Her Forgotten Amish Past. Debby Giusti

you, Ezekiel, than you know about yourself?”

      “I know that neither you nor I want our lives disturbed.”

      “Helping a person in need is more important than our peace and quiet.”

      He nodded. “You are right. Still, I worry.”

      “You worry because of what happened, but we learn from our mistakes. Some days I fear you learned too well.”

      “Meaning what?”

      “Meaning you hole up on this farm and venture into town late in the evening and take the long way home as if you are afraid to see anyone. You do not go with me to Sunday church or on visits to friends. You have not spoken to your father for over two years.”

      He glanced through the kitchen window at the darkness outside. “My father is busy being the bishop.”

      Hattie tugged at his arm. “Yah, he is a busy man, but he is still your father.”

      Zeke met her gaze. “A father who is disappointed with his son.”

      She tilted her head and leaned closer. “Then perhaps you must earn his respect again. His love is ever present.”

      “You accepted me, Hattie.”

      “I am your mother’s sister without children of my own. You have always been the son I never had.”

      “For which I am grateful.”

      “Your mother’s life ended too quickly for both of us. Your father said it was Gott’s will, yet I do not believe Gott wills us pain.”

      “Do not let my father hear you say such things. He will have you shunned for going against the Ordnung.”

      “He did not shun you, Ezekiel.”

      “Only because I was not baptized.”

      She raised a brow. “Which you could change.”

      “Then I would be forced to attend services and listen to my father preach. We would both be uncomfortable.”

      Hattie tsked. “You are headstrong, like your father.”

      “I am determined, not headstrong.”

      “Then why are you running from life instead of facing it?”

      He stared at her for a long moment, surprised by the truth in her statement. Hattie was right. She did know him better than he knew himself. He finished the coffee and placed the cup in the sink just as footsteps sounded on the stairs.

      They both turned to find the woman staring at them. She was dressed in one of Hattie’s nightgowns with a robe wrapped around her slender frame. A bruise darkened her cheek and her left eye was swollen almost shut. Bandages covered cuts on her forehead and lower arms where Hattie had tended her wounds.

      “I heard voices,” she said, her good eye wide with expectation.

      Hattie stepped closer. “Dear, I am sorry we woke you.”

      “You didn’t. I tried to sleep, but...” She glanced at the aluminum coffeepot on the back of the stove. “Do I smell coffee?”

      “Forgive me.” Hattie pulled a cup from the cabinet and filled it with the hot brew, then handed it to the woman without a name.

      She took a sip and glanced at Ezekiel. His stomach churned, not from hunger, but from the way her gaze bore into him as if she could see into the deepest recesses of his heart.

      “Thank you again, Ezekiel. A man chased me through the woods. I remember falling, then wandering in the dark, afraid and confused. After that, I awoke in your house.”

      “My aunt’s house,” he corrected. “Do you remember anything about the man?”

      She shook her head. “I heard him call to me, but I never saw his face.”

      Turning to Hattie, she asked, “You bandaged my cuts in the night?”

      “While you were sleeping. Your soiled dress is soaking. I will find clean clothes for you to wear after breakfast.”

      “Thank you, Hattie. You are both generous and hospitable.”

      “We are pleased you could join us. Sit, dear, at the table. It is early, but since we are all up, I will prepare breakfast. You are hungry?”

      “I don’t want to put you out.”

      “Ezekiel will slice the bread and fetch the butter from outside. The jelly is on the counter. At least, you will have something to eat while I fry ham and eggs.”

      “The bread will be enough.”

      “Perhaps for you, dear, but my nephew will need his breakfast, as well.”

      Never before at a loss for words, Zeke suddenly felt like the odd man at a sewing bee. Quickly, he sliced the bread and then hurried outside to get the jar of butter cooling in the pail of water by the pump. He dried the jar and returned to the kitchen.

      Ham sizzled in the frying pan. The pungent aroma filled the kitchen and made his mouth water. He glanced at the woman who watched him wipe his feet on the braided rug by the door. The latest copy of the Budget newspaper lay open on the table.

      “Your aunt thought reading the paper might trigger my memory,” she volunteered. “I seem to have forgotten everything about my past.”

      “A blow to the head can cause temporary amnesia,” he offered.

      She gently touched the bandage that wrapped around her head. “Tell me it won’t last long.”

      “I am certain your memory will soon return,” he said with assurance.

      “And if it doesn’t?”

      “My mother always said to take each day as it comes.”

      Her face lit up and she offered a weak smile. “Good advice.”

      “Have you read anything in the paper that seems familiar?” he asked.

      “A few of the more common surnames. Yoder and Zook. Luke Miller caught my eye as well, yet so many Amish have similar names.”

      “And your own, dear?” Hattie turned from the stove to ask. “Have you remembered your own name?”

      The light in the woman’s gaze faded. She bit her lip and glanced down at the newsprint as if searching for a clue to her past. Ezekiel sensed her eagerness to uncover something—anything—that would reveal who she was. Surely, she was confused and frustrated and feeling locked in a world where she did not belong.

      He had felt the same way when he had been in jail, awaiting his hearing on wrongful death charges and intent to manufacture a controlled substance, not knowing what the future would hold. At least his memory had not failed him, even if it took a good bit of time before his innocence had been believed.

      The woman glanced up. “I think it’s coming back to me.”

      “Have you remembered something?” Hattie asked.

      “As I think of names. Becca swirls through my mind and won’t let go of me.”

      “Your first name is Becca?” Zeke asked.

      “I believe it could be, along with Troyer as a surname.”

      “Becca Troyer,” he repeated.

      She looked at Zeke and tried to smile. He thought again of the woman covered with blood wandering aimlessly alone in the night. Did amnesia provide the excuse she needed to keep her past hidden?

      As much as he wanted to believe her, Becca could be a fraud.

      He turned and started for the door.

      “Where are you going?” Hattie called.

      “To feed the livestock.”

      “Breakfast