Amish Country Amnesia. Meghan Carver

It certainly had looked from the snowmobile tracks like this man in her house was the one being chased. But did it follow, then, that he was innocent? Good? She had no way of knowing, and it seemed, neither did he. Did it matter? She had a Christian obligation to help those in need.

      As she watched, the doctor’s car pulled into her drive. Lyddie flew out of the passenger side and toward the kitchen door. Ach, the child would be so excited about a ride in the car she would chatter of nothing else for days. The tall, thin Dr. Jones unfolded himself from the driver’s seat, retrieved his black bag from the back seat and approached the door as Lyddie waited for him. The hair around his temples sported more gray than the last time Sarah had seen him, and a pair of glasses perched on his pointed nose.

      He stepped inside the back room, and Sarah rushed to hang up his coat. “Dr. Jones, danki for coming.”

      “Hello, Sarah. I’m always glad to visit my Amish friends and keep up the traditions of my father. Family and community are important to some of us Englishers, as well.” A teasing twinkle sparkled in his eye. He looked pointedly at the remains of the apple pie on the stove top.

      “Would you like a piece of pie before you go? I would not want you to leave hungry.” The banter was as old a tradition as the house calls, but Sarah relished her friendship with the doctor.

      “If you insist.” He smiled with warmth and touched her shoulder before he turned toward the downstairs bedroom. “Now, Lyddie tells me you have a man in there who was in a snowmobiling accident yesterday?”

      Sarah filled him in on the details she knew, few as they were, including the man’s apparent amnesia, as she led him into the room and pointed him to the chair at the bedside. John had changed into the Amish clothing, creating quite a change in his appearance, and was resting on top of the quilt.

      “Dr. Jones, this is John. At least, he has agreed to be called by that name. I gave him my brother’s clothes to put on.” She turned to the patient. “John, this is Dr. Jones.”

      John attempted a smile, although it looked painful, and shook hands with the doctor. “You make house calls? I didn’t know anyone did that anymore.”

      Dr. Jones laid his black bag on the bed next to John and opened it. “My father made house calls, so I choose to continue that practice, at least with the Amish. They have a bit more difficulty in getting to the office than other folks. And there’s never a poor return on being neighborly.”

      As the doctor retrieved his stethoscope from his bag and instructed John to unbutton his shirt, Sarah stepped out to finish making the tea and shooed Lyddie upstairs to her room to work on her stitching. She took as long as she could and then grasped the tray and stepped toward the door. “May I come in?”

      “Yes, that’s fine.”

      She entered the room to find the doctor slowly moving an instrument back and forth in front of John. He followed it with his eyes but without moving his head. But when he spotted her, her breath hitched as his green eyes smiled at her.

      The doctor placed the instrument back in his bag and snapped it shut. He stood and moved back to allow Sarah to place the tray on the bedside table. “Your patient seems quite well, Sarah. You bandaged that nasty cut on his head quite admirably, and it should heal nicely. Apart from that, a little soreness and his memory loss, I would say he is in fine shape. I don’t see any problems.”

      “That is gut.”

      He held up his hands in caution. “However, my ability to examine him is limited here. I would suggest that as soon as he feels able, he get to the hospital for an MRI and a thorough examination.” He pulled a small bottle from his bag and placed it on the table. “Here is some acetaminophen, in case your chamomile tea doesn’t relieve the pain like he wants. However,” the doctor turned to John, “you should take it only as a last resort. Allergies to acetaminophen are rare, but because you can’t remember your medical history or what medicine you might be allergic to, we don’t know how this might affect you.”

      “What about my memory, Doctor?”

      “Well, amnesia is a tricky thing, and we medical professionals still don’t know much about it. Your memory will most likely return in time. How long I cannot say.”

      John shook the doctor’s hand and thanked him for coming, then accepted the cup of tea from Sarah.

      Dr. Jones looked at Sarah and nodded toward the kitchen, and she stepped in front to lead him there. As she approached the pie, he laid a hand on her arm. “Can you wrap it to go, please? I have an appointment and can’t stay.”

      “Jah, if you wish.”

      As she packaged two slices of the apple pie, he stood close enough that he could keep his voice low. “I admire you for taking this stranger in and caring for him. But I want to warn you, as well. I know you have, at least, a rifle for hunting. You should keep that close for protection for you and Lyddie. Just in case. If you don’t need protection from this stranger, then you might need protection from whoever caused the accident yesterday.”

      She handed the pie to him. “Danki, doctor, but you know that is not the Amish way. I will trust Gott for His protection and His guidance.”

      Dr. Jones grasped his bag in one hand and the pie in the other, and Sarah moved to open the door for him. “I knew that would be your answer, but I felt the need to say it.” He paused, then looked her in the eye. “One more thing. I think I see a bit of resemblance between John and Mary Miller. There’s something about his eyes that makes me think of her.”

      “Mammi Mary? The widow who lives over on Woodbridge Road?”

      “Yes, but maybe it’s nothing.” He stepped outside. “I’ll pray for you and for the stranger, and don’t hesitate to contact me if you need help.”

      Sarah closed the door gently behind him and then turned the lock until it thudded into place. The rifle? It still rested in its place on top of the cabinets. She kept it cleaned and in good working order, but it had not been used since before her husband was killed.

      No, there it would stay. She would trust Gott and His protection.

      But a wiggle of worry wormed itself down her back. Who was this strange man? Had he brought danger with him? Had she willingly brought into her house a wolf that she had dressed in Amish clothing?

       THREE

      John helped as best he could in cleaning up their simple breakfast of sticky rolls and scrambled eggs, but his skills were so lacking that he figured he hadn’t done much kitchen work before. His shoulders sagged at the thought of how long it might take to regain his memory.

      Sarah was jittery as she quickly washed the dishes and laid them out on a towel to dry. Between keeping an eye on him and jumping up to look out the window, she barely sat for the meal. He hoped his presence wasn’t too upsetting to her, but how could it not be? She didn’t know him, and yet here he sat, completely dependent upon her goodness. What kind of man was he? Could he be trusted? Was he honorable? Neither of them knew.

      As she laid the last glass on the drying towel, he ventured a suggestion. “I think we need to head back to the scene of the accident. Or was it an attack? It’s frustrating not even to know what happened yesterday.” He rubbed a hand over the knot in the back of his neck and took a deep breath. “If I could just remember—something, anything—I might know what to do next. But there could be something at the site to help me remember. Fill in some of the emptiness. It’s a good time to look because of the bright sunshine. If there’s any clue there, we should be able to find it.”

      Lyddie ran for her heavy cape. “Mamm, may I take Snowball and the sled?”

      Sarah turned from the sink to her daughter, her eyes wide. “It has not yet been decided.” She set her worried look on John. “Do you think it is safe?”

      What