John motioned to Sarah. “Stay directly behind me. We don’t want to leave three sets of prints in the snow, now that he—whoever he is—knows that there are three of us.”
“Jah,” Sarah agreed.
Whatever shelter of brush was available, John led them behind it. If the snowmobiler did return, John didn’t want to be caught out in the open. Farther and farther from the crash site they marched, and all was quiet. The huffing and puffing had become more pronounced behind him, and John himself could use a breather. He slowed his pace to allow Sarah and Lyddie to rest.
Several minutes later, they emerged from the tree line and into the yard. Sarah and Lyddie headed straight for the back door, untying their winter bonnets and shaking the snow off their capes before they entered.
John remained outside and surveyed the edge of the property. All seemed untouched. The snowmobiler had certainly gotten a good look at Sarah, but that didn’t automatically mean that he knew where she lived or where to find them. Could they be safe now?
Sarah’s home looked like all the other Amish homes in the area. Two stories with an attic rose whitewashed above an immaculate yard, at least what he could see under the snow. Red paint adorned the large barn, a striking contrast against the winter whiteness. He imagined that in the spring flowers would stand in neat rows, and he pictured Lyddie and Snowball playing on the green grass in the yard. Sarah’s home was orderly inside and out. John wondered if the cliché “A place for everything and everything in its place” had originated with the Amish.
At the back door, John removed his hat and hung it on a hook. He secured the lock and stood for a moment, letting the warmth of the woodstove-heated home seep into him. Sarah busied herself at the counter, scooping cocoa powder into three mugs. Her face was rosy from the snow, and her natural beauty shone forth, framed by the rich brown of her hair.
Steam began to pour out of a kettle on the stove top. “Come. Sit. It will be ready in a jiffy.” Sarah motioned him to the table, her hand trembling. “You need good food. Comfort food with nutritional value. To heal, jah?”
He crossed the kitchen to her and grasped her hands in his. Perhaps that would stop the shaking. “You were scared. Are scared. You don’t have to fix a meal.”
“I do, jah. When I am scared, I cook. When I am worried, I cook. When I am happy, I cook. It soothes.”
He nodded his understanding and lowered himself to a chair.
She busied herself at the countertop, cutting thick slices of what looked like homemade bread. “You like tuna salad? Chicken noodle soup, also?”
Did he? He had no idea, but the simmering concoction in the pot on the stove top gave off an incredible aroma. “Um, sure.”
As she continued the lunch preparations, John let his gaze wander the open living room. It was so quiet he could hear the satisfying squish of tuna salad being spread on bread, Lyddie’s soft whisper as she sounded out words in her book, even his own breathing. He tapped his finger on the table, not surprised that he could hear it thumping on the wood. The silence was unnerving and yet pleasant at the same time. A man could do some serious thinking in that sort of solitude. But did he want to?
A side table with a lamp on top and a lower shelf filled with books and newspapers next to a plush blue recliner caught his attention. “Do you read much?”
“Ach, jah. I love to read. Lyddie and I visit the library on a regular schedule.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“I read all kinds. Cooking books, quilting, books about faith, even the good romance novels. Without television or a computer, I have more time for reading.” She glanced at him while stirring the soup. “Do you enjoy reading?”
Did he? He picked up the book resting on the table, something with forgiveness in the title, and held it in his hands. It felt sturdy and comfortable there. He lifted it to his face and inhaled the scent of the paper, closing his eyes to try to picture himself somewhere, anywhere, with a book in his hands. But his mind was a blank. “I don’t know, but I hope my new self, whoever I am now, likes to read.”
Sarah nodded, a shy smile on her face. “Why not just decide that you do?” She placed two plates on the table and returned to the counter for the third. “Would you like a chocolate-chip cookie after lunch? Cookies are always a help in distress, jah?”
“Jah,” he agreed, the foreign word a tingle on his tongue.
Distress. He had certainly brought plenty to this peaceful and peace-loving Amish household. It was all his fault, and what made it worse was that he had no idea why he was in trouble. Would prayer help? Perhaps. Was he a believing man? Maybe. Something stirred in him at the idea of praying to an almighty God. He bowed his head, but all he could summon was Lord, help.
The sound of Lyddie dropping a book on the floor startled him out of his attempt. She picked it up and settled herself on the sofa, apparently prepared to read until the refreshments were ready. John looked again around the room. Plain white walls, graced only by a calendar and clock, and a lack of knickknacks did nothing to detract from the warmth and welcome of the home.
Was all safe now? It was a question at the forefront of his mind, although there wasn’t much else crowding the space in his brain. It was also the question he supposed Sarah would ask soon. How he would answer he had no idea, except that it seemed the man on the snowmobile had seen only Sarah and Lyddie. Perhaps he might just think they were curious about the wreckage.
But at least for this moment, he would sit still and be calm and recuperate. He didn’t know anymore what future moments would hold just as he didn’t know what past moments had held, so he would live right now, in this moment of warmth and light and safety.
“Lyddie, come quickly,” Sarah called. The two joined John at the table, and Sarah and Lyddie bowed their heads for silent prayer. John bowed his head and tried to thank God for the food and the warm home, looking up again after Sarah said amen.
The child ate quickly, and Sarah suggested she go to her room to practice her stitching. The two hugged for a moment, and Sarah tucked a stray curl behind Lyddie’s ear. As the girl passed John, she impulsively reached out to hug him. Her squeeze was tight and fast, and it infused John with a fondness that didn’t feel familiar to him.
As soon as Lyddie was gone, Sarah turned piercing eyes on John. “Who was that in the woods, and why was he shooting at us?”
Both valid questions. Questions for which he had no answers. “I wish I knew, but I can’t even remember my own name. I certainly can’t remember anyone else’s name.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea who that man was, but he seemed only to see you and Lyddie. Being at the site of the accident probably didn’t help us.”
“And you were dressed in the Amish clothing. Would that not help hide you?”
John thought back to what he had on. “Yes, I had an Amish coat on. My hat, which looked Amish, had come off, but it was nearby. But, I don’t have the beard that most Amish men have.” He scruffed his hand over his jaw. “Just a little stubble. Still, though, that could be enough to disguise me.”
“Are we in danger?” Sarah hugged her arms around her middle.
He couldn’t answer yes or no to that question. But he could advise caution. “I’m not sure. But we need to be careful. Even though I have no idea who that man was that shot at us, and he didn’t see me, he saw you. I’m grateful he was scared off by that car that drove by.” He would be back, though, just at a more opportune time.
* * *
Sarah’s hands trembled as she picked up her plate and glass and placed them in the sink. “Will he be able to find us here?”
She glanced around her home, the one she had shared with her husband, the one that held so many memories with Lyddie. Was there a threat right outside the blue-shaded windows, a threat that would come bursting through and alter her life?
“You don’t know him, right?”
“No, I have never seen him.”
“Then he’s probably not familiar with the Amish around here. At least not to the point where he knows who you are and where you live.” John stood and carried his plate to the sink. “I think we’re all right for now.”
For now. But John’s memory was gone. He didn’t know his name or his occupation or even what sort of person he was. Could she trust him to be vigilant? To be protective if necessary? To know what to do?
She ran water in the sink and added soap while John continued to clear the table. At least he was a helpful sort. What woman wouldn’t appreciate that? And so far, he had been courteous and thoughtful.
He placed the last dish on the counter and smiled. “Do you have a cloth? I’ll wipe up the table.”
Ach, he was handsome, too, with that dark brown hair that seemed to stand up in all directions and his green eyes the color of fresh grass in the spring. He was the opposite of her blond-headed Noah, but now that he was dressed like a proper Amish man? She would need to guard her heart carefully.
She handed him a dishcloth and plunged her hands back into the hot water. How could she ever think that way about him? First of all, her husband, the love of her life, had passed just two years ago. How could she be untrue to his memory? And second of all, John was an Englischer. An outsider. She would never agree to be unequally yoked. How could she be so selfish as to even consider John? Gott had allowed her husband to be killed in the buggy accident. Thus, it must be Gott’s will that she be alone. She would embrace the will of Gott, no matter what misery may come her way.
John returned the cloth to her, and she rinsed it and hung it over the faucet. “Your last name, Burkholder, is it a common Amish name?”
“Are you wondering how easily this bad man might be able to ask around and find us? But how would he know my name?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, stretching the suspenders. “Just trying to figure it all out.”
“Burkholder is somewhat common in northern Indiana. But not so much, yet, that we all need nicknames like in other Amish communities where there are multiple men with the same name.”
“Do you have family nearby?”
She retrieved a clean drying cloth from a drawer and prayed to Gott that she wouldn’t need it to dry her tears. “I grew up in Lancaster County in Pennsylvania. My husband, Noah, thought the area was becoming overcrowded and moved us to Indiana for more job opportunities and land to build a house and barn. So, no, I do not have family nearby. My family remains in Pennsylvania, although they do come to visit from time to time.”
“Have you thought of moving back?”
She eyed the letter from her mother that still rested on the windowsill. “Yes.” That was all the answer she could summon.
He leaned one hip against the counter, and the fresh smell of the woods in winter wafted toward her. “What about a telephone? What would you do in case of an emergency?”
She twisted the towel in her hands. Sarah had never thought herself isolated, but when this Englischer started asking his questions, doubts began to ping in her mind, especially with no husband handy. “Since we are close to the edge of the state park, the area is heavily wooded. We are on the outskirts of the Amish community, and neighbors are scarce. My husband preferred the seclusion. There are some Englisch houses on the main road, but they are quite a distance, especially in the snow, and they are in the opposite direction of our church district. Our closest neighbor has a telephone in his barn for his business, but he is a couple of miles away. I can use it when I need it, and then I pay my part of the bill to him.”
“You never thought of having your own phone?”
“My husband and I talked about it, for our barn, but it did not seem that necessary since the neighbor had one.” She glanced at him as he pulled back the window blind a fraction of an inch and glanced out. “That must seem odd to you.”
John turned to her with a wry chuckle. “Everything seems odd right now.”
Of course it does. How could she be insensitive? Her troubles were nothing compared to what John was going through. “Our church district is currently considering cell phones, just the old kind that flip open. No internet. But it has not yet been decided.”
“Any chance that’ll happen soon?”
“No. A new rule needs to be approved unanimously, and some are still doubtful. It could take a long time.” She stacked the plates in the cabinet and hung up the towel. “I cannot think what I would need it for, except maybe emergencies.”
John opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of her gravel driveway crunching under the tires of a car that had turned into her lane kept him silent.
Should she duck out of sight? Turn off the lamp? Her mind felt paralyzed, and all she could do was grip the edge of the countertop as she watched John peer through a slit in the curtain.
It must have been only a second before he turned to her. “It’s the sheriff’s car.”
The sheriff? The man who had never been helpful but only trouble for the Amish? Was he here for John? Did that mean that John was a bad guy...or a good guy? She spun to scan the room. Lyddie remained upstairs, the best place for her right now.
Sarah stared at John, waiting for an instruction. But he sat very still, as if not wanting to show his own alarm. Perhaps he was trying to think of what to do.
He jumped to his feet, and she stepped back, startled at his sudden movement. With a look toward the back door, he said, “Step out the back way and meet him in the driveway around the front. Be friendly, but don’t let him in the house. Just in case.” He pointed to the window near the front door. “I’ll be concealed right behind that curtain, and I should be able to hear everything that’s said. Can you do that?”
With a nod, she grabbed her cape from the hook and slung it over her shoulders. A glance back as she opened the door revealed John at the window already, pulling the curtain aside. “You’ll be fine.” He coupled the encouragement with a grin.
She had no idea whether he truly felt that way or not, but it was good to hear.
Outside, she stepped carefully off the porch and inhaled deeply of the cold air, letting the chill cut through her lungs. It revived her, and she prayed for Gott’s help as she stepped toward the Sheriff’s vehicle. “Sheriff Jaspar. What can I do for you?”
The sheriff stepped forward from his driver’s-side door, a tall, lanky man whose uniform hung on him. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses farther up on his nose, although they seemed nearly embedded in his eyes already. “Mrs. Burkholder, isn’t it?” He quickly adopted a quizzical look.
“Jah. That is correct.”
“There’s been a report of smoke in the area, and I’m making the rounds, just checking it out.”
Sarah tightened her arms closer to her under her cape and snuck a glance at the front window. John’s snowmobile crash had created lots of smoke. “Is anyone burning their rubbish?”
The sheriff stepped closer, so close that Sarah could see the little pattern on the rim of his glasses. “No. Not that I’ve found yet. And it’s not the smoke from a fireplace or woodstove. Curious thing, really, and awfully close to your house.”
Sarah took a small step backward. She desperately needed some distance from the man but didn’t want to antagonize him. “I have only my heating stove.”
Jaspar closed the gap between them. “Shall I come in and make sure?” He laid his claw-like hand on her arm.
A loud gasp escaped her and echoed through the winter silence. Before she could respond to the sheriff, the front door flung open. John stepped out, one hand fisted around his suspenders.
The sheriff turned to see who it was and immediately stepped back from Sarah. His gaze seemed to travel up and down John’s height and back and forth the width of John’s shoulders. He took another step back.
“Sarah?” John’s intensity
pierced her, and she nodded slightly to indicate that she was all right. He probably didn’t dare to speak any more, not with his Englisch accent.
Sheriff Jaspar straightened his hat and then nodded at John. “Is this your brother? I’ve heard you have family in Pennsylvania that come to visit on occasion.”
She wouldn’t lie, but she did not see the need to tell the whole truth either. “Jah, I have family in Lancaster County.” She fluttered her hand to her throat and swallowed hard. “He is visiting for a while.”
The sheriff seemed satisfied as he edged back toward his car. “Well, I have a deputy looking into the smoke, as well. No need to worry, but let me know if there’s any trouble.” A roguish smile crawled across his face. “I’ll keep you up-to-date.”
She raised a hand in goodbye and quickly joined John at the front door. He opened it for her, and she stepped inside while he remained outside, his hand on the knob of the open door, staring hard at the sheriff as he backed out of the drive.
Her hands shook as she removed her cape and turned away from the door to sink into a chair at the kitchen table. John closed and locked the door then lowered himself into a matching chair.
The cape draped over her lap warmed her quickly, but she couldn’t stop the trembling. She glanced at John, but he stared at the wall, seemingly lost in thought. “You are exposed now. You have been seen.”
A few moments passed, then he tore his gaze from the straightforward direction and looked at her. There was a hard edge to his expression, yet it was tinged with compassion. “I couldn’t just leave you out there with him. I saw everything through the window.”
She smoothed out the tablecloth with the palm of her hand. “The sheriff is new and does not know how to get along with the Amish. What can I do?”
“Depending on what he finds out about the smoke that’s been reported, you can pack your bags and prepare to leave.”
“Leave?” Her hands seemed to act independently, and she found herself smoothing more of the cloth at a furious rate.
Amish Country Amnesia Page 4
