard. “Marry? A nice young Amish man?” He didn’t want to examine why that thought bothered him.

  “Jah. Must be Amish.”

  John turned to stare out the window again, unable to think of a reply that wouldn’t embarrass him.

  * * *

  Another car approached and drove around them, slowing as it passed. John held out his arm to motion her to lean back and watched for the people to come into view. Sarah’s hands perspired in her gloves, and she tightened her grasp on the reins. As the car pulled forward, a young girl in the back seat held up her cellular phone and pointed it at them.

  Sarah flung a hand to her face as she whispered to John, “Cover your face.”

  He immediately looked away and raised a hand to cover his eyes, nose and mouth. As the car passed on, John sagged back. “Not very polite, taking our picture like that, but at least they weren’t the guys who are after us.” He swiped his hand over his forehead and then straightened his hat. “Does that bother you?”

  “We are used to it. And what gut purpose would that serve, being bothered?”

  “None, I guess.”

  “And see? They thought you were Amish. The clothing helps you fit in.”

  “But it isn’t really my own, just like the name John isn’t mine. For the sake of safety, though, I’ll keep both the name and the clothing.”

  As they approached an intersection just a mile from the market, Sarah spotted a buggy coming from the right, followed closely by yet another buggy. Amish traffic was getting heavier as they neared the market. She glanced over at John. He had his arms crossed over his chest, even as he continued to survey the area and examine each vehicle that came into view.

  Sarah pulled on the reins to halt Lightning at a four-way stop. After passing through, she turned to John. “You should drive.”

  He sat up straight. “What? Drive the horse and buggy?”

  “Jah. We are getting more traffic, and it will look wrong if I am driving. It will draw attention to us.” The very thought of drawing the wrong attention compelled her to check from side to side.

  “I don’t know anything about how to drive a horse and buggy.”

  “I will show you. It is not difficult.” She suppressed a smile at the anxiety on his face. “You will learn quickly, I am sure. At the very least, you need to hold the reins in your hand, so we look like everyone else.”

  “Okay. But you know the last thing we need is a runaway horse and a buggy accident. Just stay close.”

  Sarah studied him for a moment. He was awfully cute when he was nervous. And she would definitely stay close, for as long as he wanted her. “It would be worse if those bad men found us again, jah?” That sobering thought brought her attention back to the task at hand.

  John didn’t answer, which was probably wise, considering the tension of the moment. “So, what’s first?”

  “The first rule to remember is to never let go of the reins. You are in charge.”

  He nodded solemnly and held his hands to mimic hers.

  “See how Lightning’s ears are flicking back? He is listening for you to tell him what you want him to do.”

  “Do I need to tell him something now?”

  “No, he is fine.” Would John be fine, though? For being such a strong and protective man, he looked as skittish as a colt. “You will be fine, too. Just sit up straight and place your feet on that low front board to brace them.” Sarah tapped the toes of her boots against the board.

  At the sound, John glanced down and then arranged his feet on the board just as Sarah had hers. He would do well, being such a quick study. “Okay. What now?”

  “Now you take the reins. Hold them between your middle and third fingers. Like this.” She held her hand out to demonstrate.

  With John holding his fingers in the proper position, Sarah placed the reins in between his fingers. As she released them into his grip, her hand swept across his, and she felt what was probably a jolt of electricity at the touch of his hand. She had never felt electricity or had electricity, but that was how the novels described it. Was that what this feeling was? It was a tingle that instantly ferhoodled her. It scared her, so maybe she should let go of his hand. But it also made her want to hold on because it thrilled her.

  It must have been only a second or two, that touch. But she forced herself to let go. He was, after all, supposed to be the one driving the buggy.

  * * *

  John’s skin burned where she had touched him. Soft, gentle Sarah.

  It didn’t last near long enough, and she jerked her hand away as if stung. Cold invaded suddenly, and he shivered in the vacuum left by her withdrawal.

  Back to business. That’s what his attitude should be. That’s what his attitude should have been all along. It was not his business to be smitten by this sweet and soft yet surprisingly resilient Amish woman.

  He gripped the reins with a ferocity that matched the tension he felt. This not-knowing had been interesting at first. A bit of a relief, really, as he realized that he couldn’t remember bad memories either. But now he was at his wit’s end. He had just enough information to know that there was something important—something bad—lurking in the recesses of his mind. But what was it? And how could he dredge it out?

  “See? You are doing well.” Sarah’s voice brought him back to the present and the important task of driving the horse and buggy safely to market.

  Something about her voice made him turn to her, and a gentleness seemed to radiate from her.

  Would the market help him remember? Smells? Sights? Sounds? If he knew what would trigger a memory, he would remember already and wouldn’t need to trigger the memory. It seemed to be a vicious circle. And if he was a man of faith, then shouldn’t prayer be a part of his life?

  “Ach, John, mind the horse.”

  He shook his head to clear away the fog of thoughts to see that with a lack of attention to his driving, he had allowed Lightning to slow and wander off the side of the road. “I’m sorry. What do I do now?”

  “Just cluck your tongue like this, and keep a light touch. Tch-tch, Lightning.” The horse flicked his ears and headed back toward the road, picking up his pace. “He knows what to do, but he appreciates encouragement.”

  John adjusted his grip on the reins. “What did you say?”

  A quizzical look shot across Sarah’s face. “Just now? You mean about Lightning being a good horse? He knows what to do. He just needs encouragement from time to time, reassurance that he is on the proper road.”

  “Kind of like people.”

  “Jah.”

  The sting of angry heat in his chest reduced to the slow burn of conviction.

  He knew what he needed to do with this faith he claimed, but could he? Perhaps with some encouragement. The statement Sarah had made seemed to have some truth about it, but how could it when he didn’t seem to know anything, especially what to do next?

  Was anything he was thinking maki
ng sense? With so many holes, he wasn’t sure it was. But one thing he would do on trust, as a blind man stumbling with his hands out.

  He would trust God more, and ask His guidance in the future.

  EIGHT

  Sarah was pleased with John’s skill in driving the buggy, and she only took the reins back to guide Lightning through the back parking lot of the Commons Market. She tied the horse to the hitching post at the side of the large, long building and grabbed the dried-apple pie for Mammi Mary.

  Caution was always wise, but was John overdoing it? They had escaped the night before, but nothing had happened since. Perhaps the bad men had given up their search? Ach, did bad men ever give up, though? John had paused as she secured the horse and buggy, looking carefully around the parking lot and the doorway, his face a mask of alertness and care.

  Inside, the Commons Market was a bustling business with rows and rows of vendors hawking their wares. Surely, they were safe in there, with so many, many people milling about. She had been in the market on many occasions, looking for a friend and completely unable to find her in the crowd. They could disappear in here without difficulty.

  John let the door close slowly behind him as his eyes grew wide. “Is it always this busy?”

  “No. Sometimes, it is busier.” She pointed to a vacant table. “See? Some vendor booths are empty in the winter. In the summer, we sell fresh produce from our gardens. Some sell fresh flowers, both in pots and in arrangements. But now, it is mostly preserves we put up back in the fall.”

  “Amish goods just taste better than those from the grocery store?”

  Heat crept into her cheeks. “That is not for me to say. But Englischers tend not to stock up, and they are always looking for someplace to go so they can get out of the house. Word gets out, especially now with the internet, so there are tourists as well as the locals.”