An Amish Christmas. Patricia Davids

he watched Karen working in the kitchen through the windows. Once again he was struck by how gracefully she moved.

      She wore a dark purple dress today with a black apron over it. The color accentuated her willowy frame. The ribbons of her white cap drew his attention to her slender neck, the curve of her jaw and her delicate ears.

      He turned away from the sight, recognizing his interest for what it was. The attraction of a man to a lovely woman. He had no business thinking about any woman in a romantic light. Not until he’d solved the riddle of his past.

      Heading toward the barn, he studied the looming structure. It was a huge, solid building, obviously well cared for. Pulling open one of the doors he entered into the dim interior. Instantly, the smells of animals assailed him along with the odors of hay, old wood and feed. He knew these smells the way he knew he was right-handed.

      Off to the left was an area that served as Eli’s blacksmith shop. Brooms and assorted tools hung from horseshoes attached to the bare wooden walls and overhead beams. Two steel frames suspended from the ceiling had been rigged so they could be released to swing down on either side of a fitful horse during a shoeing. An anvil sat secured to a worn workbench. Beside it was a water barrel and racks of horseshoes of different sizes. A rolling cart in the corner contained all the tools a farrier needed in their proper places.

      Walking over to the shoes, John picked one up. It was too heavy. He hefted another. They should be lighter. He didn’t know why, but he knew they should be.

      The sound of a loud whinny greeted him. He replaced the shoes and moved toward the source. In the filtered daylight he made out a half dozen equine heads hanging over their stall doors to check out this newcomer.

      He stopped at the first stall. Molly nuzzled at his shirt pocket. He scratched her head. “Sorry, I didn’t know I needed to bring a treat. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

      “Do you like horses, Mr. Doe?”

      John turned to see Mr. Imhoff approaching from the back of the barn. In his free hand he held a pitchfork.

      “It appears that I do,” John answered.

      “Is it true what my daughter says? That you have no memory of your life before you were found on our lane?”

      “Yes, it’s true.”

      “I have heard of such a thing. My father’s oldest brother was kicked in the head by a horse. It was a full day before he recovered his senses.”

      “I have recovered my senses, just not any personal memories.”

      “That is a strange burden for God to give a man, but He has His reasons even if we cannot understand them.” Hiding his bitterness at God, John turned back to Molly. “Your mare has nice confirmation. Do you plan to breed her?”

      “I’ve already had two nice colts from her.” Eli began walking toward the back of the barn. John followed him to a small paddock where a black horse was trotting back and forth.

      John leaned his elbows on the top rail and watched the animal with pleasure. “Hey, pretty boy. You look like you’ve got some get up and go,” he murmured softly.

      A blinding pain made him wince. He saw another black horse, rail-thin with its hip bones sticking out. The animal was covered in sores and flies. Death hovered over him.

      Sucking in a quick breath, John opened his eyes. The vision was gone.

      Eli didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. He said, “This one’s name is One-Way, and he should look fast. His sire, Willows Way, won the Hamiltonian at the Meadowlands ten years ago.”

      John rubbed the ache from his temple. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid that doesn’t mean anything to me.”

      “It means his sire was a racehorse, a trotter and a goot one.”

      John looked at the Amish farmer in his dark coat, long gray beard and worn black hat. “You are raising racehorses?”

      Eli smiled. “Mostly I raise and train carriage horses. I bought my first Standardbred when I was a teenager. I was looking for a fast horse to impress my girlfriend.”

      “How did that work out?”

      “The courtship did not, but the horse did. I got interested in the breed, began to study trade magazines and it wasn’t long before I was breeding them myself. Back then I couldn’t afford the stud fees of high-profile stallions. I got very goot at losing money at what my wife called my foolishness.”

      “Isn’t horse racing and betting against your religion?”

      “Ja, it is a worldly thing and thus forbidden to us.” “Okay, then I’m confused.”

      Eli’s grin widened. “There is nothing wrong in breeding a fine horse. They are God’s creatures, after all. If you can sell that horse for an honest price, there is nothing wrong with that, either. This one’s brother is doing well on the racing circuit this year.”

      John smiled as understanding dawned. “I see. If the fine horse should win a race or two for some new owner, then the next foal from your mare will be worth even more money.”

      “Ja. It is all in the hands of God. I try to remember to keep Him first in my life for He rewards His faithful servants.”

      “When will you sell this fellow?”

      “After the first of the year I will take him to the Winter Speed sale in Delaware, Ohio.”

      The place meant nothing to John.

      Eli said, “My daughter has taken a keen interest in you.”

      John was surprised by the abrupt change of topic. “Your daughter has been very kind.”

      “She has a goot heart. It was the same with her mother.” Eli’s voice became wistful.

      “I’m sorry for your loss. Karen told me what happened.”

      Eli turned to John. In a low steely voice, he said, “I would not want to see my daughter’s kindness repaid with sorrow. Be careful of that, John Doe.”

      Taken aback, John stared at Eli. The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for the woman who’d shown him so much kindness. He nodded solemnly. “I will, sir. I promise.”

      * * *

      Late the following morning, Karen stopped the buggy where the lane met the highway and gave a sidelong glance at John seated beside her. He turned the collar of his coat up against the cold drizzle, but his excitement at finally getting to do something shimmered in his eyes.

      “Which way would you like to go?” she asked.

      “Which direction is the nearest interstate?”

      She pointed north. “If you go through town and then take Yoder Road north about twenty-five miles you will reach the interstate.”

      “Let’s go toward Hope Springs then and stop at the farms between here and the town. If I’m not from the area I most likely came in on a major highway.”

      Slapping the reins against Molly’s rump, Karen sent the mare trotting down the blacktop. “I have one stop I need to make at the Sutters’ farm. Are you certain you are not from this area?”

      “No. Except that no one has reported me missing from around here. And no one has recognized me from the TV piece the local news ran on me. Do you mind if I try my hand at driving?” he asked.

      Surprised by his request, she said, “Nee, I do not mind. Do you know how to drive a horse?”

      “I think I can. I’ve been watching you do it.” Taking the reins, he sat up straight and guided Molly down the highway.

      After watching for a few minutes, Karen said, “That is goot. I think you’ve done this before.”

      John smiled at her. “I