An Amish Christmas. Patricia Davids

filled the room, pushing back the growing darkness. She glanced at John and found him watching her intently. Suddenly, it seemed as if the two of them were cocooned alone inside the light.

      The lamplight highlighted the hard planes of his face. She became acutely aware of him, of his size and the brooding look in his eyes. The tension in the room seemed to thicken. His gaze roved over her face. Her palms grew sweaty as her pulse quickened. She wondered again if she had made a serious mistake in bringing him here.

      Yet, she could not have left him in Hope Springs any more than she could have passed by him in the ditch without helping. There was something about John Doe that called to her.

      He tried to hide his discomfort and his aloneness, but she saw it lurking in the depths of his eyes. He was afraid. She wanted to help him, wanted to ease his pain. He needed her.

      The white bandage on his forehead stood out against his dark hair. She gave in to an overwhelming urge and reached out to touch his face. Her fingertips brushed against the gauze dressing. “Does it hurt?”

      He turned his head aside. “It’s nothing.”

      “You’re forgetting that I saw the gash.”

      The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I’ve forgotten a lot of things.”

      She let her hand drop to her side. How foolish of her. He wasn’t a stray puppy that needed her care. He was a grown man, and she was flirting with forbidden danger. For the first time in her life she understood how a moth could be drawn to the flame that would destroy it.

      She must harden her heart against this weakness. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”

      He grasped her arm as she started to turn away. “I can manage. If I need anything I’ll find you. Right now, I’d like to be alone. It’s been a long day.”

      “Of course.” She handed him the box of matches.

      “Be sure and turn off the gas lamps when you leave the house. There are kerosene lamps, too, if you need them. Supper will be ready in about an hour. You may join us at the table or I can bring something to you.”

      “If it’s all the same, I’m not up to company and I’m not really hungry. Thank you, though, for everything.”

      Slowly, he withdrew his hand from her arm in a gentle caress. She rubbed at the warmth that remained. She must not confuse his gratitude with affection nor give in to her feelings of attraction. To do so would be unthinkable.

      She mumbled, “It is our Christian duty to care for those in need. I will be back with linens and a pillow for you in a little while.”

      As she left the house, she paused on the porch to slow her racing pulse. Her family must not see her flustered.

      She did not doubt that God had brought John Doe into her life again for a reason but that reason was hidden from her. Was it so that she might help this outsider? Or had John Doe been sent to test the strength of her faith? Would she pass such a test or would she fail?

      John drew a deep breath as soon as Karen was gone. He couldn’t seem to concentrate when she was near. He didn’t understand why. The woman wasn’t a great beauty, but she had an elegant presence he found very attractive. Perhaps it was the peace in her tranquil blue eyes or the surety with which she carried herself.

      She knew exactly where she belonged in her small reclusive world while he was adrift in an ever-changing sea of turmoil that sought to swallow his sanity along with his memories. Her empathy had quickly become his lifeline. One he was afraid to let go of.

      “Get real. I can’t hang on the apron strings of an Amish farmer’s daughter.”

      Pushing his attraction to her to the back of his mind, he studied the small kitchen. He was surprised to see a refrigerator. On closer inspection, it turned out to be gas not electric, but it was empty and had apparently had the gas turned off. The few drawers were filled with normal kitchen utensils. The stove was wood burning.

      Did he even know how to cook?

      He opened a cupboard and pulled out a heavy cast-iron skillet. Hefting it in his hand, he suddenly saw it full of sizzling trout. He saw himself setting it on a trivet, hearing murmurs of appreciation, a woman’s lighthearted laughter.

      He spun around to face the table knowing someone sat there, but when he did—the image vanished.

      “No!”

      The loss was so sharp he doubled over in pain. Who was the woman with him? His mother? A sister? A wife? Where had it taken place? When? Was it a real memory or only a figment of his imagination?

      He looked at the pan he held and saw only a blackened skillet. Setting it on the stovetop he rubbed his hands on his thighs. It had been a real memory, he was sure of it. But had it been a month ago or ten years ago? It held no context. It faded before he could grasp hold and examine it.

      Pulling himself together, he blew out a shaky breath. Okay, it had only been a flash. But it could mean he was on the mend.

      Hope—new and crisp—flooded his body. Maybe the doctors had been right and time was all he needed. He had time. He had nothing but time.

      Using the matches Karen had given him, he lit a kerosene lamp sitting on the counter and began walking through the rest of the house. The wide plank floors creaked in places as he entered the sitting room containing several chairs and a small camelback sofa. None of the furniture shouted “kick back and relax.” It was utilitarian at best.

      Down a narrow hallway he passed a small bathroom and noted with relief the modern fixtures. At the end of the hall he opened the door to a sparsely furnished bedroom.

      The narrow bed, covered with a blue striped mattress, stood against a barren white wall. A bureau sat against the opposite wall while a delicate desk graced the corner by the window. The walls were empty of any decorations. The one chair in the room was straight-backed with a cane seat.

      Crossing the wooden floor, he set the lamp on the bedside table. He stared at the thin mattress, then sat down and bounced slightly. It was one shade better than his hospital bed but only two shades softer than the floor. Apparently, the Amish didn’t go in for luxury.

      He lay back on the bed and folded his arms behind his head to stare at the ceiling. Was his own bedroom this bare? He waited for another spark of memory, but nothing came.

      The pain in his head had settled to a dull ache he’d almost grown used to. There were pain pills in his duffel bag, a prescription filled at the hospital pharmacy, but he didn’t like the idea of using them. His thinking was muddled enough without narcotics. He closed his eyes and laid one arm across his face. Slowly, the tension left his body and he dozed.

      A rap on the door brought him awake. He sat up surprised to see it was fully dark beyond the window outside. Karen stood in the doorway, her arms loaded with sheets, quilts and a pillow. She asked, “Did I wake you?”

      “No. I was only resting.” John wasn’t about to make Karen feel bad after all that she’d done for him. He rose to take the linens from her. Their fresh sun-dried fragrance filled his nostrils.

      Taking a step back, she folded her arms nervously. “I left you a plate of food on the table. You should eat. You need to regain your strength.”

      “Thanks.” He expected her to hurry away, but she lingered.

      “Is the house to your satisfaction?” she asked.

      “It’s great. Better than a four-star motel. That’s a place where people can stay when they’re traveling—if you didn’t know.” Did he sound like a fool or what?

      An amused grin curved her full lips. “I know what a motel is. We do travel sometimes. I have even been to Florida to visit my great aunt and uncle there.”

      “I’ll bet the horse got tired trotting all that way.”

      Her giggle made him smile. A weight lifted from his chest.