Anna's Forgotten Fiancé. Carrie Lighte
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might, he pitched another and another.
“Gut aim,” Naomi said after each rock had clattered against the metal and he was empty-handed again.
“I didn’t know you were behind me,” he answered, embarrassed she’d seen his temperamental behavior.
“I wanted to be certain you were okay. Whenever Evan gets stung, the effects of the adrenaline linger for him, too. He says he has the most irritable thoughts, claiming it’s as if the bees are buzzing around in his brain as well as under his skin.”
“I don’t know if I can blame my thoughts on adrenaline,” Fletcher replied.
“Sometimes, we’re not quite ourselves when we’re ill or upset. Not Evan. Not you. Not me. Not Anna,” Naomi said pointedly. “You have to give it time. Things will work out.”
Naomi Weaver’s gentle way of imparting wisdom reminded him of his own mother. “Jah,” he answered. “I understand.”
“Gut. Now kumme inside for dessert.”
Melinda was placing fresh bowls on the table, where the boys sat in silence. Anna had returned to the kitchen and was preparing dessert at the counter with her back to the others.
“Since I didn’t eat any dinner, I should be allowed two helpings of dessert, don’t you think?” Fletcher questioned Evan, tousling the boy’s hair to break the tension in the room.
“How do you know if you’ll like it, when you don’t know what it is?” Evan asked.
“Well,” Fletcher said, winking at him as Anna turned with a tray, “I’ve got high hopes it’s molasses and mushroom pie.”
Anna paused before pushing her features into an expression of exaggerated dismay. “Oh, dear! I’ve made the wrong thing—I thought mushroom dumplings were your favorite.”
Fletcher clutched his sides, laughing. Now this was more like the kind of interactions he and Anna usually shared. Hilarity filled the room and when it quieted, Anna announced, “I am truly sorry for my mistake, Fletcher. I meant you no harm.”
“There’s no need to apologize—I’m the one who should have reminded you.”
“Do you have any other allergies I should know about?”
“Just mushrooms,” he stated.
“Gut.” Then she addressed everyone. “What else has happened around here since early September? Gut or bad, I want to know. I need to know. It may help my memory kumme back. Also, I’d prefer that no one outside of this room, with the exception of the Chupp family, finds out I have my amnesia. In order to ensure that, I’ll need to be made aware of what’s been going on in Willow Creek.”
“Grace Zook had a bobbel—a girl named Serenity—in January,” Naomi told her.
“How wunderbaar!” Anna’s fondness of babies was reflected in her tone.
Melinda added, “Doris Hooley married John Plank last fall, shortly after the tornado.”
“Was anyone from Willow Creek hurt in the storm?” Anna asked.
“Neh, not seriously, although many houses and offices needed repair,” Naomi said.
“Jah, the tornado was gut for business. For a while, we couldn’t keep up with the demand. So I took over as foreman for my daed’s Willow Creek clients in May,” Aaron stated. “He’s handling the Highland Springs clients. They were hard hit, too.”
Anna raised her brows and Fletcher wondered whether her expression indicated she was dubious or impressed to hear about Aaron’s promotion to foreman. She extended her congratulations.
“We lost a beloved family member,” Evan reported, his lower lip protruding. “Timothy.”
Anna gasped. “Who is Timothy?”
“He was my turtle. I found him at the creek in October. His foot was injured from a fishing hook and I was caring for him until he was well again.”
“That’s very sad he died,” Anna said, her mouth pulling at the corners.
“He didn’t die,” Evan clarified. “We lost him. You lost him. You were supposed to be watching him in the yard after church when it was our Sunday to host, but he crawled off. How could that happen? Turtles are naturally slow on land—and he was injured.”
It happened because she wasn’t watching the turtle, Fletcher reminisced as wistfulness twisted in his chest. She was with me behind the maple tree and we were sharing our first kiss.
“I’m sorry but I don’t remember anything about that,” Anna said and it took Fletcher a moment to realize she was speaking to Evan, not him. “How about if you, Fletcher, Eli and I take a walk to the creek to see if he has returned for the spring? Just let me do the dishes first.”
“I’ll do the dishes,” Naomi insisted. “You ought not to touch any mushroom leftovers, lest your hands kumme into contact with Fletcher and he suffers another allergic reaction.”
But there was little danger of that. Despite the temporary connection he’d just shared with Anna, Fletcher noticed she stayed closer to Eli and Evan than she did to him as they strolled down the hill, through the field and along the creek. Fletcher knew Anna’s amnesia prevented her from recalling they rarely walked anywhere together without interlocking their fingers, but he felt too tentative about their relationship now to take her hand.
This early in March, they failed to spot any turtles, with or without injured feet. Once they returned home, Anna thanked Fletcher for his visit. Before leaving, he arranged to call on her the next day after dinner.
“Perhaps by then I’ll be able to remember what your favorite dessert really is,” she jested. “Although I suppose once my memory returns, we’ll have more serious concerns to discuss.”
“No doubt,” Fletcher agreed as anxiety surged within him at the mention of “serious concerns,” the same phrase she’d used in her note. Speaking to himself as much as to her, he added, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings.”
* * *
“You look a little peaked,” Naomi said when Anna entered the parlor where she was sewing. She folded the material into a square and stowed it in her basket.
“The glare of the sun bothered my eyes,” Anna admitted. “And I feel a bit nauseated.”
“Uh-oh, the doctor told us to let him know if you became sick to your stomach.”
“I wasn’t sick, just nauseated. But I don’t think it’s from my head injury,” Anna rationalized. “It’s probably because I ate too much too soon after going without.”
“Kumme.” Naomi extended her hand. “Take a little nap in my room. That way, you needn’t climb the stairs.”
“But I’ve been so lazy. I’ve hardly helped with a thing today.”
“And well you shouldn’t—I keep telling you that. Now go lie down on my bed and I’ll fix us a cup of ginger tea. That should settle your stomach.”
Anna removed her shoes and reclined on the side of the bed her daed had always slept on. His dog-eared Bible still lay on the nightstand. She picked it up and tried to read the print in German, but she felt too woozy to focus. Squeezing her eyes, she imagined her father poring over Scripture whenever he had a free moment toward the end of the day. She lifted the Bible to her nose, hoping to smell the honey and oatmeal scent of the salve he used on his cracked, calloused hands in winter, but she couldn’t.
“I used to keep your daed’s sweatiest shirt hidden in my drawer so I could smell it whenever I missed him,” Naomi said when she came in and saw Anna sniffing the Bible.
“Used to?”
“After a while, it stopped smelling like