Patricia Davids Christmas Brides of Amish Country: An Amish ChristmasThe Christmas QuiltA Hope Springs Christmas

by Patricia Davids

  Clearly upset with himself, Nick said, “I’m sorry, John. I should have called ahead. They aren’t normally booked up here. I know you had your heart set on staying in Hope Springs. I didn’t even think about the auction being this week. I’ll take you back to Millersburg. We can find a place for you there.”

  “We have a room to let.” Karen’s desire to help John overrode her normally good sense. He was a stranger lost in a strange land. He needed her help today as much as he’d needed it the day she found him.

  His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. Karen bit the corner of her lip. What had she done? She should have discussed this with her father first, but she had already made the offer and couldn’t withdraw it.

  When she explained things her father would realize the benefits of this additional income. Especially after she had failed to get the teaching job.

  Their family’s income had been severely limited following her father’s injury a month earlier. A farrier couldn’t shoe horses with his arm in a cast. There were still medical bills that needed to be paid in addition to their everyday expenses.

  She would point out all those things, but she knew he would not be pleased if she brought this man and his English trouble into their house.

  She fidgeted under John’s unwavering gaze. Finally, he said, “Your farm was the first place I had planned to visit when I arrived. Renting a room there makes sense.”

  “For a week,” she stressed. “After that, Emma will have a place for you here.”

  “It seems you’ve come to my rescue once again.” He held out his hand to seal the deal and gave her a crooked grin. It deepened the lines that bracketed his mouth, lending him a boyish charm.

  With only a brief hesitation, she accepted his hand. Her pulse skipped a beat then pounded erratically as her small hand was swallowed by his large, warm one. It wasn’t soft, it was calloused and rough like the hand of a man who worked outdoors for a living. A blush heated her cheeks, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

  She remembered him so clearly. The shape of his brow and the stone-gray color of his eyes, even the way the stubble of his beard had felt beneath her fingers. She remembered, too, the husky sound of his voice when he had told her she was beautiful.

  Something light and sweet slipped through her veins. An echo of a time when she’d been a giddy teenager smitten with a local boy. A time before she’d had to become a surrogate mother to her younger siblings and put her girlhood dreams away.

  Thoughts of the children brought her back to earth with a thud. She pulled her hand away from John. This man was an outsider and thus forbidden to her. She had offered him a room to rent for a week and nothing more. Her strange fascination with him had to stop, and quickly.

  Gesturing toward the door, she said, “I must get home.”

  He said, “I don’t have any sort of transportation. May I hitch a ride with you?” Oh, Dat really wasn’t going to like this, but what could she do? She gave a stiff smile. “Of course.”

  Emma asked quietly, “Karen, are you sure about this?”

  Pretending a bravery she didn’t feel, Karen answered, “Yes. Goodbye, cousin, I will see you at Katie’s wedding next Thursday.”

  Emma didn’t look happy, but she nodded. “Give Onkel Eli my best.”

  John shook hands with the sheriff, who promised to check up on him soon, and then followed Karen out the door. Her nervousness increased tenfold as he fell into step beside her.

  He was taller than she thought he would be. She had been called a beanpole all her life, but he stood half a head taller than she did. She felt delicate next to his big frame. It was a strange feeling. Spending the next half hour in this man’s company in the close confines of her buggy might prove to be awkward.

  After unlatching Molly’s lead from the hitching rail, Karen was surprised when John took her elbow to help her climb in the buggy. She was used to taking care of herself and everyone else. It had been a long time since someone had wanted to take care of her.

  John walked slowly around the front of the horse. Raising a hand, he patted the mare’s neck and made a soothing sound as he cast a critical eye over the animal. “She’s got good conformation. She’s a Standardbred, right?”

  “Ja. You know about horses?”

  “I think I do.” He scratched Molly under the earpiece of her headstall. The mare tipped her head and rubbed against his hand in horsy bliss.

  It seemed he could charm horses as well as foolish Amish maids. She said, “We must be going.”

  He nodded and climbed into the buggy beside her. Karen turned the horse and sent her trotting briskly down the street. The fast clatter of Molly’s hooves matched almost exactly the rapid pounding of Karen’s heart. It was going to be a long ride home.

  Clucking her tongue, she slapped the reins against Molly’s rump, making the mare go faster. The sooner they reached the farm, the better.

  Karen’s skin prickled at John’s nearness. He had been in her thoughts and prayers constantly since that day. The special connection she’d felt between them had not diminished. She had wondered who he was and if he had gotten better. She’d wondered, too, if he had a wife to care for him. She had prayed he wasn’t alone.

  Now, he had come back to her.

  He had been helpless as a babe that day, a man in need of tender care. The vibrant man beside her now was anything but helpless. What had she been thinking to invite him into her home?

  He remained silent beside her as they drove out of town. Covertly, Karen glanced his way often, but he was scanning the countryside and paying her no mind. The cold, rainy weather of last week had give way to sunny days of Indian summer. The countryside was aglow with the vibrant hues of autumn. It should have been a pleasant ride. Instead, Karen felt ready to jump out of her skin.

  After twenty minutes of listening only to the clip-clop of Molly’s hooves and the creaking of the buggy, John spoke at last. “This isn’t the way I came into Hope Springs with Sheriff Bradley. What road is this?”

  She glanced at him. “It’s called Pleasant View Road. Does that mean something to you?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing more than it’s well named. Where does it lead?”

  “It makes a wide loop and goes back to Highway 39 about ten miles south of here. From there, you can go to the town of Sugarcreek or over to Millersburg.”

  “Why would someone like me be on this road?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, Karen said, “Because you were lost?”

  He barely smiled. “If I wasn’t then, I am now.”

  Her curiosity about him couldn’t be contained any longer. “The sheriff called you John Doe, but that is not your name?”

  “No. John Doe is a name they give to any man who is unidentified. It’s usually given to a dead body, but fortunately for me I’m still alive.”

  “This amnesia—will it go away?”

  He stared into the distance for a long time before answering. Finally, he said, “The doctors tell me my memory may come back on its own or it may not come back at all.”

  “It must be awful.” Her heart went out to him.

  His attention swung back to her. “What can you tell me about the day you found me?”

  “I was driving my younger brothers and sister to school. Normally they walk, but I had an appointment that day. I thought it would be easier just to drop them on my way.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual that morning?”

  Giving him a look of disbelief, she asked, “You mean other than finding an unconscious man by the side of the road?”

  That brought a small, lopsided grin to his face, easing the tension between them. “Yes, other than finding me in a ditch, did you notice anything that was unusual or out of place?”

  “Nothing.” She wanted to help him, but she couldn’t.

  “The sheriff has already asked us these questions.”

  Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together in front o
f him. “I just thought you might have remembered something new since that day. Maybe you heard the sound of a car or voices. Do you have a dog?”

  “We do not.”

  “Do you remember hearing anything during the night?”

  “Nee, I heard nothing unusual. I’m sorry.”

  He pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded in resignation. “That’s okay. Are we close to your farm?”

  “It’s not far now. You will see the sign.”

  “Tell me about yourself, Karen Imhoff.” He fixed her with an intense stare that brought the blood rushing to her face.

  “There is not much to tell. As you can see I am Amish. My mother passed away some years ago so I am in charge of my father’s house.”

  “What did you mean when you told the innkeeper that your lodgers would have to live plain?”

  He really didn’t know? Grinning, she said, “You will be wanting your money back when you find out.”

  “Do you give refunds?”

  “Nee, when money goes into my pocket it does not come out easily.”

  “Okay, then tell me gently.”

  “Plain living means many things. No electricity and all that comes with it. No television, no computers, no radio.”

  “Wow. What did I get myself into?”

  She glanced at him, but he was smiling and didn’t look upset. Feeling oddly happy, she said, “We go to bed early and we get up early. My father farms and is the local farrier, but we will not put you to work shoeing horses.”

  “Thanks for the small favor.”

  “I have two brothers, Jacob is fourteen and Noah is ten. I also have a sister. Anna is eight.”

  His mood dimmed. “I wonder if I have brothers or sisters.”

  “You are welcome to some of mine,” she offered, hoping to make him smile again. It worked.

  “Don’t you find it hard to live without electricity?”

  “Why would I? People lived happily without electricity for many centuries.”

  “Good point. Why don’t the Amish use it?”

  “We are commanded by the Bible to live separate from the world. Having electricity joins us to the world in a way that is bad for us. We do not shun all modern things. Only those things that do not work to keep our families and our communities strong and close together.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “That is because you are an Englischer.”

  “I’m a what?” He frowned.

  “English. An outsider. Our word for those who are not of our faith. This is our lane.”

  Karen slowed the horse and turned onto the narrow road where a large white sign with a black anvil painted on it said, Horse Shoeing. Closed Wednesdays. The word Wednesdays was currently covered by a smaller plaque that said Until Further Notice.

  John sat up straighter. “Where did you find me?”

  “A little ways yet.”

  When they approached the spot, Karen drew the horse to a stop. John jumped down and walked into the knee-high winter-brown grass and shrubs along the verge of the road. The sheriff had combed the area for clues but found nothing.

  Karen kept silent and waited as John made his own search. One look at his face made her realize John Doe was still a wounded man, but he was in need of more than physical care.

  Chapter Three

  John stared at the matted grass around his feet. No trace of the incident remained. No blood stains, no footprints, no proof that he had ever lain here.

  Squatting down, he touched the grass and waited for an answer to appear. Why had he been in this place?

  Had his injury been an accident or had someone deliberately tried to kill him? Had it been a robbery gone bad as the sheriff thought? No matter what the explanation, the fact remained that he’d been left here to die. The knowledge brought a sick feeling to the pit of his stomach.

  Standing, he shoved his hands in his pockets and scanned the horizon. All around him lay farm fields. To the east, a wooded hill showed yellow and crimson splashes of autumn colors. A cold breeze flowed around his face. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, hoping to trigger some hint of familiarity.

  Nothing.

  He searched his empty mind for some sliver of recognition and drew a blank.

  He’d been so sure coming here would make him remember. This was where his old life ended. He wanted to see the scattered bits of it lying at his feet. He wanted to pick up the puzzle pieces and assemble them into something recognizable. Only there was nothing to pick up.

  Now what?

  He glanced toward the buggy where Karen sat. He’d been found on her land. Did she know more than she was letting on? Sitting prim and proper with her white head covering and somber clothes, it was hard to imagine she could be involved in something as ugly as an assault. But what did he know about her, anyway? Maybe coming here had been a mistake. He would proceed with caution until he knew more about her and her family.

  She watched him silently. As their eyes met, he read sympathy in their depths. Turning away he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. The pain overrode the sting of unshed tears. He didn’t want sympathy. He wanted answers.

  John didn’t know how long he stood staring into the distance. Eventually, Molly grew impatient and began pawing the ground. He glanced at Karen. She drew her coat tight under her chin. He realized the sun was going down and it was getting colder.

  Walking back to the buggy, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting so long.”

  She smiled softly. “I don’t mind, but I think Molly wants her grain.”

  “Then we should go.” Walking around to the opposite side he climbed in.

  “Did you remember anything?” she asked.

  “No.” He stared straight ahead as his biggest fear slithered from the dark corner of his mind into the forefront. What if he never remembered? What if this blankness was all he’d ever have?

  No, he refused to accept that. He had family, friends, a job, a home, a car, a credit card, a bank account, something that proved he existed. His life was out there waiting for him. He wouldn’t give up until he found it.

  When they reached the farmyard, Karen drew the mare to a stop in front of a two-story white house. A welcoming porch with crisp white railings and wide steps graced the front. Three large birdhouses sat atop poles around the yard ringed with flowerbeds. Along one side of the house several clotheslines sagged under the weight of a dozen pairs of pants, dresses, shirts, socks and sheets all waving in the cool evening breeze.

  Across a wide expanse of grass stood a large red barn and several outbuildings. In the corral, a pair of enormous caramel-colored draft horses munched on a round hay bale with a dozen smaller horses around them. Molly whinnied to announce her return. The herd replied in kind.

  John swallowed hard against the pain in his chest. What did his home look like? Was someone waiting to greet him? Were they worried sick about where he was? If that was the case, why hadn’t they come forward?

  Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face. Karen laid her hand on his. The warmth of her touch flooded through him.

  Sympathy had prompted Karen’s move. She saw and understood the struggle he was going through. “Let God be your solace, John. He understands all that you are going through. You are not alone.”

  John nodded, but didn’t speak.

  Karen turned to get out of the buggy but froze. Her stern-faced father stood before her. He looked from John to Karen and demanded, “What is the meaning of this, daughter?”

  Stepping down from the buggy, she brushed the wrinkles from the front of her dress. “Papa, this is Mr. John Doe. John, this is my father, Eli Imhoff. Papa, I have rented a room to Mr. Doe.”

  Eli Imhoff’s dark bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You have, have you?”

  Karen had learned the best way to handle her father was to charge straight ahead. She switched to Pennsylvania Dutch, the German dialect normally spoken in Amish homes,
knowing John would not be able to understand them. “I will show him to his room and then I will speak with you about this.”

  “Better late than never, I’m thinking,” Eli replied in the same language.

  “I’m sure you’ll agree this was a goot idea. You know we need the money. The dawdy haus is sitting empty. This is only for a week, and he is paying us the same amount that Emma charges her customers.”

  “And if I say nee?”

  She acquiesced demurely. “Then I shall drive him back to town. Although Emma has no room for him at her inn I’m sure he can find someplace to stay.”

  John spoke up. “Look, if this is a problem I can make other arrangements.”

  Karen crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow as she waited for her father to answer.

  The frown her father leveled at her said they would hold further discussions on the matter when they were alone. Looking to John, he said, “You are welcome to stay the night.”

  “Thank you, sir. I promise not to be any trouble.”

  “You are the man my daughter found on the road, ja?”

  “I am. I want to thank you for your help that day.”

  “We did naught but our Christian duty,” Eli said, turning away.

  As her father disappeared into the house, Karen swung back to John. “Come. You will have a house to yourself. It has its own kitchen, sitting room and bedroom. It is the dawdy haus but my grandparents have both passed away and it is not in use. You may take your meals with us unless you enjoy cooking.”

  “What is a dawdy haus?” John asked as he pulled his small bag from behind the buggy seat.

  “It means grandfather house. Among our people it is common to add a room or home onto the farmhouse so that our elderly relatives have a place to stay. Many times we have three or four generations living together under one roof. It is our way.”

  “Sounds like a good way to me.”

  She smiled at that. “I’m glad you think so.”

  He swept one hand in front of him. “Lead the way.” The dawdy haus had been built at a right angle to the main farmhouse. It was a single-story white clapboard structure with a smaller front porch. A pair of wooden chairs flanked a small table at the far end of the porch. The outside door opened into a small mudroom. A second door led directly into the kitchen.