by Debby Giusti
She peered around the older woman, trying to see him more clearly. “Thank—thank you, Zeke.”
“If you are hungry, I could get something from the kitchen.”
“Maybe later.”
Hattie patted her hand. “Dawn will come soon enough. Rest now, child. I will wake you for breakfast.”
She nodded and glanced again at the doorway, disappointed to find Ezekiel gone. Had she imagined him? Her mind was playing tricks on her so that she struggled to know what was real and what was not.
Blood. She kept seeing blood.
She took another sip from the offered glass and then reached for the older woman’s hand and held it tight.
“Hattie, may I ask you a question?”
“Certainly, dear.”
She hesitated, unsure of what to ask when her mind was in such turmoil. Would Hattie think her foolish or, even worse, insane?
The older woman leaned closer. “You have been through so much. Perhaps the question can wait until morning.”
She shook her head, knowing she needed answers now, at this moment, so she could end the confusion that played through her mind.
Hot tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back and steeled her resolve. No matter what Hattie thought, she had to ask.
“Who...who am I and why can’t I remember my name?”
* * *
Zeke had not been able to sleep, not when a strange woman was in the house, a woman who Hattie said did not know her own name. He paced back and forth across the kitchen and then accepted the cup of coffee his aunt offered once the pot had finished brewing.
“Instead of drinking coffee, Ezekiel, you should return to bed. Dawn will not find us for another few hours and there is nothing either of us can do until then.”
He glanced down at the sweet woman who had provided not only a home but also acceptance when he needed it most. “I do not see you following your own advice, Hattie.”
She chuckled. “Which means both of us are either dummkopfs or concerned about our guest.”
“You are not a stupid person, although some have called me worse names. For this reason, we cannot get involved.”
Hattie frowned. “What do you suggest we do? Throw the woman out with the dishwater?”
He leaned against the counter. “I should not have brought her here.”
“As if you would abandon a woman on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Do I know more about you, Ezekiel, than you know about yourself?”
“I know that neither you nor I want our lives disturbed.”
“Helping a person in need is more important than our peace and quiet.”
He nodded. “You are right. Still, I worry.”
“You worry because of what happened, but we learn from our mistakes. Some days I fear you learned too well.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning you hole up on this farm and venture into town late in the evening and take the long way home as if you are afraid to see anyone. You do not go with me to Sunday church or on visits to friends. You have not spoken to your father for over two years.”
He glanced through the kitchen window at the darkness outside. “My father is busy being the bishop.”
Hattie tugged at his arm. “Yah, he is a busy man, but he is still your father.”
Zeke met her gaze. “A father who is disappointed with his son.”
She tilted her head and leaned closer. “Then perhaps you must earn his respect again. His love is ever present.”
“You accepted me, Hattie.”
“I am your mother’s sister without children of my own. You have always been the son I never had.”
“For which I am grateful.”
“Your mother’s life ended too quickly for both of us. Your father said it was Gott’s will, yet I do not believe Gott wills us pain.”
“Do not let my father hear you say such things. He will have you shunned for going against the Ordnung.”
“He did not shun you, Ezekiel.”
“Only because I was not baptized.”
She raised a brow. “Which you could change.”
“Then I would be forced to attend services and listen to my father preach. We would both be uncomfortable.”
Hattie tsked. “You are headstrong, like your father.”
“I am determined, not headstrong.”
“Then why are you running from life instead of facing it?”
He stared at her for a long moment, surprised by the truth in her statement. Hattie was right. She did know him better than he knew himself. He finished the coffee and placed the cup in the sink just as footsteps sounded on the stairs.
They both turned to find the woman staring at them. She was dressed in one of Hattie’s nightgowns with a robe wrapped around her slender frame. A bruise darkened her cheek and her left eye was swollen almost shut. Bandages covered cuts on her forehead and lower arms where Hattie had tended her wounds.
“I heard voices,” she said, her good eye wide with expectation.
Hattie stepped closer. “Dear, I am sorry we woke you.”
“You didn’t. I tried to sleep, but...” She glanced at the aluminum coffeepot on the back of the stove. “Do I smell coffee?”
“Forgive me.” Hattie pulled a cup from the cabinet and filled it with the hot brew, then handed it to the woman without a name.
She took a sip and glanced at Ezekiel. His stomach churned, not from hunger, but from the way her gaze bore into him as if she could see into the deepest recesses of his heart.
“Thank you again, Ezekiel. A man chased me through the woods. I remember falling, then wandering in the dark, afraid and confused. After that, I awoke in your house.”
“My aunt’s house,” he corrected. “Do you remember anything about the man?”
She shook her head. “I heard him call to me, but I never saw his face.”
Turning to Hattie, she asked, “You bandaged my cuts in the night?”
“While you were sleeping. Your soiled dress is soaking. I will find clean clothes for you to wear after breakfast.”
“Thank you, Hattie. You are both generous and hospitable.”
“We are pleased you could join us. Sit, dear, at the table. It is early, but since we are all up, I will prepare breakfast. You are hungry?”
“I don’t want to put you out.”
“Ezekiel will slice the bread and fetch the butter from outside. The jelly is on the counter. At least, you will have something to eat while I fry ham and eggs.”
“The bread will be enough.”
“Perhaps for you, dear, but my nephew will need his breakfast, as well.”
Never before at a loss for words, Zeke suddenly felt like the odd man at a sewing bee. Quickly, he sliced the bread and then hurried outside to get the jar of butter cooling in the pail of water by the pump. He dried the jar and returned to the kitchen.
Ham sizzled in the frying pan. The pungent aroma filled the kitchen and made his mouth water. He glanced at the woman who watched him wipe his feet on the braided rug by the door. The latest copy of the Budget newspaper lay open on the table.
“Your aunt thought reading the paper might trigger my memory,” she volunteered. “I seem to have forgotten everything about my past.”
“A blow to the head can cause temporary amnesia,” he offered.
She gently touched the bandage that wrapped around her head. “Tell me it won’t last long.”
“I am certain your memory will soon return,” he said with assurance.
“And if it doesn’t?”
“My mother always said to take each day as it comes.”
Her face lit up and she offered a weak smile. “Good advice.”
“Have you read anything in the paper that seems familiar?” he asked.
/> “A few of the more common surnames. Yoder and Zook. Luke Miller caught my eye as well, yet so many Amish have similar names.”
“And your own, dear?” Hattie turned from the stove to ask. “Have you remembered your own name?”
The light in the woman’s gaze faded. She bit her lip and glanced down at the newsprint as if searching for a clue to her past. Ezekiel sensed her eagerness to uncover something—anything—that would reveal who she was. Surely, she was confused and frustrated and feeling locked in a world where she did not belong.
He had felt the same way when he had been in jail, awaiting his hearing on wrongful death charges and intent to manufacture a controlled substance, not knowing what the future would hold. At least his memory had not failed him, even if it took a good bit of time before his innocence had been believed.
The woman glanced up. “I think it’s coming back to me.”
“Have you remembered something?” Hattie asked.
“As I think of names. Becca swirls through my mind and won’t let go of me.”
“Your first name is Becca?” Zeke asked.
“I believe it could be, along with Troyer as a surname.”
“Becca Troyer,” he repeated.
She looked at Zeke and tried to smile. He thought again of the woman covered with blood wandering aimlessly alone in the night. Did amnesia provide the excuse she needed to keep her past hidden?
As much as he wanted to believe her, Becca could be a fraud.
He turned and started for the door.
“Where are you going?” Hattie called.
“To feed the livestock.”
“Breakfast is almost ready.”
“Later.” He grabbed his hat off the wall peg, opened the door and stepped into the cold morning air.
We cannot get involved, he had told Hattie earlier.
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was already drawn to Becca Troyer.
THREE
After breakfast, Becca helped with the cleanup and then studied the Budget over the next few hours, trying to find something that would trigger her memory. Finally, frustrated, she rubbed her forehead and moaned.
Hattie came closer to the table. “What is wrong, dear? You sound frustrated.”
“I have a name, but I want to remember my past, yet nothing comes. What is wrong with me?”
“You have been injured. You have taken a bump to your head, and it has caused you to lose your memory. Give it time, dear. Relax and try not to fret.”
Hattie went to the window and peered outside. “Ezekiel must be in the far pasture on the other side of the road. I need to sauté onions and peppers and brown some beef for the midday meal before I search for him.”
The older woman’s brow furrowed as she turned back to the counter.
Becca left the table. “You are busy, Hattie. I can get Ezekiel, if it would help you. The fresh air would be good for me, but I will need something to wear other than this nightgown and robe.”
“I have Amish dresses that might be your size, but they are in the bottom of a trunk that will take time to unpack.” Hattie’s eyes widened. “But I bought Englisch clothing at the thrift shop in town last week.”
“Why Englisch clothing?”
“For quilt fabric, dear. The colors were subdued and the fabric perfect for a quilt I plan to make. The clothing is folded on a chair in my bedroom. I washed everything. Go to my room and see if you can find something to wear.”
Becca smiled. “Is it allowed for an Amish woman to dress in fancy clothing?”
Hattie smiled. “The dresses are plain. You should find something to wear. By the time you are back from the pasture I will have at least one of the Amish dresses hanging in your room. You can change as soon as you return to the house.”
Grateful for the help Hattie had provided, Becca hurried upstairs and found the pile of clothing. Sorting through the dresses, she selected a simple tan dress that looked like it would fit. Although it was a bit shorter than what the Amish usually wore, she was thankful to have clothing and found a lightweight cotton jacket that would provide warmth when she ventured outside.
Hattie smiled her approval as Becca entered the kitchen wearing the secondhand clothing. “Take the water jug on the counter. The paper bag contains two rolls with butter and jelly. Tell Zeke to eat the morning snack now and to come home in a couple hours or so for our midday meal. He is a hard worker and sometimes forgets to eat.”
“When did he start working on your farm, Hattie?”
“Two years ago. He had gone through a hard time and needed a place to live away from townspeople who sometimes seem more interested in other people’s business rather than their own.”
“Zeke helps you,” Becca said, “while you help him.”
“We are good for each other, yah?”
Becca nodded. “Yah.”
Grabbing the jug and paper bag, she stepped outside and breathed in the fresh mountain air. The day was cold but the sun was bright, which filled her with optimism. As Hattie had mentioned, her memory would return.
Hattie had pointed her in the right direction, and Becca walked along the road and hurried toward the pasture, all the while enjoying the beauty of the crisp fall morning.
In the distance, she saw Ezekiel sinking fence posts. Even from this far away, she could tell his strength by the ease with which he lifted the heavy posts and sunk them into the newly dug holes. For a moment, she almost forgot her own plight.
But that moment passed with the sound of a car engine.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw a black automobile heading down the mountain. Something about the vehicle made her pulse pick up a notch, or maybe it was being alone on the deserted mountain road that caused her to be anxious. She crossed the road, glanced at the pasture, and then studied the forest that surrounded it, hoping the trees and underbrush would provide enough cover if she needed to hide.
Her pulse accelerated as the car increased its speed.
The pasture where Ezekiel worked sat far from the road. He had his back to her and was probably unable to hear the vehicle. No doubt, he was focused on his work and oblivious to what she was beginning to believe was an encroaching risk.
Reacting to her gut instinct, she made her way into the wooded area and stepped behind a large boulder. Crouching down, she watched the car draw closer. She was probably overreacting, but after last night it would behoove her to be careful.
Relieved when the vehicle passed by, she started back toward the road but, once again, heard the sound of a car’s engine. Glancing in the direction the black car had gone, she realized it had turned around and was coming back.
She returned to the boulder and hunkered down once again. This time her heart pounded even more rapidly.
The car pulled to the side of the road and a man exited from the driver’s side. Early thirties with brown hair pulled into a man bun and a full beard. He had broad shoulders, stood well over six feet tall, and was wearing jeans and a pullover fleece.
He stepped away from the car and peered into the woods, his gaze homing in on the boulder where she hid. Her chest tightened and everything within her cried danger.
Not that she needed a warning. The man’s scowl was enough to cause a wad of fear to jam her throat.
He took a few steps forward and stopped again to study the area. Her heart pounded so hard, she was sure he could hear its erratic cadence.
Glancing over her shoulder, she spied a cluster of large rocks farther from the roadway. Slowly and carefully, she scurried toward the hiding spot and stopped on the far side to catch her breath. She placed the water jug and rolls on the ground and peered around the boulder, relieved to find him still staring into the distance.
Leaving the bag and water behind, she again retreated, going farther into the woods.
A twig
snapped. She glanced back, fearful.
He stared in her direction, then started running.
She raced deeper into the woods, leaping over downed trees and skirting low patches of underbrush. The branches and brambles tugged at her dress and scraped her already raw hands and legs. Her side ached and her head pounded.
She glanced back, hearing him trample through the underbrush and hoping he couldn’t hear her footfalls over the noise he was making.
Ezekiel continued to focus on the fence. She yearned for him to glance up and notice the man who had picked up his pace and seemed to be running directly toward her.
She caught her next breath, then ran to the pasture. She could see Zeke at the far end of the cleared area, still intent on his work. She waved her hand, hoping he would see her.
The gate to the pasture lay ahead. She heard the man behind her. Trembling with fear, she struggled with the latch, pushed open the gate and sprinted forward.
A snort sounded to her left. She glanced in that direction and came to an abrupt halt. A huge bull stood staring at her.
From some place deep inside her, a warning bubbled up. She did an about-face and rapidly retraced her steps. Without taking time to shut the gate, she turned right and ran toward another cluster of boulders. Collapsing against the rocks, she drew in a breath and watched the man race through the open gate, into the pasture, oblivious to the danger.
The bull charged.
The man turned around, rapidly retraced his steps and slammed the gate closed barely in time to stop the angry bull. Heaving for air, her pursuer glanced around, no doubt searching for her, then staggered back to his car.
Becca rested her head against the boulder. Tears of relief stung her eyes. She wiped them away, needing to be strong, and turned her attention back to the pasture.
Ezekiel must have seen what had happened because he was running along the outside of the pasture. The bull charged the fence. Big as he was, Becca wasn’t sure the wood barrier would hold.
She hurried forward, slipped out of her jacket and waved it in the air. Her distraction worked. The massive animal eyed Becca, then made his way back to the center of the pasture.
