Amish Country Amnesia. Meghan Carver

free from her kapp flying behind her. “Mamm! A man. An Englischer! He is hurt. He has been attacked.” Lyddie gasped for breath as she skidded to a stop in front of her mother. The dog barked as if to urge Sarah to help, then turned and faced back toward the woods.

      Sarah’s hand flew to cover her mouth and then migrated south to cover her heart as if it could still the wild beat at Lyddie’s news. An attack? She prayed the child was mistaken.

      Lyddie pulled at her mother’s hand. “Mamm. We must help the man.”

      “Jah. We must.” She paused. “In case it is needed, hitch the sled to Snowball.”

      Lyddie ran to the barn to retrieve the sled she had rigged to hitch to the large snow dog. Sarah stepped back inside to grab a quilt, and when she returned to the porch, daughter and dog were ready to go. With no idea what she might find, she at least wanted another way to supply warmth.

      Sarah pulled her cape about her and stepped out to follow her daughter. “Show me where he is.”

      She followed as Lyddie led Snowball and retraced her tracks in the snow, babbling like the brook in springtime about hiding in the trees as the snowmobiles came closer and watching two snowmobiles chase another snowmobile and the man who then did not move. The dog bounded alongside, strangely quiet, as if she knew her barking could draw unwanted attention. After hiking for several minutes, Sarah felt the acrid odor of smoke fill her nostrils.

      She pushed Lyddie faster, clumping behind in her snow boots, as they followed the sight of a thin plume of gray smoke rising from over another hill. Gott, have mercy.

      They crested the hill, and Lyddie led her through some trees and into a tiny clearing next to the creek. Sarah knew it well. Some wild raspberry bushes grew not far away where they would pick berries in the heat come August. But now, everything was covered with the white blanket of winter even as more snow fell.

      At the site, Sarah gasped. How could anyone have survived that? A red-and-black snowmobile had crashed into a tree, and flames rose from its crumpled form. She rushed forward, the heat warming her face. Instinctively, she held out an arm to hold Lyddie back from the fire.

      She turned toward her daughter, not taking her eyes from the wreckage. “Lyddie, where is the Englischer? Show me.”

      The girl moved past Sarah’s arm and skirted around the flames. She held out a hand to Snowball and he sat, then she headed for some boulders at the edge of the creek bed. “Here. He has not moved.”

      Sarah surveyed the area. With what Lyddie had said about the man being attacked, she didn’t want to risk any danger on their part. But all seemed still and silent there in the woods.

      On the other side of the boulders, a man in a gray snowmobile suit lay with a fine layer of snow on him. A gash on the side of his head trickled a bright red flow of blood. A little bit of blood had dripped onto his shoulder and the rock where he had apparently hit his head. His snowmobile suit was torn in a couple of places, but other than that, he appeared well. His eyes were closed as if in sleep, but Sarah flew to his side. She kneeled on the snow next to him and pulled down the collar of his protective jacket to feel for a pulse. His heartbeat was strong. She released a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. The man was still alive. She lowered her head and turned to listen for his breath. It was even and steady. She then gently felt every bone, but each felt solid and unharmed.

      So far, everything had checked normal, but he still had not reacted to her touch.

      She prodded his shoulder, lifted his hand, rolled his ankle. “Hello? Can you hear me? Can you wake up?”

      He remained unresponsive.

      A chill shook through her. Whether it was fear or the cold did not matter. She needed to be careful of her surroundings, for her sake, for the sake of her daughter and for the sake of this unknown man. But she also needed to get him to warmth and shelter to treat his wounds.

      She shook her head, a desperate attempt to understand human beings. What kind of person would allow an injured man to lie in the snow and not care for him? Obviously, not a good one. Lyddie had said that there were two on snowmobiles chasing the man. She had even mentioned a gun in the hand of one of the pursuers. Had they hoped to kill him? Thought he was dead?

      Sarah stood and looked back to the site of the accident and what was left of the tracks in the snow. Thankfully, all remained quiet. But what if the attackers returned? Lyddie had said they had driven off and out of sight. But if they were evil enough to leave a hurt man here, a man who appeared to be dead, what would they do to an innocent Amish woman and her daughter? There were no other footprints besides their own and a couple of sets of prints near where the snowmobiles had stopped. It seemed as if they had dismounted but then left again. There were also no other snowmobile tracks, but the falling snow was quickly filling in everything. Soon, there would be no visible signs of any human presence left.

      The best thing to do would be to get the man to the house immediately. To safety. A neighbor had a telephone in his barn for business, but the neighbor was farther from here than the distance to her own home. If his pursuers did return, Sarah did not want to be there, exposed, nor did she want the injured man to be, whoever he was.

      “Lyddie.” Sarah kept her voice to a loud whisper. “Bring the sled. There.” She pointed to a path around the rocks.

      As the dog brought the sled, Sarah leaned down to the man. “My name is Sarah, and my daughter, Lyddie, is here.” Could he hear her? She had no way to know, but she needed to try. “You are injured, and I am taking you to my house. We will load you on the sled.”

      Lyddie led Snowball to pull the sled until it sat alongside the man. Squatting down, Sarah put her arms under the man’s shoulders and instructed Lyddie to get him by the ankles. “We will move you now,” she said to the man, then nodded to Lyddie, and together they swung him onto the sled, then tucked the quilt about him.

      The man moved his head from one side to the other, a low groan issuing from his lips, but his eyes did not open.

      With Lyddie’s encouragement, the dog strained against the harness to haul the sled. Sarah grabbed the handle and helped to pull through the snow, as well. As the hum of snowmobiles sounded again in the distance, Sarah urged the dog to haul faster. Safety behind her locked doors was close, and her hands perspired within her gloves at the thought of being out in the woods if those men returned.

      The man continued a low groan off and on through most of the walk back to the house. At the back door, Sarah released Snowball and rubbed her ears, conveying her gratitude for the dog’s help. The stranger had moved in the sled, so Sarah leaned down and shook his shoulder again. “Can you hear me? We are home, and I need you to stand and walk inside. Can you get up?”

      When he didn’t stand, Sarah grasped one arm and put Lyddie on the other. Together, they pulled him to a sitting position. That movement seemed to awaken something inside him, for he stood, leaning heavily on them. With his eyes mostly closed, he staggered into the house as Sarah guided him into the downstairs guest bedroom. He was not overly tall, but his solid form filled out his snowmobile suit, and Sarah knew she would never be able to get him up the stairs.

      As he lay down on the quilt, his head thrashed and his eyelids fluttered as if with some internal struggle. His eyes opened suddenly, and she gasped to look into such vivid green eyes. He startled, grabbing toward his hip as if reaching for something, a harsh and intense look on his face.

      She jumped back, clutching her skirt.

      Perhaps he was the dangerous one after all?

       TWO

      An eerie quiet filtered through his mind, a stillness that felt foreign and uncomfortable. With what felt like great effort, he opened his eyes only to find more darkness, softened slightly by moonlight coming through a window. Before he could form a coherent thought or try to lift his head, the darkness consumed him again.

      His