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“Never said they were, but they’re not Plain.”
“A computer isn’t going to cause anyone to leave the faith.”
“It could. The things you can see on one...well, it’s like bait to our youngies...”
“Of which you are one.”
He laughed at that. “Turned twenty-five last year.”
“Me, too.”
They both froze, the argument suddenly forgotten.
“Another piece of the puzzle 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 another block before turning, but the entire time she could hear Caleb’s words in her ears.
Amish women work hard, too. At least most of them do.
He might not want to use the Englisch computers to learn about his new alpaca herd, but she was more than willing to look for a job on them. Something told her that if she wanted to move forward, the internet would be the place to start.
Find a job. Earn some money. Remember who she was.
It was a short list, and suddenly Rachel was sure it was one she could conquer.
Chapter Four (#u2b1d1c03-f850-5246-9a57-b45354f86271)
Rachel’s library search was not fruitful.
First of all, the library was small—smaller than she had imagined. The room was about the size of Ida’s sitting room. The walls were lined with bookcases that were filled to capacity with books, but there wasn’t exactly a large variety of material and much of it looked quite dated. Worse, there were only two computers. Both were being used when she walked in, so she had to wait. While she did, she perused the bookshelves. There was a single shelf with books labeled Christian Fiction. She thought to check one out, then realized she didn’t have any identification.
The librarian had been watching her—she was an older lady with shoulder-length silver hair and was wearing a bright red sweater that said Ho Ho Ho across the front. She stood about only five feet tall, and Rachel couldn’t help envisioning one of the elves she’d seen as part of a lawn display on her drive into town.
“Problem, dear?”
“Only that I don’t...well, I don’t have any identification. I’m staying with John and Ida Wittmer.”
“You must be the girl Caleb found in the snow.”
“Ya. Unless he found two, and I haven’t met the other one yet.”
“I’m pretty sure it was you—Amish, young, pretty and with freckles.” She walked over to Rachel, patted her on the arm and smiled. “I mean no offense, dear. You’re quite the topic of conversation around our little township—a real Christmas mystery.”
“I never thought of it that way.” Rachel turned back to the books, allowed her fingertips to caress the spines. Had she always liked to read? What were her favorite types of books?
“You can pick out up to three items.”
“But I don’t have an identification card.”
“So you mentioned.”
“I don’t even remember my own last name, and...and I don’t have a home address.”
“For now, your home address is Ida and John’s place, which I know because they both have a card here.”
“They do? I thought Caleb said...”
“I’m well aware of Caleb’s opinion on the matter, but I suspect one day he will marry and perhaps his wife will be able to soften that stubborn spirit.”
Rachel didn’t know how to answer that. From what she’d seen of Caleb Wittmer it would take more than a wife to change his attitudes—it would take divine intervention.
“As far as your last name, we’ll just put Rachel for now. I make up the entire library staff—well, me and one part-time girl who works a few hours in the afternoon. So there’s no one to tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m Mary Agnes Putnam, by the way, but most people just call me Mary Agnes.”
The woman was as good as her word. While Rachel picked out one novel and a slim volume of poems by William Blake, Mary Agnes printed her a library card on an old printer, which sounded as if it was in distress. Rachel looked over a few cooking books, several historical tomes and some children’s titles. As she was walking toward the checkout desk, she spied a pile of books with the word Self-help neatly printed and taped to the wall beside it. She dug through the stack and came up with Crocheting for Dummies. Maybe she’d feel useful if she could at least use Ida’s crochet needle properly.
Mary Agnes checked out her material, and Rachel confessed, “I came in to use the computer.”
“Indeed? We get that a lot around here.”
“Maybe I should come back.” She glanced over at the two old gentlemen who were still at their monitors.
“I’ll take care of those two for you. They’re playing chess—with one another—on the computer!” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “We have a chessboard on the game shelf, and even a table where they can play, but both Albert and Wayne say they need to learn to travel the information highway. That’s what they call it. So they play chess every day on the monitors. Fancy the things that people do.”
Mary Agnes ran off the two men, who claimed it was time for their lunch, anyway. She showed Rachel how to log on and directed her to Montgomery’s virtual job-search board.
But thirty minutes on the computer only increased Rachel’s frustration. She couldn’t fill in any applications with no last name. She didn’t know what her educational level was. Ida had mentioned that most Amish students attended school through eighth grade. Had she? Who knew? Maybe she’d lived in a district that went to school through twelfth grade like the Englischers. Did any Amish do that? She certainly couldn’t recall her employment history, though if she was twenty-five she must have worked somewhere.
Sighing in frustration, she logged off, picked up her three books and thanked Mary Agnes for her help. She stepped out into a day that felt more like fall than winter. She should go on to the store and pick up the items on Ida’s list, but then she remembered Ida telling her to take her time. What was it she had said?
Do something whimsical.
She couldn’t imagine what that might be, so she walked over to the parking area and checked on the buggy horse, who was contentedly cropping grass.
