Amish Christmas Memories. Vannetta Chapman

of Rachel,” he said softly.

      She glanced at him uncertainly, a range of emotions playing across her face, and then she turned and wandered back into the house, pausing now and again to look back at the alpacas.

      * * *

      Rachel spent the rest of Friday morning helping Ida, but honestly there wasn’t much to do for a family of three—four if she counted herself. Was she a part of Ida’s family? Was this her home now? When would she remember her past?

      And beneath those questions were Caleb’s words, mocking her.

       Amish women work hard, too. At least most of them do.

      Did he think she liked not being able to remember her own last name or where she was from? Did he think she enjoyed being ill?

      “The headaches are better, ya?” Ida was crocheting a gray-and-black winter scarf for Caleb. She only brought it out during the day, not wanting him to see it until Christmas morning.

      Rachel was sitting and staring at the crochet needle that Ida had given her. She’d even shown her how to use it, but the rhythm and stitch pattern seemed completely foreign. If she’d crocheted in her other life, she certainly couldn’t remember doing so.

      “Some.”

      “That’s gut. You’re a little better every day. You could be entirely well by Christmas.”

      “Does your community celebrate on December twenty-fifth or on January sixth?”

      “Both. The older generation—older than me even, they prefer Old Christmas.”

      “Probably includes Caleb.”

      “Caleb likes both holidays—mainly because I cook his favorite dishes.”

      “I wish I could remember how to use this.” Rachel stared at the crochet needle. “I wish I remembered something useful.”

      “That seems to happen when you’re not thinking about it.” She pointed to the journal that contained the list that Rachel had made. The list was pitifully short, in her opinion. She opened the journal and stared down at the first page.

      My name is Rachel.

      I have a brother.

      I know about alpaca wool.

      Used to wear sunglasses?

      I’m 25 years old.

      “Those things could describe a lot of women.”

      “And yet they describe you, and Gotte made you special and unique.”

      “Now you’re trying to cheer me up.”

      “Indeed.” Ida peered at her over the reading glasses she wore while crocheting. The frames were a pretty blue, which probably irked Caleb to no end. A blue dress was out of the question—blue frames couldn’t be far behind.

      “Do you know what I think is wrong with you?”

      Rachel nearly choked on the water she’d been sipping. She’d known Ida for only less than a week, and yet already she knew the woman had a gentle spirit—one that wasn’t critical.

      “What’s wrong with me?”

      Now Ida was smiling. “Uh-huh.”

      “Tell me, Ida. Because it may just be that my brain is bruised, but I feel all out of sorts.”

      “You have cabin fever.”

      “Pardon me?”

      “Cabin fever. I used to suffer from it something terrible when Caleb was a babe. That was a hard winter, and we were inside—in this very house—too much. Finally, his father came into the kitchen one morning and told me that he had finished all of his work in the barn.”

      “A farmer’s work is never done...”

      “Exactly. When John came in that morning, he claimed he’d finished the work that had to be done, took the babe from my arms and told me to go to town.”

      “And did it help?”

      “Immensely. After that, one day a week he’d come in and take care of Caleb for a few hours while I went on little errands.”

      “So I need to go on little errands?”

      “Wouldn’t hurt.” Ida dropped her crochet work in her lap and pulled a scrap of paper from her apron pocket. “Here’s some things I need from the general store. It’s on the main road. You won’t have any trouble finding it. While you’re out, maybe you can find something whimsical to do.”

      “Whimsical?”

      “Impulsive. Something you hadn’t planned on. Life on a farm can be awfully predictable. A surprise, even a little one, can brighten the spirit.”

      “How am I supposed to get there?”

      “John told me he’d bring around the buggy after lunch.”

      “What if I don’t remember how to drive a buggy?”

      “We won’t know that until you try. If you don’t remember, then I’ll ask Caleb to go with you.”

      The rest of the morning sped by and suddenly lunch was over and the buggy and horse were waiting near the front porch.

      Maybe it was the thought of a little freedom, or perhaps it was fear that Caleb would be saddled with her for an afternoon when he’d rather be with his alpacas—he’d frowned fiercely when Ida shared their plan during lunch—but whatever the cause, Rachel was determined to drive the buggy herself. She needn’t have worried. As soon as she climbed up into the buggy, something deep inside of her brain took over.

      Her hands picked up the reins.

      She clucked to the horse.

      Her spirit soared, and she pulled away.

      Ida had given her an envelope with cash in it and drawn a crude map on the back of the list. The way to the general store was simple and consisted of driving down the lane to the main road, making a right and heading into town. Rachel suspected the map was in case she forgot how to get home, but her confidence had surged as soon as she’d begun driving the buggy. She didn’t think she’d be getting lost.

      The dark cloud that had been hovering over her mood lifted by the time she hit the main road. Farms dotted the way into town, and many had Christmas displays in the yards. Englisch homes had lights strung across shrubs and trees. She wondered what they’d look like at night.

      Other houses sported giant inflatable yard decorations. There were large white polar bears wearing red neckties, yellow cartoon characters with blue pants and round eyeglasses that she had seen on Englisch coloring books, and even reindeer pulling a sleigh. A few Amish homes had wooden nativities, and their porches were decorated with green cedar wrapped around the porch railing.

      As she neared town, she passed a sign that read Welcome to Montgomery, Indiana. The name didn’t ring any bells. But then, she already knew she wasn’t from here.

      So how had she happened on the road that led to Caleb’s home?

      Where was she from?

      In town, the main road was filled with other buggies as well as cars. She saw even more decorations, including festive window displays, city banners wishing everyone “Happy Holidays” and churches reminding people when their Christmas services would be held. It was only December seventh, but it seemed that everyone was getting ready for the holiday early.

      She was waiting at a signal light when a car of Englischers pulled up beside her, and a young child waved. She waved back as they pulled away. If it hadn’t been for the child, she wouldn’t have been looking in that direction, but she was...and so she saw the sign that said Montgomery Public Library.

      She was in the wrong lane. She had to drive