An Amish Christmas. Patricia Davids
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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 of 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