Amish Country Amnesia. Meghan Carver

sunshine streamed through windows on either side of the bed.

      He lifted a hand to his forehead, trying to locate the source of the stabbing pain. His hand came into contact with what felt like a bandage, but the hurt seemed to come from all over his head. Just the act of moving his arm made him aware of an aching soreness that consumed his entire body. Shading his eyes, he opened them further.

      The walls around him were a stark white. Light blue curtains hung at the windows, but they were thin enough that they did not block the light very much. He was in a bed, covered with a colorful quilt, a wood armoire standing against the wall across from him. Near the door, a young girl with a blue dress and white cap on her head sat in a straight-backed chair, reading a book. She must have noticed his movement, for she looked up and their stares locked. Her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise, and she dashed from the room.

      Before he could try to sit up, the girl returned with a young woman who wore a similar dress and cap.

      The woman pressed her lips together as if concerned, and tiny crinkling lines formed around her eyes. But her gaze radiated warmth and care. “How are you?” Her voice was quiet and calming.

      She pulled the chair up to the bedside and sat, her hands clasped in her lap. Her face seemed to be completely devoid of makeup, and yet a beauty radiated from her that he hadn’t seen in... Well, he couldn’t remember when.

      He cleared his throat, trying to summon his voice. His mind was a complete blank, yet a sense of discomfort, danger even, seemed to hover over him. How was he? “I’m... I’m sore.”

      “I am glad to see you are awake. I bandaged the cut on your forehead last night.” She fluttered her hand up to the side of his head. “May I check it?”

      He nodded. She peeled back part of the bandage, her touch a whisper against his skin. “It has stopped bleeding. That is gut.” She stood and stepped to the window, lifting the curtain to look out. She stood there a moment, surveying, a frown creasing her brow. But as she returned to the chair, she seemed to force a small smile. “Now. Introductions. I am Sarah Burkholder. This is my house. And this,” she motioned the girl forward, “is my daughter, Lyddie.”

      She looked at him, expectation etched around her eyes and mouth.

      But his mind was blank, a black hole of nothingness. He closed his eyes to block out any distractions, including the woman’s pretty face and the sweetness of the little girl, and searched for any information about who he was. What was his name? What was his job? What had happened yesterday that landed him here in this home? And why did he have such a pervasive feeling of danger?

      He had no idea.

      He opened his eyes to find the woman still watching him, waiting for an answer. “I don’t know.”

      Confusion flitted across her face. “You do not know your own name?”

      He thought again. “No.”

      “Where do you live?”

      Again, he searched and came up blank. “I don’t know. Here? With you?”

      “No. Not here.” She giggled, a musical sound that calmed him. “What is your job?”

      “I don’t know. What can you tell me about yourself? Where is your husband? Where are we? How did you get me here?”

      She held out a hand. “In good time. First, I will send Lyddie to fetch the doctor.”

      At a nod from her mother, the girl ran out of the room. A few moments later, an exterior door slammed.

      The woman settled herself again on the chair. “My husband was killed two years ago when a car hit his buggy. We are near Nappanee in Indiana, in the home my husband built when we moved here. We are Amish.” She gestured to her dark blue dress, her white apron, her starched kapp.

      “Yes.” Somehow, he knew the word Amish and had a vague inkling of what it meant. That’s why the girl went running for the doctor. There would be no telephone in the house.

      “Lyddie and I brought you here on a sled pulled by our malamute, Snowball. I did not see it, but she told me that you were chased by two men on snowmobiles. You crashed into a tree. I think you hit your head on a rock by the creek.”

      “What about the two men?”

      “They left you. They must have thought you were dead.” She paused, clearly thinking through her next words. When she spoke again, it was haltingly. “I do not like to bother the sheriff. He is...not friendly to me. To our way of life. But I will contact him if you wish.”

      “No!” He struggled to sit up in bed, ache consuming his body. Where did that vehemence come from? A dark foreboding invaded his mind when he thought of law enforcement, and he clutched his head in an effort to calm himself. “I... I can’t explain it. I don’t know why. But no, don’t bring the police into this. Not yet.” Maybe if his memories returned and he could figure out who he was and what sort of situation he was in, then he could involve law enforcement. “I wouldn’t know what to tell them anyway.”

      She laid a hand on the quilt as if to calm him. “I will respect your wishes. But you need a name. Are you sure you cannot remember your own?”

      “My head aches so terribly that it hurts to try to remember anything.”

      “May I call you John?” She tilted her head, and one side of her mouth quirked up. “John is a good Bible name meaning Yahweh is gracious. Would you not agree that the Lord has been gracious to you, saving you from worse harm?”

      Something pinged in his brain. “Yes, the Lord has been gracious.”

      “You are a religious man? You believe?”

      A comfortable warmth filled him as she asked the questions. “I don’t know for sure, but I think I do.”

      “That is gut. But also, you are a John Doe. Is that not what the Englisch call a person with no name?”

      “How do you know that?” This beautiful Amish woman whose presence soothed him was certainly a mystery.

      She ducked her head, the top of her kapp catching the sunlight. “I love to read.”

      As if to change the subject, she stood and crossed the room to the armoire, pulling out an Amish-looking pair of trousers and shirt as well as a pair of suspenders. “Your clothes need to be laundered. You may put these on for the time being. They belong to my brother, but he left them here after his last visit.”

      A whistle sounded from another room, and she laid the clothes at the foot of the bed.

      “That is the kettle. I will bring you some herbal tea. Chamomile. It will help relieve your headache and your muscle soreness. Do you like tea?” She stood and moved to the door.

      Did he like tea? He had no idea, but the lovely Sarah was so kind and so accommodating that he would drink just about anything she could bring him. A nod would have to suffice to show his agreement, as a spasm of pain shot through his head.

      Why couldn’t he remember anything? Who was he? Why was he there, in the Amish countryside, and who were the two men from yesterday? A blankness settled over him, but it was cloaked in darkness as the overwhelming sensation of danger returned, and he feared not only for his future but also for the future of the beautiful widow who sheltered him.

      * * *

      Sarah dropped the bag of tea leaves into the cup and slowly poured the boiling water over it. She inhaled deeply of the soothing scent, in need of some calming herself after the events of the prior twenty-four hours.

      A shiver threatened her, and she returned the kettle to the propane-powered stove top before she stepped to the window to survey the yard again. Her sleep had been fitful the night before, her dreams filled with burning snowmobiles and strange men come to harm her and her daughter.

      Who was this man in her spare bedroom, and what sort of danger