Amish Christmas Memories (Indiana Amish Brides Book 2)

by Vannetta Chapman

  “So why did you want me to come out here?”

  “I told you—”

  “To brush down the horses at seven thirty in the evening. Ya, I heard you.”

  “Could be a guy just likes a little help with the work. Plus I get a little restless, especially on winter nights. We’ve been sitting in that house since five o’clock.”

  She only smiled wider, and he knew that he wasn’t fooling her. She didn’t call him on it, but plainly she knew that he’d brought her out here to talk about the doctor. She’d said nothing about it at dinner, which meant she’d talked to his mamm earlier. While he tried to figure out how to broach the subject, they might as well brush down the animals.

  The alpacas usually stayed outside, even in the evening. They had a lean-to with a roof and a wall against the northern wind. They could also come into the barn through the southern stalls, where he left the outer doors open. He’d been doing that the last three nights, and each morning he’d arrived to find them bedded down inside. Apparently they knew a good deal when they saw one, and since his dat had only the two buggy horses, they had several unused stalls.

  He handed her a brush and pointed to the nearest stall, and together they walked in and began brushing down Ginger, their older mare. Rachel didn’t ask any questions about how to use the brush or where to begin on the animal. She talked to it softly and then began stroking it from the top of its head and down its neck. The animal apparently liked what she was doing. When she stopped to move her kapp strings out of the way, the mare nudged her hand to encourage her to keep brushing.

  He thought Rachel looked especially pretty in the glow of the lantern. He was suddenly glad that she had fallen into their lives. He was already starting to think of events in terms of “before Rachel” or “after Rachel,” as if she was some sort of dividing line in his life. She was certainly unlike any of the girls he had stepped out with. Rachel had a mind of her own, even if she couldn’t remember her name. She had strong opinions, but she was willing to listen to others—that was rare in a person. And though she seemed to struggle with her moods, he couldn’t know if that was because of the frustration of her situation or something more. She seemed to always push through. She seemed to always end up with that same small knowing smile she was wearing now.

  A bead of sweat broke out along his hairline, and he felt as if he could hear the rush of ocean waves in his ears. What did that mean?

  Was he falling for her?

  Did he have...romantic feelings for Rachel?

  That would be ridiculous. Why would he even entertain pursuing a relationship with her? It wasn’t like she was staying here. It wasn’t like they had a chance to build a life together. Then again, how much control did one have over whom they fell in love with?

  He dropped the brush, bent to pick it up and stumbled as he was standing back up.

  She looked at him quizzically but didn’t say anything.

  He couldn’t be in love with Rachel. He just couldn’t. He liked things done the old way, while she was eager to embrace change. He was quiet and steady—his mood was the same nearly every day. She was smiling and chatty one moment, quiet and droopy the next. He lived in Montgomery, Indiana, and they had no idea where she lived. He couldn’t even speak to her dat about courting her because they didn’t know who her father was.

  It was with those thoughts whirling in his head that he swallowed, began brushing the other side of the mare and broached the subject he’d wanted to talk about since she had come home earlier that afternoon.

  * * *

  Rachel thought Caleb was acting a bit strangely—staring at her one moment, then dropping things, then stumbling, and then blushing when he saw she’d noticed. If she didn’t know better, she’d ask him if he’d been sipping the wine that many Amish households kept for special occasions.

  She didn’t, though.

  The thought of Caleb Wittmer drinking a glass of wine almost caused her to laugh out loud. So instead of quizzing him about his odd behavior, she waited for him to begin the interrogation that she knew was coming. She certainly wasn’t going to make it any easier for him, but she did feel a bit sympathetic that he was grappling with it so.

  Finally, he began brushing the mare with strong sure strokes and jumped in.

  “I don’t understand why you have to see an Englisch doctor.”

  “We already talked about this in the buggy.”

  “I know we did, but explain it to me. I really do want to understand.”

  “And I want to understand why you’re so dead set against it.”

  “Good, let’s have a conversation. You start.”

  “All right. I want to see Dr. Michie, who is an Englisch doctor, because I want to get well. And we don’t have any Amish doctors.”

  “We may not have doctors, but we have people in our community who can help you.”

  “Like who?” Rachel crossed her arms, her aggravation building. She should have known that he would have a better idea. Caleb always thought he knew the answer to things. Though she’d promised herself that she would be more patient with him after all Beth had told her, that was proving more difficult than she’d thought it would be.

  They’d had that nice moment in the buggy earlier in the day—he’d seemed almost kind then. No doubt he was a kind person, but sometimes his certainty that he knew the best answer for every question got in the way.

  If only he wasn’t so aggravating and pushy, she might actually enjoy being around him.

  He was studying her now as if she was a child and he needed to think how to persuade her without causing a tantrum. She did not have tantrums! She might have strong opinions, but there was nothing wrong with that.

  “You were about to suggest people in your community who could help me find my memories.”

  “Let me think,” he said.

  “Uh-huh. I’m waiting.”

  They both continued brushing down the mare. It had been a long day for Rachel with too many ups and downs. She was embarrassed that she’d lost her job at the quilt shop on the first day she’d shown up, but she was also optimistic after seeing Dr. Michie. Now Caleb was ruining even that.

  Ginger moved closer, so she continued brushing her mane. It was amazing how much animals enjoyed human attention.

  “Many people in our community see a chiropractor,” Caleb pointed out.

  “I don’t have a sore back!”

  “I’m just saying that there are...” He paused, his eyes going up and to the right as he tried to think of another word.

  “More traditional?”

  “That’s it. There are more traditional ways to address, uh, health issues.”

  “This is a mental health issue.”

  “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Your brain was apparently bruised—sounds physical to me.”

  She shook her head in exasperation.

  “We have midwives.”

  “Not having a baby.”

  “And we have an herbalist.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. You could go see Doreen.”

  “An herbalist?”

  “Ya. She’s very gut. Lots of people say so.”

  “Have you ever seen her yourself?”

  “Nein.”

  “Have your parents?”

  “Not that I can remember.”

  “But you want me to go and see her.”

  “Ya.”

  “I thought herbalists helped people who had digestive issues or maybe trouble sleeping.” She started to add “people who were depressed,” but she wasn’t ready to admit she had that problem. Maybe she did, but maybe her feelings were a natural reaction to what had happened. If her moods were a side effect of her amnesia, would that still be considered depression? She’d have to ask Dr. Michie the next time she saw her.

  “I have another appointment with
Dr. Michie next week.”

  “Oh.”

  She could practically hear him snap his mouth shut, as he no doubt tried to stop the suggestion that was about to come out. Maybe he did realize how irritating he was—points in his favor. She felt her aggravation with him soften.

  She felt her resolve wobble.

  “If you think it’s a gut idea to see this Doreen, I suppose I could give it a try.” She didn’t want to see an herbalist, but it might be worth it to please Caleb. He suddenly looked so relieved, almost as if it was already Christmas morning. “No idea where she is or what I’ll say to her.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  Caleb glanced away when she stared up at him.

  “Now, why would you do that?”

  “Just trying to help.”

  Ginger again nudged her hand, encouraging her to keep brushing, and Rachel laughed—whether at herself, Caleb or the mare, she couldn’t have said.

  “I don’t have anything to do tomorrow, since I lost my job. The manager at the restaurant didn’t want to see me until Wednesday.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon, then. I’ll take you over to Doreen’s.”

  “It’s a date!” Rachel wanted to take back the word as soon as she said it, but Caleb was looking at her as if she’d just told him there was an alien standing behind him. It really was comical.

  Did he think she wanted a date with him? He looked seriously stumped, so she shook her head, patted the mare one last time and moved over to Stormy’s stall. There was no point in trying to clear up misunderstandings as far as Caleb Wittmer was concerned. She’d tried that before, and she usually ended up digging a deeper hole.

  She started working on Stormy, who really was a beautiful animal. His coat was a deep black, and he was delighted to receive the attention. After twenty minutes, Caleb admitted they should go back inside, that his mamm probably had the tea ready. They both knew that brushing the horses had been an excuse for them to have a little privacy.

  As they walked back toward the house, staying close together against the north wind that seemed to cut right through her coat, Rachel felt her mood plummet again. She’d felt almost content for a few moments, working on the scarf for Ida. The yarn and knitting needles had seemed to move effortlessly between her fingers. But now her emotions were churning again. She’d agreed to see this Doreen, but she didn’t hold much hope that any herb would help her to remember. It was quite possible that Dr. Michie’s suggestions wouldn’t, either.

  All she knew was that she wanted to go home, to be where she belonged, and she was willing to try just about anything to achieve that.

  * * *

  Caleb barely said a word through their evening snack and as he made his way to bed. Did Rachel think they were going on a date?

  How did he get himself into these messes?

  And why, as Gabriel had pointed out, was he so skittish around her? He should be happy that she’d agreed to see the herbalist, though why he’d suggested Doreen he couldn’t have said. All he knew was that Rachel didn’t need to see that Englisch doctor. Amish folks did see doctors—sure they did—for things like broken legs or deep cuts or rotten teeth. They didn’t see a doctor for their feelings, and this Michie woman... It wasn’t as if she was a specialist in memories. There was no such thing. Was there?

  He went to sleep Monday night feeling like he’d done a good thing steering Rachel back toward the Amish way. He wanted her to get well, wanted it as much as she did, but he didn’t think paying a woman to talk to her for an hour was the answer. If she needed to talk to someone, she could talk to him. He wouldn’t charge her a thing!

  The next morning again dawned dark and gray. They were certainly having a string of gloomy days. Saturday’s sunshine and the episode with the snake seemed like it had happened weeks or months ago. Unfortunately Rachel’s mood seemed to mirror the weather. He was learning that mornings were the hardest for her. She seemed to perk up by afternoon. And cloudy days? They were the worst.

  His mamm and dat seemed a little surprised that Caleb had suggested Doreen, but they didn’t offer an opinion. Instead they shared a look. He’d seen unspoken words pass between them as long as he could remember, and he still didn’t understand how they did that. His mamm sipped her coffee and said, “I wish I could tag along, but I promised to go over and help Rebekah finish up a quilt for the new grandbaby she’s expecting. Both her girls are due with their first about the same time, and she’s in quite a tizzy over getting ready for them.”

  So it was that after lunch he found himself pulling the buggy up to the front door and waiting for Rachel. He didn’t have to wait long, and when she did come out, she at least looked perkier than she had that morning.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “Who said I was feeling bad?”

  “Doesn’t take a genius to see.”

  “I guess.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nein.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They traveled in an uncomfortable silence. Caleb didn’t remember where Doreen lived, but his mamm had written down instructions on the back of an envelope. Fortunately, it was only a few miles away, so he wouldn’t have to endure Rachel’s silence for very long.

  He needn’t have worried.

  By the time they were on the main road, she was chatting about red birds and Beth’s baby and the knitting she’d started the evening before.

  “Going better than the crochet work, huh?”

  “You noticed that?”

  “Looked like a cat had taken hold of your yarn ball.”

  “Think you could do better?”

  “Nein. I wasn’t saying that at all.” He couldn’t help smiling, though. The world felt right when Rachel teased him. When she was quiet and sad, he felt as if he had a stone in the pit of his stomach.

  “Tell me about this Doreen,” she said.

  “Not much to tell.”

  “Really?”

  “She’s older.” He thought she might have celebrated her ninetieth birthday, but he decided not to bring that up.

  “Amish?”

  “Nein. She’s Mennonite.” Some folks thought she was struggling with dementia, but he was sure that was an exaggeration. Though he had heard that she wore a knitted cap with pom-poms even during the heat of summer.

  They pulled up to a tiny little home that was probably surrounded by gardens, but snow covered the entire property now. No one had shoveled the walk. He supposed she didn’t get out much, being as old as she was. There was no sign near the lawn advertising her herbs, but the name Penner was stenciled on the mailbox.

  “Her name is Doreen Penner,” he explained as he pulled the buggy to a stop.

  “I wonder where she keeps her plants in the winter.”

  But they didn’t have to wonder for long. Doreen answered the door, with a striped cat in her arms and a rather large parrot sitting on her shoulder. “I don’t know you, so I guess you’re here to see me about some herbs. Come in. Come in.”

  “Come in,” squawked the bird.

  As Caleb had feared, she was wearing a knitted cap done in a striped purple pattern with a large pom-pom on the top, but her clothing was even stranger than her headwear. She wore a denim dress embroidered with cats chasing yarn, cats chasing butterflies, even cats chasing children. The dress reached to the floor, and her outfit was rounded out with pink bunny slippers and a pink sweater that was unraveling. The cat stared at them briefly, yawned and then began to lick Doreen’s hand.

  Rachel shot Caleb a look that told him there would be a reckoning coming as soon as they left the house. She thanked Doreen politely and stepped inside.

  The home looked to be four rooms—a living room with windows that faced the street, a dining room to the left of that. Beyond, Caleb could just make out a kitchen, and the bedroom mus
t have been to the right of the back room.

  Every conceivable surface was covered with plants. They were crowded onto tabletops and windowsills, lined along the floor beneath windows and even crowded on top of stacks of books. Doreen placed the cat on the floor, and it immediately disappeared between a large aloe vera plant and a cactus.

  Who grew cactuses in Indiana?

  “Come into the kitchen and tell me what type of treatment you’re needing.”

  “Actually we just wanted to talk with you,” Rachel said.

  A calico cat had replaced the striped one at Doreen’s feet. It walked over to Rachel and began to rub against her legs. She stooped to pet it, and Caleb could hear the beast purring from where he stood. This was a nightmare—instead of a physician’s office, he’d brought Rachel to a house with an undetermined number of cats, one large bird and an old woman wearing a purple knitted cap on her head.

  Caleb fought the urge to turn around and head back out to the buggy, but Rachel was already walking toward the kitchen, explaining that she’d suffered a slight concussion and amnesia.

  “Is that so?”

  “Ya. It happened a little over a week ago, as near as we can tell.”

  “So you’re not from around here. That would explain why I don’t recognize you, though I’ve seen your beau at barn raisings and such.”

  Caleb wished he could melt into the yellow linoleum floor. Rachel’s beau? Had the old woman actually said that?

  “Sit. Both of you, sit and talk to Doreen.”

  The chairs were filled with more books, some newspapers and seed packets. Caleb cleared off a place for Rachel to sit and then another for himself.

  “Caleb, he found me in the snow out near his parents’ farm. They took me to the hospital.” Rachel put a hand at the back of her head. “I had a lump, but no other injuries.”