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Eli turned to John. In a low steely voice, he said, “I would not want to see my daughter’s kindness repaid with sorrow. Be careful of that, John Doe.”
Taken aback, John stared at Eli. The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for the woman who’d shown him so much kindness. He nodded solemnly. “I will, sir. I promise.”
* * *
Late the following morning, Karen stopped the buggy where the lane met the highway and gave a sidelong glance at John seated beside her. He turned the collar of his coat up against the cold drizzle, but his excitement at finally getting to do something shimmered in his eyes.
“Which way would you like to go?” she asked.
“Which direction is the nearest interstate?”
She pointed north. “If you go through town and then take Yoder Road north about twenty-five miles you will reach the interstate.”
“Let’s go toward Hope Springs then and stop at the farms between here and the town. If I’m not from the area I most likely came in on a major highway.”
Slapping the reins against Molly’s rump, Karen sent the mare trotting down the blacktop. “I have one stop I need to make at the Sutters’ farm. Are you certain you are not from this area?”
“No. Except that no one has reported me missing from around here. And no one has recognized me from the TV piece the local news ran on me. Do you mind if I try my hand at driving?” he asked.
Surprised by his request, she said, “Nee, I do not mind. Do you know how to drive a horse?”
“I think I can. I’ve been watching you do it.” Taking the reins, he sat up straight and guided Molly down the highway.
After watching for a few minutes, Karen said, “That is goot. I think you’ve done this before.”
John smiled at her. “I think you’re right.”
“Perhaps you are ex-Amish.”
The moment the words left her mouth her heart sank like a stone. If John had taken the vows of their faith and then left the community, all would shun him. She would have to shun him.
He didn’t seem to notice her concern. “The sheriff did discuss that possibility.”
Dismissing the idea as unacceptable, she said, “You don’t speak or understand our language. Surely you could not forget the tongue you grew up with.”
He shrugged. “Who would think I could forget my own name? As far as I’m concerned anything is possible.”
Racking her mind for local families with members who’d strayed, she quickly came up with several. In their tight-knit community, she was sure she knew all the young men who’d left. The only one close to John’s age would have been Isaac Troyer’s son who left almost ten years ago. He looked nothing like John. The others she could think of who had left the community were much younger men and a few young women.
There were at least three families who had moved into the area recently. If they had members leave the faith before coming to this church district she didn’t know about them.
In less than a quarter of a mile, they reached the lane of another farm. John turned the horse onto the narrow road. Karen said, “When we get to the bishop’s house, you should stay in the buggy.”
“Why?”
“So that I may speak privately to Bishop Zook and ask if he can assist you.”
“And if he says no?” John’s tone carried a hint of annoyance.
“Bishop Zook is a wise and much-respected man. If you have his permission to speak to the members of our church it will open many doors that might otherwise be closed to you.”
John relented. “All right. I’ll follow your lead.”
“Goot.” She nodded her satisfaction.
Driving the buggy up to the front of the house, he drew the mare to a stop. Before Karen could step out, Joseph Zook walked out of the house toward her.
“Guder mariye, Karen,” he called cheerfully. “What brings you here today?”
“Good morning, Bishop. I have brought someone to meet you. This is John Doe, the man who was found unconscious beside our lane.”
Concern furrowed the minister’s brow. “I have heard the story. I am glad to see that you are recovered, Mr. Doe.”
“I’m not quite recovered, sir.” John touched the bandage on the side of his head. “I have no memory of my past. I’m hoping that you can help me.”
“I am sorry for your injury, but how can I help?”
“Do you recognize me? Have you ever seen me before?”
The bishop studied him intently then said, “Nee, I have not.”
Karen could feel John’s disappointment in the slump of his body beside her. She addressed the bishop. “John wishes to speak to members of our church to see if anyone knows him or knows something about him.”
The bishop studied Karen intently. He switched to Pennsylvania Dutch. “You must be careful, Karen. To become involved in this outsider business is not a good thing.”
She bowed her head slightly. “How can helping an injured man be a bad thing? I feel that this is what God wants me to do.”
“Be sure it is God’s will you are seeking, Karen, and not your own.”
“I will heed your advice, Bishop.”
The bishop turned his attention back to John and spoke in English. “You may speak to members of our church if they wish it also. I will pray that you find the answers you seek, young man.”
Karen watched the bishop walk away. She had been warned. Her support for John must be limited and above reproach. She reached for the reins but John ignored her outstretched hand, turning the horse easily in the yard and sending her down the lane.
Karen put the bishop’s warning behind her. “You have driven a buggy many times.”
“Maybe I’m just a fast learner.”
“Perhaps.” Her spirits sank lower. How many English knew how to drive a buggy? Not many. It seemed more likely that her earlier assumption was correct. John had been raised Plain.
If he had left the church before his baptism, he would be accepted by most of the Amish in her community. If, on the other hand, he had rejected the church after baptism he would be considered an outcast until he made a full confession before the congregation.
She glanced at him once more. How could a man confess his sins if he had no memory of them? He looked happy at the moment driving Molly along at a steady pace. The cold rain had stopped and the sun peeked out. Up ahead on the road, Henry Zook, the bishop’s youngest son, was traveling to market in his farm wagon. John slowed Molly to follow behind him. When the way was clear and free of traffic, he sent Molly high stepping around the wagon.
When the mare drew level with the other horses she suddenly picked up her pace eager to get in front of them.
“You’ve got some speed, Molly girl,” John called to the horse.
Instead of letting the mare keep her fast pace, he reined her in and grinned at Karen. “I’d love to let her go and see just how much she’s got.”
“Why don’t you?” she asked, hoping to hear the right answer.
He shook his head. “No, she has too many miles to haul us yet. It wouldn’t be kind to wear her out on a joyride.”
Looking straight ahead, Karen smiled inwardly. “Whatever you have done in your past life, you care about animals. You can add it to your list of things you have discovered about yourself.”
“Now if I can only locate a pencil sharpener,” he added drily.
“What?” She tipped her head to stare at him in confusion.
“Never mind. Where to next?”
“Up ahead is the farm of Elam Sutter. He and some of his family moved here from Pennsylvania almost two years ago. Elam is getting married next week.”
Twisting in the seat, she grasped his arm as excitement rippled though her mind. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. It makes perfect sense.”
“What makes perfect sense?”
“Perhaps you were coming for the wedding. Elam’s fiancée, Katie Lantz, lived out in the world for several years. She knows many English. That must be it.”
* * *
John tried not to get his hopes up but Karen’s excitement was contagious. He asked, “Why didn’t they report me as missing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they weren’t sure when you would arrive. Maybe your coming was a surprise for them.”
He wanted to believe her scenarios but he was growing used to disappointment. Still, his palms began to sweat. “We will see soon enough.”
As they rolled into the yard, John saw four other buggies lined up beside the barn. He drew Molly to stop in front of the house.
Karen withdrew a large box from the back of the buggy. John took it from her and followed her to the front door. He was surprised when she didn’t knock but went right in. The spacious kitchen was filled to overflowing with enticing smells of baking and the happy chatter of a half dozen women engaged in cleaning and polishing every surface in the house.
The oldest woman in the room came forward drying her hands on her white apron. With a bright smile on her face, she said, “Karen, how nice to see you.”
Karen said, “I’ve brought some of my mother’s best bowls and platters for you to use at the wedding, Nettie.”
“Wonderful. They will come in handy. I’ve forgotten how much work it takes to get ready for a wedding dinner.” Nettie indicated a place for John to set his burden.
Karen said, “I have come with another errand, Nettie. Everyone, this is John Doe, the man who was found injured on our farm.” Karen smiled encouragement at him.
The room grew quiet. John felt everyone’s eyes on him. He scanned their faces looking for any hint of recognition. He saw nothing but blank stares. Either they had no idea who he was, or they were very good actresses. Once again his hopes slipped away. Why didn’t someone know him? Why?
Looking over the group, Karen asked, “Where is Katie?”
Nettie said, “She is upstairs changing the baby.”
One of the other women stepped forward. “Are you a friend of Katie’s? I am Ruby, her future sister-in-law. This is my sister Mary, my sister-in-law Sally Yoder, and this is my mother, Nettie Sutter.”
John nodded to them. “I’m not sure if I know Katie. I sure hope she knows me. The injury to my head robbed me of my memory. Karen thinks I may have been coming to the wedding.”
Ruby and Mary exchanged puzzled glances. The two women were in their late twenties or early thirties. They were clearly related to Nettie. The women shared the same bright blue eyes, apple-red cheeks and blond hair although Nettie’s was streaked with silver. They all wore plain dresses with white caps and white aprons.
The teenager, Sally, had red hair and freckles, but she wasn’t smiling in welcome the way the others were. Her eyes held a frightened, guarded look. She said, “I will go get Katie.”
Spinning around, she opened a door and rushed up the stairs beyond.
He waited, not taking his eyes off the stairwell. After an eternity, he heard footsteps coming down. The woman who entered the kitchen was dressed in the same Amish fashion as the others, but her hair was black as coal. She came toward him with a perplexed expression in her dark eyes. He held his breath, not daring to hope.
Stopping in front of him, she said, “Emma Wadler mentioned that she had met you at the inn, Mr. Doe. I’m sorry I can’t be of any help. I don’t recognize you.”
He could barely swallow past the lump in his throat. A vicious headache, brought on by his frustration, sapped his strength. He managed to say, “I’m sorry we interrupted your afternoon. Thank you for your time.”
Nettie spoke up, “Would you like some tea? I have the kettle on.”
He shook his head, eager to escape before the pounding in his temple made him sick.
Katie said, “Elam is in his workshop. Perhaps he has met you before.”
After looking at John closely, Karen said, “Come with me. I will show you the way.”
He followed her outside into the fresh, cool air. Only then did he realize how hot the kitchen had been. Breathing deeply, he struggled to master the pain in his head.
“Take slow deep breaths,” Karen said, standing at his side.
“I’m okay. How did you know?” If he kept his eyes closed the pain wasn’t as bad.
“My mother used to get migraines. Do they happen to you often?” she asked gently.
“Two or three times since I woke up in the hospital.”
She led him toward a small bench set beneath the bare gnarled branches of an apple tree. “Sit here. I will fetch Elam.”
John was in no shape to argue. Leaning back against the rough bark of the tree, he let his mind go blank. Slowly, the pain receded.
“Hey, buddy, think fast.”
John’s eyes popped open as he threw up his hands to catch the apple being thrown at him. Only there was none. He was alone. He closed his eyes again and rebuilt the scene in his mind.
The tree overhead was lush with green leaves and heavy with fruit. Yellow apples. He was sitting on the cool grass with his back against the trunk of the tree. A hot breeze flowed over his skin, making him glad of the shade. Birds were singing nearby. An occasional raucous cry sounded from among them. He heard the drone of insects, then the pad of footsteps approaching.
Close by, a woman’s voice, low and sweet said, “Here is my geils-mann loafing under a tree.”
He tried to turn his head to see her face, but found himself staring at his boots, instead. The harder he tried to see her, the more rapidly the scene faded.
“John? John, this is Elam Sutter.”
Opening his eyes, John saw Karen standing in front of him. Blinking hard, he looked around. The tree branches were bare. The lawn was brown and curled in winter sleep. Behind Karen, a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark coat and black Amish hat stood regarding him intently.
