“It seems you’ve come to my rescue once again.”

He held out his hand to seal the deal and gave her a crooked grin. It deepened the lines that bracketed his mouth, lending him a boyish charm.

With only a brief hesitation, she accepted his hand. Her pulse skipped a beat, then pounded erratically as her small hand was swallowed by his large warm one. It wasn’t soft—it was calloused and rough like the hand of a man who worked outdoors for a living. A blush heated her cheeks, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

She remembered him so clearly. The shape of his brow and the stone-gray color of his eyes, even the way the stubble of his beard had felt beneath her fingers. She remembered, too, the husky sound of his voice when he told her she was beautiful.

Something light and sweet slipped through her veins. An echo of a time when she’d been a giddy teenager smitten with a local boy. A time before she’d had to become a surrogate mother to her younger siblings and put her girlhood dreams away.

PATRICIA DAVIDS

After thirty-five years as a nurse, Pat has hung up her stethoscope to become a full-time writer. She enjoys spending her new free time visiting her grandchildren, doing some long-overdue yard work and traveling to research her story locations. She resides with her husband in Wichita, Kansas. Pat always enjoys hearing from her readers. You can visit her on the web at www.patriciadavids.com.

An Amish Christmas
Patricia Davids

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.

—Colossians 4: 5, 6

This book is dedicated with great affection to my readers. Without you I’m just talking to myself.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“Our school program will be so much fun. We’re going to do a play and sing songs. I have a poem to recite all by myself. I can’t wait for Christmas.” Eight-year-old Anna Imhoff leaned out the side of their Amish buggy to let the breeze twirl a ribbon she held in her hand.

Karen Imhoff listened to her little sister’s excited prattle with only half an ear. Christmas was still eight weeks away. There were more pressing problems on Karen’s plate, like buying shoes for three growing children, her father’s mounting medical bills and finding a job until he was fully recovered.

Anna sat back and grabbed Karen’s sleeve. “Look, there’s a dead man.”

Before Karen could respond to Anna’s startling comment, the horse pulling the buggy shied violently, then bolted. Caught off guard, Karen was thrown back against the leather seat as the mare lunged forward. Anna screamed at the top of her lungs. Her brothers in the backseat began yelling. The horse plunged ahead even faster.

Regaining her balance, Karen grasped the loose reins. She braced her feet against the floorboards and pulled back hard. “Whoa, Molly, whoa!”

Molly paid no heed. The buggy bounced and swayed violently as the mare charged down the farm lane. Mud thrown up by her hooves splattered Karen’s dress and face. Gritty dirt mixed with the acid tang of fear in her mouth.

Anna, still screaming, threw her arms around Karen’s waist, further hampering her efforts to gain control. The horse had to be stopped before they reached the highway at the end of the lane or upended in the ditch.

Muscles burning, Karen fought Molly’s headlong plunge. A quarter of a mile flew past before Molly gave in. The horse slowed and came to a stop a few feet shy of the highway just as a red pickup zipped past. The brown mare tossed her head once more but didn’t seem inclined to run again. Karen sent up a heartfelt prayer of thanks for their deliverance then took stock of her passengers.

Anna, with her face buried in the fabric of her sister’s dress, maintained her tight grip. “I don’t like to go fast. Don’t do that again.”

Karen comforted her with a quick hug and loosened the child’s arms. “I won’t. I promise.”

Turning to check on her brothers, Karen asked, “Jacob? Noah? Are you all right?”

Fourteen-year-old Jacob retrieved his broad-brimmed black hat from the floor, dusted it off and jammed it on his thick, wheat-colored hair. “I’m fine. I didn’t know Molly could move like that.”

Ten-year-old Noah sat slumped down beside his brother. He held his hat onto his head in a tight grip with both hands. The folded brim made it look like a bonnet over his red curls. He said, “That was not fun.”

“I thought it was,” Jacob countered. “What spooked her?”

“I’m not sure.” Karen’s erratic heartbeat gradually slowed to a normal pace.

Brushing at the mud on her dress, Anna said, “Maybe Molly was scared of the dead man.”

“What dead man?” Noah leaned forward eagerly.

“The one back there.” Anna pointed behind them. They all twisted around to look. Karen saw only an empty lane.

Jacob scowled at his little sister. “I don’t see anything. You’re making that up.”

“I am not. You believe me, don’t you, Karen?”

Hugging the tearful child, Karen wasn’t sure what to believe. Anna had been the only survivor of the buggy and automobile crash that had killed their mother, two sisters and their oldest brother four years earlier. The child worried constantly about death taking another member of her family.

Karen looked into Anna’s eyes. “I’m sure you saw something. A plastic bag or a bundle of rags perhaps.”

Jacob, impatient as ever, said, “There’s nothing back there. Let’s go. I don’t want to be late for school.”

“We can’t leave him there,” Anna insisted, her lower lip quivering ominously.

Noah started to climb out. “I don’t mind being late. I’ll go look.”

Forestalling him, Karen said, “No. We’ll all go back.”

Anna could easily become hysterical and then they would get nowhere. It was better to show the child that she had been mistaken. After that, Karen could drop the children at their one-room schoolhouse and hurry to her interview at Bishop Zook’s home. It wouldn’t do to be late for such an important meeting.

When the wedding banns had been announced for the current schoolteacher, Karen knew it meant a new teacher would have to be hired. With money tight in the Imhoff household the job would be perfect for Karen and bring in much-needed funds.

The church-district elders were speaking to teaching applicants this morning. She had to be there. But first she needed to convince Anna they didn’t have a dead man on their lane.

Turning the horse around, Karen sent her walking back the way they had come. As they neared the start of their reckless run Molly balked, throwing up her head and snorting.

Not wishing to have a repeat of the mad dash, Karen said, “Jacob, take the lines.”

He scrambled over the seat back to sit beside her. After handing him the driving reins Karen stepped down from the buggy. Her sturdy black shoes sank into the ground still soft from last night’s rain.

The morning sun, barely over the horizon, had started to burn away the fog lingering in the low-lying farm fields. Where the sunlight touched the high wooded hillsides it turned the autumn foliage to burnished gold and scarlet flame. A breeze tugged at the ribbons of Karen’s kapp and brought with it the smell of damp grasses and fallen leaves.

Walking briskly back toward their farmhouse, she scanned the shallow ditch beside the road without seeing anything unusual. Turning around in the road, she looked at the children and raised her arms. “I don’t see anything.”

“Farther back,” Anna yelled.

Dropping her hands, Karen shook her head, but started walking. Anna had been leaning out her side of the carriage. She would have had a good view of the ditch. Karen had been paying attention to the problems facing her family and not to the road. A mistake she would not make again.

A few yards farther along the lane she caught a glimpse of something white in the weeds. At first she thought she’d been right and it was a bundle of cloth or a stray plastic bag caught in the brush. Then the breeze brought her a new smell—the sickly metallic odor of blood. A low moan made her jump like a startled rabbit.

Taking a few hesitant steps closer, she saw a man sprawled on his back, his body almost completely hidden in the grass and wild sumac. His face looked deathly pale beneath close-cropped black hair. Blood had oozed from an ugly gash on the side of his head.

In an instant, Karen was transported back to that terrible day when she had stood beside the remains of the smashed buggy where her mother and sisters lay dead and her brother lay dying.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Pressing her hands to her face, she whispered, “Not again, Lord, do not ask this of me.”

“Did you find something?” Noah yelled.

Jerked back to the present, Karen shouted, “Stay there!”

She approached the downed man with caution. He was an Englischer by the look of his clothes. The muddy white shirt he wore stretched tightly across his chest and broad shoulders while his worn jeans hugged a lean waist and muscular thighs. Oddly, both his shoes were missing.

He moaned, and she moved to kneel at his side. “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”

“It is a dead man!” Noah stood on the roadway looking down with wide eyes.

She scowled at her brother. “He is not dead. I told you to wait in the buggy.”

“Are you sure he isn’t dead?” The boy’s voice brimmed with excitement.

Laying a hand on the man’s cheek, Karen became alarmed by how cold his skin was. He might not be dead, but he wasn’t far from it. “Run to the phone shack and call for help. Do you know how to do that?”

Noah nodded. “Ja, I dial 9-1-1.”

“Goot. Hurry.”

She watched her brother climb over the fence and head across the muddy field of corn stubble. Their Amish church forbade telephones in the homes of the members, but did allow a community telephone. It was located at a midway point between their home and two neighboring Amish farms.

Jacob brought the buggy up. When Molly drew alongside the ditch, she snorted and sidled away. Apparently, she didn’t care for the smell of blood. That must have been what frightened her in the first place. Jacob held her in check.

Karen looked up at him, “Go get Papa.”

“We can’t leave you,” Anna protested.

Jacob drew himself up bravely. “I should stay.”

Shaking her head, Karen said, “I’ll be fine. Just go. And bring some quilts. This poor man is freezing.”

Jacob slapped the reins sharply and sent Molly racing up the lane toward the farmhouse. Settling herself beside the injured man, Karen took one of his hands and began to rub it between her own. How had he come to be here?

He groaned and moved restlessly. She squeezed his hand. “You will be okay, sir. My family has gone to get help.”

He responded by turning his face toward her. His eyes fluttered open. They were as gray as rain clouds. Encouraged, Karen continued talking to him and rubbing his hand. “My name is Karen Imhoff and this is our farm. Can you tell me who you are?”

He mumbled something. Leaning forward, she positioned her ear near his mouth. His faint, shaky whisper sounded like, “Cold.”

She quickly unbuttoned her coat. Pulling it off, she tucked it around him. Raising his shoulders slightly, she scooted beneath him so his head rested on her lap and not the chilly ground. It wouldn’t help much. His clothes were wet from the rain as was the cold ground he was lying on. Using the corner of her apron, she folded it into a pad and pressed it against the wound on his head.

He moaned again, opened his eyes and focused on her face. “Help me.”

His voice was barely audible but the words he whispered were the same words, the last words, her brother Seth had uttered. She cupped the Englischer’s face, trying to infuse him with her own strength. “Help is coming. Be strong.”

Please, God, do not make me watch him die as I did Seth. Save this man if it is Your will.

With her free hand she stroked his face, offering him what comfort she could. The stubble on his cheeks rasped against her fingertips, sending an unexpected shiver zipping along her nerve endings.

His sharply chiseled features were deeply tanned, but his underlying pallor gave his skin a sickly color. His hair lay dark and thick where it wasn’t matted with blood. Dark brows arched finely over his pain-filled eyes.

Raising an unsteady hand to touch her face, he fixed her with a desperate gaze and whispered, “Don’t leave me.”

Grasping his cold fingers, she pressed them against her cheek. He might die, but he would not die alone. “I won’t leave you. I promise.”

“You’re…so beautiful.” His voice faded. His arm went limp and dropped from her grasp.

Karen tensed. His life couldn’t slip away now, not when help was so close. She shook him and spoke firmly. “Listen to me. Help is coming. You must hang on.”

“Hang on…to you,” he mumbled.

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Stay with me. Let God be your strength. Hold fast to Him.”

After several slow breaths, he said, “Yea, though I walk…through…the—”

She took up the rest of the Twenty-third Psalm for him. “Through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”

She glanced toward the farm. Where was her father? What was taking so long? Desperately, she prayed help would come in time for the man she held.

Clearing her throat of its tear-choked tightness, she finished the psalm with a voice that shook. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.”

Please let Your words bring him comfort, Lord.

It seemed like hours, but finally the buggy came rattling to a stop beside her once more. Her father climbed out gingerly. His left arm rested in a sling with a cast to his shoulder.

He was dressed in dark trousers and a dark coat. His plain clothes, long beard and black felt hat proclaimed him a member of the Amish church. His calm demeanor bolstered Karen’s lagging spirits.

“What is this, daughter? Anna is wailing about a dead man.” Eli Imhoff pulled a bundle of blankets from the seat. Jacob remained in the buggy, controlling the restless horse.

Looking to her father in relief, she said, “We found him like this, Papa. He is badly hurt.”

“I saw him first,” Anna said, making sure everyone understood her contribution.

Eli’s eyes grew round behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “An Englischer?”

“Ja. He is so cold. I sent Noah to the telephone to call for help.”

Eli stroked his gray-streaked beard, then nodded. “It was the right thing to do. Let us pray he lives until the English ambulance comes.”

As they spread more covers over the man Noah came racing back. He stopped in the lane and braced his hands on his thighs, breathing heavily. “Is he dead yet?”

“No, and he will not die,” Karen stated so firmly that both her brothers and her father gave her odd looks.

She didn’t care. She had seen too much death. She wanted this man to live. “Surly God has not led us to him only to snatch his life away.”

“We cannot know Gotte wille,” her father chided.

God’s will was beyond human understanding, but Karen prayed He would show His mercy to this unknown man.

“How did he get here?” Jacob asked getting down from the buggy. He handed off the reins to his younger brother. Noah didn’t seem to mind. He stood at Molly’s side transfixed by the sight of the stricken man.

“Perhaps he was injured on the road and walked this far before he collapsed,” Eli suggested.

Squatting by the stranger’s feet, Jacob shook his head. “He didn’t walk. The bottoms of his socks aren’t even muddy.”

They all glanced at each other as the implications sank in. Someone had dumped this man and left him to die. Karen grew sick at the idea of such cruelty and tightened her hold on him.

Eli looked at his children and spoke sternly. “This is a matter for the English sheriff. It is outsider business. We must not become involved. Do all of you understand this?”

The boys and Anna nodded. Jacob stepped away and began walking along the ditch toward the highway. Eli scowled at him, but didn’t call him back. A dozen yards down the road Jacob stopped and dropped to his haunches. Karen thought she heard the faint sound of chimes for a second but then nothing more.

Eli called out to Jacob. “Did you find something?”

“Tire tracks from a car, that’s all.” Rising, Jacob shoved both his hands in his pockets, glanced over his shoulder and then kept walking.

In the distance, Karen heard the sound of a siren approaching at last. Her father laid a hand on her shoulder. “I will go to the highway to show the English where they are needed.”

When her father and Noah had driven away, Karen looked down at her stranger. His eyes were open, but his stare was blank. Cupping his cheek, she smiled at him. “Rest easy. Help is almost here.”

At the sound of her voice, he focused on her face. He tried to speak, but no words came out. His breath escaped in a deep sigh, and his eyes closed once more.

She bit her lip as she tightened her hold on him. “Just a little longer. You can do it.”

Within moments the sheriff’s SUV and an ambulance arrived, stopping a few feet away. Her father and Noah followed them. One of the paramedics brought his gear and dropped to his knees beside Karen. “I’ll take over now, miss.”

She had to let them do their job, but she didn’t want to let go of her stranger. She had promised him she wouldn’t leave him. God had brought her to this man’s side in his hour of need. A deep feeling of responsibility for him had taken hold in her heart, but she realized her job was done.

She cupped his cheek one last time. “You will be fine now.”

Rising, she stepped aside praying she had spoken the truth.

Shaking out her damp, muddy skirt, Karen crossed her arms against the chill morning air. With trepidation she saw the sheriff turned his attention her way. He was intimidating, with his gun strapped to his hip and his badge glinting on the front of his leather jacket. Sheriff Nick Bradley was English, but he had family who had remained Plain. Members of Karen’s church believed him to be a fair and impartial officer of the law and friendly toward the Amish.

Stopping in front of her, he pushed his tan hat up with one finger. “Tell me exactly what happened here this morning, Miss Imhoff.”

He took notes as she answered his questions and then talked to each of the children separately. Karen barely listened to her siblings’ accounts. Her entire attention was focused on the man being cared for by the emergency personnel.

Her fingers itched to touch the Englischer’s face again. She wanted to reassure him, and herself, that he was going to be all right.

The sheriff followed Jacob to where he’d found the tire tracks, took pictures and placed yellow plastic markers at the site. When he finished, he approached Karen’s father. “Mr. Imhoff, the children can go on to school, but I may have more questions for them later.”

Papa nodded, but Karen could tell he wasn’t pleased. This was outsider business. Papa wanted nothing to do with it. The children, on the other hand, shared excited looks. They would have plenty to tell their friends when they finally got to school. Within a day everyone in the community would know what had taken place on the Imhoff farm this morning.

One of the ambulance crew returned Karen’s coat and then loaded their patient into the ambulance. As she slipped the wool jacket on, she felt the stranger’s warmth surround her. Lifting the collar to her face, she breathed in the spicy-woodsy scent that clung to the dark wool.

His fate was out of her hands now. As the emergency vehicle drove away, she realized she would never see her Englischer again.

Chapter Two

John wiped the last trace of shaving lather from his neck with one of the hospital’s coarse white towels. The face staring back at him remained as unfamiliar today as the new shoes on his feet.

How could a man forget what he looked like? How could he forget who he was, his own name?

Turning on the water, he rinsed the blue disposable blade. He knew how to use a razor but not where he’d purchased his last one or what brand he preferred. Things every man knew. It seemed only the personal parts of his memory were missing. It was the most frustrating part of his condition.

Traumatic amnesia his doctors called it. Those two words seemed woefully inadequate to describe the entity that had swallowed his life the way a black hole swallowed a star without letting a single ray of light escape.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of his thought. He could remember that weird trivial fact but not his own name. How ridiculous was that?

His doctors said his memory would return in time. They told him not to force it. Yet after eight days his past remained a blank slate. He was sick of hearing their reassurances.

“I’d like to put them in my shoes and see if they could take their own advice,” he muttered as he put away his razor. Chances were good they’d be doing the same thing he was. Relentlessly trying to make himself remember.

Looking up, he stretched his hand toward the likeness in the mirror and forced a smile to his stiff lips. “Hello, my name is…”

Nothing.

Nothing came to mind this morning just as nothing had come to mind for the past week. The only identity he had was the one the hospital had given him. John Doe.

Staring at the mirror, he said, “Hi, I’m Andy. Hello, I’m Bill. I’m Carl. I’m David. My name is Edward.”

If he did happen on the right name would he even know it? Rage and frustration ripped through him, bringing on a crushing headache that nearly took him to his knees.

“Who am I?” he shouted. His fingers ached where they gripped the porcelain lip of the sink.

His whole life was gone. He couldn’t pull a single relevant detail out of the darkness in his mind.

He touched the bandage on the side of his scalp. According to the local law enforcement, he had been beaten, dumped in a ditch and left with no wallet or identification. Every effort to identify him was under way, but with no success thus far. His fingerprints and DNA weren’t in the system. No one was looking for a man fitting his description. Even TV reports and newspaper articles had failed to bring in one solid lead.

Somewhere he must have a mother, a father, maybe even a wife, but the man in the mirror had no faces or names for anyone he’d known before waking up in the hospital.

“Too bad I wasn’t microchipped like—”

Like who? Like what? The thought slipped away before he could fully grasp it. His head began pounding again. The pain worsened each time he tried to concentrate.

Forced to leave the past alone, he buttoned the last button on the gray flannel shirt the hospital social worker had purchased for him. The shirt was new. The one he’d been wearing couldn’t be salvaged but the jeans were the ones he’d been found in. They fit well enough, although he’d lost some weight. Eating seemed so unimportant.

A knock sounded at the door to his room. He moved to sit on the edge of his bed and winced at the pain in his bruised ribs. Someone had planted a kick on two in his side after they’d split his skull. He said, “Come in.”

The door swung open, revealing a tall, blond man in a sheriff’s uniform. John had been expecting Nick Bradley, the officer in charge of his case.

Sheriff Bradley said, “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I can be. Thanks for giving me a lift.”

John was being discharged. After a week and a day of testing and probing he’d been declared fit. Physically, he was in good shape so the hospital had no reason to keep him.

Mentally? That was a different story. Leaving this room suddenly seemed more daunting than anything he could imagine. How did he start over when he had no point to start over from?

No, that wasn’t exactly true. He had one point of reference. His life started a week ago in a ditch outside the town of Hope Springs, Ohio. That was where he had to go.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” The sheriff clearly wasn’t in favor of John’s plan.

“I must have been in Hope Springs for a reason. Seeing the place might trigger something. Besides, it’s all I have.”

“I still think you’d be better off staying here in Millersburg, but I can see you aren’t going to change your mind.”

Reaching into his breast pocket, Sheriff Bradley withdrew a thick white envelope. He held it out. “My cousin Amber lives in Hope Springs. She’s a nurse-midwife there. She knows about your situation. She wanted me to give you this.”

“What is it?” John reached for the envelope.

“Her church took up a collection for you.”

John opened the package and found himself staring at nearly a thousand dollars. Overwhelmed by the generosity of people he didn’t know, he blinked hard. Tears stung the back of his eyes. He hadn’t cried since—

It was there, just at the back of his mind, a feeling of grief, a feeling of overwhelming sadness. But why or for whom he had no idea. The harder he tried to concentrate on the feeling the faster it slipped away.

He forced himself to focus on the present. “Please tell your cousin how grateful I am.”

“You can tell her yourself when you see Doc White to get your stitches out.”

After gathering his few belongings together, John bid the nursing staff farewell and slipped into the passenger’s seat of the squad car parked in front of the hospital. Within minutes they were outside the city and cruising along a narrow ribbon of black asphalt.

The highway rose and fell over gentle hills, past manicured farms and occasional stands of thick woodlands. Looking out the window he saw herds of dairy cattle near the fences. The cows barely glanced up at their passing. A half-dozen times they came upon black buggies pulled by briskly trotting horses. Each vehicle sported a bright orange triangle on the back warning motorists it was a slow-moving vehicle.

John waited for something, anything, to look familiar. He held tight to the hope that returning to where he had been found would jog his absent memory. As they finally rolled into the neat small town of Hope Springs he was once again doomed to disappointment. Nothing looked familiar.

Sheriff Bradley pulled up in front of a Swiss-chalet-styled inn and said, “This is the only inn in town. The place is run by an Amish woman named Emma Wadler. The rooms are clean but nothing fancy.”

Now that he was actually at his destination, John struggled to hide his growing fears. How would he go about searching for answers? Was he going to stand on the street corner and ask each person who walked by if he looked familiar? When the sheriff got out, John forced himself to follow.

A bell over the doorway sounded as the men walked into the building. The place was cozy, charming and decorated with beautifully carved wooden furniture. An intricately pieced, colorful quilt hung over the massive stone fireplace at one end of the lobby. A display of jams for sale sat near the front door.

Behind the counter stood a small woman in blue Amish garb. Her red-brown hair was neatly parted down the middle and pulled back under a white bonnet. She was talking to someone inside a room behind the desk. She glanced toward the men and said, “I will be with you in a minute, gentlemen.”

John watched her eyes closely for the slightest sign of recognition. There was none.

Turning her attention back to the person inside her office, she said, “I would gladly send overflow guests to your farm, cousin. It would be much better than telling them they must go to Millersburg or to Sugarcreek.”

A woman replied, “We have spare rooms and as long as they don’t mind living plain it will work. The extra money would be most welcome. If I can get Dat to agree to it, that is.”

There was something pleasing about the unseen woman’s voice. He enjoyed the singsong cadence. Her accent made will sound like vil and welcome sound like vellcom. It was familiar somehow.

The grandfather clock in the corner began to chime the hour. John reached into the front pocket of his jeans, but found it empty.

Confused, he looked down. Something belonged there. Something was missing.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

John turned around as the inn owner began a conversation with Nick. The hidden woman came out of the office and headed for the front door. She wore a dark blue dress beneath a heavy coat. An Amish cap covered her blond hair. Slender and tall, she moved with unhurried steps and innate grace. When she happened to glance in his direction, John’s breath froze in his chest. His heart began thudding wildly.

Rushing across the room, he grabbed her arm in a crushing grip. “I know you. What’s my name? Who am I?”

Karen recoiled in shock when a man grabbed her arm and began shouting at her. She threw up one hand to protect herself and tried to twist out of his grasp.

“Tell me who I am,” he shouted again, his face only inches from hers.

A second later, the sheriff was between her and her assailant. Pushing the man back, Sheriff Bradley said, “John, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I know her. I know her face. She knows who I am,” he insisted, pointing at Karen.

By this time, Emma had rounded the counter and reached Karen’s side, adding another body between Karen and the angry man. “Cousin, are you all right?”

Rubbing her forearm, Karen nodded. “I’m fine.”

Karen glanced at the man and recognition hit. This was her Englischer, the man she had discovered lying injured beside their lane. That recognition must have shown on her face.

His eyes widened with hope. “You know me, right? You know my name.”

She shook her head. “Nee. I do not.”

The sheriff spoke calmly but firmly. “John, this is Karen Imhoff. She’s the one who found you.”

His body went slack in the sheriff’s hold. The color drained from his face as the hope in his eyes died. His look of pain and disappointment twisted her heart into a knot.

She said, “It was my little sister who spotted you lying in the weeds.”

His eyes suddenly narrowed. “I was told I was unconscious when the paramedics arrived. How is it that I know your face?”

As her racing heart slowed and her fright abated, Karen took a step closer. He was alive and standing here before her. Joy gladdened her heart. He had been in her thoughts and prayers unceasingly. It took all her willpower not to reach out and touch his face.

She said, “You opened your eyes and spoke to me. You told me you were cold. I put my coat over you.”

The sheriff released his grip on John. “She doesn’t know anything about you. I’ve already questioned her and her family. There’s no connection between you.”

A look of resignation settled over John’s features. He raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed it as if trying to rub away pain. “I’m sorry if I hurt or frightened you, Miss Imhoff. Please forgive me.”

He did not remember her holding him close. Perhaps that was for the best. She had come to the aid of a stranger, nothing more. The rest, the closeness, the connection she felt with him, those things would remain in her secret daydreams.

“You are forgiven,” she said quietly. What she didn’t understand was why he had insisted that she tell him his own name.

The sheriff looked toward the innkeeper. “Sorry for the disturbance, Emma. This is John Doe, the man found injured near here a week ago. John has amnesia.”

“What does this mean?” Karen asked, unfamiliar with the English term.

John’s eyes locked with hers. Once again she felt a stirring bond with him deep in her bones. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

He said, “It means I can’t remember anything that happened before I was hurt. Not even my own name, but I remember your face and the sound of your voice.”

Compassion drenched Karen’s heart and brought the sting of tears to her eyes. His suffering had not ended when the ambulance took him away from her.

Sheriff Bradley said, “John needs a room for a little while, Emma. He doesn’t have any ID so I came to vouch for him in person.”

Emma said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything available for a week. I just rented my last room an hour ago. You know the quilt auction begins tomorrow. It runs for several days, and then there is the Sutter wedding. By next Friday I will have a room.”

Clearly upset with himself, Nick said, “I’m sorry, John. I should have called ahead. They aren’t normally booked up here. I know you had your heart set on staying in Hope Springs. I didn’t even think about the auction being this week. I’ll take you back to Millersburg. We can find a place for you there.”

“We have a room to let.” Karen’s desire to help John overrode her normally good sense. He was a stranger lost in a strange land. He needed her help today as much as he’d needed it the day she found him.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. Karen bit the corner of her lip. What had she done? She should have discussed this with her father first, but she had already made the offer and couldn’t withdraw it.

When she explained things her father would realize the benefits of this additional income. Especially after she had failed to get the teaching job.

Their family’s income had been severely limited following her father’s injury a month earlier. A farrier couldn’t shoe horses with his arm in a cast. There were still medical bills that needed to be paid in addition to their everyday expenses.

She would point out all those things, but she knew he would not be pleased if she brought this man and his English trouble into their house.

She fidgeted under John’s unwavering gaze. Finally, he said, “Your farm was the first place I had planned to visit when I arrived. Renting a room there makes sense.”

“For a week,” she stressed. “After that, Emma will have a place for you here.”

“It seems you’ve come to my rescue once again.” He held out his hand to seal the deal and gave her a crooked grin. It deepened the lines that bracketed his mouth, lending him a boyish charm.

With only a brief hesitation, she accepted his hand. Her pulse skipped a beat then pounded erratically as her small hand was swallowed by his large, warm one. It wasn’t soft, it was calloused and rough like the hand of a man who worked outdoors for a living. A blush heated her cheeks, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

She remembered him so clearly. The shape of his brow and the stone-gray color of his eyes, even the way the stubble of his beard had felt beneath her fingers. She remembered, too, the husky sound of his voice when he had told her she was beautiful.

Something light and sweet slipped through her veins. An echo of a time when she’d been a giddy teenager smitten with a local boy. A time before she’d had to become a surrogate mother to her younger siblings and put her girlhood dreams away.

Thoughts of the children brought her back to earth with a thud. She pulled her hand away from John. This man was an outsider and thus forbidden to her. She had offered him a room to rent for a week and nothing more. Her strange fascination with him had to stop, and quickly.

Gesturing toward the door, she said, “I must get home.”

He said, “I don’t have any sort of transportation. May I hitch a ride with you?” Oh, Dat really wasn’t going to like this, but what could she do? She gave a stiff smile. “Of course.”

Emma asked quietly, “Karen, are you sure about this?”

Pretending a bravery she didn’t feel, Karen answered, “Yes. Goodbye, cousin, I will see you at Katie’s wedding next Thursday.”

Emma didn’t look happy, but she nodded. “Give Onkel Eli my best.”

John shook hands with the sheriff, who promised to check up on him soon, and then followed Karen out the door. Her nervousness increased tenfold as he fell into step beside her.

He was taller than she thought he would be. She had been called a beanpole all her life, but he stood half a head taller than she did. She felt delicate next to his big frame. It was a strange feeling. Spending the next half hour in this man’s company in the close confines of her buggy might prove to be awkward.

After unlatching Molly’s lead from the hitching rail, Karen was surprised when John took her elbow to help her climb in the buggy. She was used to taking care of herself and everyone else. It had been a long time since someone had wanted to take care of her.

John walked slowly around the front of the horse. Raising a hand, he patted the mare’s neck and made a soothing sound as he cast a critical eye over the animal. “She’s got good conformation. She’s a Standardbred, right?”

“Ja. You know about horses?”

“I think I do.” He scratched Molly under the earpiece of her headstall. The mare tipped her head and rubbed against his hand in horsy bliss.

It seemed he could charm horses as well as foolish Amish maids. She said, “We must be going.”

He nodded and climbed into the buggy beside her. Karen turned the horse and sent her trotting briskly down the street. The fast clatter of Molly’s hooves matched almost exactly the rapid pounding of Karen’s heart. It was going to be a long ride home.

Clucking her tongue, she slapped the reins against Molly’s rump, making the mare go faster. The sooner they reached the farm, the better.

Karen’s skin prickled at John’s nearness. He had been in her thoughts and prayers constantly since that day. The special connection she’d felt between them had not diminished. She had wondered who he was and if he had gotten better. She’d wondered, too, if he had a wife to care for him. She had prayed he wasn’t alone.

Now, he had come back to her.

He had been helpless as a babe that day, a man in need of tender care. The vibrant man beside her now was anything but helpless. What had she been thinking to invite him into her home?

He remained silent beside her as they drove out of town. Covertly, Karen glanced his way often, but he was scanning the countryside and paying her no mind. The cold, rainy weather of last week had give way to sunny days of Indian summer. The countryside was aglow with the vibrant hues of autumn. It should have been a pleasant ride. Instead, Karen felt ready to jump out of her skin.

After twenty minutes of listening only to the clip-clop of Molly’s hooves and the creaking of the buggy, John spoke at last. “This isn’t the way I came into Hope Springs with Sheriff Bradley. What road is this?”

She glanced at him. “It’s called Pleasant View Road. Does that mean something to you?”

He shook his head. “Nothing more than it’s well named. Where does it lead?”

“It makes a wide loop and goes back to Highway 39 about ten miles south of here. From there, you can go to the town of Sugarcreek or over to Millersburg.”

“Why would someone like me be on this road?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Karen said, “Because you were lost?”

He barely smiled. “If I wasn’t then, I am now.”

Her curiosity about him couldn’t be contained any longer. “The sheriff called you John Doe, but that is not your name?”

“No. John Doe is a name they give to any man who is unidentified. It’s usually given to a dead body, but fortunately for me I’m still alive.”

“This amnesia—will it go away?”

He stared into the distance for a long time before answering. Finally, he said, “The doctors tell me my memory may come back on its own or it may not come back at all.”

“It must be awful.” Her heart went out to him.

His attention swung back to her. “What can you tell me about the day you found me?”

“I was driving my younger brothers and sister to school. Normally they walk, but I had an appointment that day. I thought it would be easier just to drop them on my way.”

“Did you notice anything unusual that morning?”

Giving him a look of disbelief, she asked, “You mean other than finding an unconscious man by the side of the road?”

That brought a small, lopsided grin to his face, easing the tension between them. “Yes, other than finding me in a ditch, did you notice anything that was unusual or out of place?”

“Nothing.” She wanted to help him, but she couldn’t.

“The sheriff has already asked us these questions.”

Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together in front of him. “I just thought you might have remembered something new since that day. Maybe you heard the sound of a car or voices. Do you have a dog?”

“We do not.”

“Do you remember hearing anything during the night?”

“Nee, I heard nothing unusual. I’m sorry.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded in resignation. “That’s okay. Are we close to your farm?”

“It’s not far now. You will see the sign.”

“Tell me about yourself, Karen Imhoff.” He fixed her with an intense stare that brought the blood rushing to her face.

“There is not much to tell. As you can see I am Amish. My mother passed away some years ago so I am in charge of my father’s house.”

“What did you mean when you told the innkeeper that your lodgers would have to live plain?”

He really didn’t know? Grinning, she said, “You will be wanting your money back when you find out.”

“Do you give refunds?”

“Nee, when money goes into my pocket it does not come out easily.”

“Okay, then tell me gently.”

“Plain living means many things. No electricity and all that comes with it. No television, no computers, no radio.”

“Wow. What did I get myself into?”

She glanced at him, but he was smiling and didn’t look upset. Feeling oddly happy, she said, “We go to bed early and we get up early. My father farms and is the local farrier, but we will not put you to work shoeing horses.”

“Thanks for the small favor.”

“I have two brothers, Jacob is fourteen and Noah is ten. I also have a sister. Anna is eight.”

His mood dimmed. “I wonder if I have brothers or sisters.”

“You are welcome to some of mine,” she offered, hoping to make him smile again. It worked.

“Don’t you find it hard to live without electricity?”

“Why would I? People lived happily without electricity for many centuries.”

“Good point. Why don’t the Amish use it?”

“We are commanded by the Bible to live separate from the world. Having electricity joins us to the world in a way that is bad for us. We do not shun all modern things. Only those things that do not work to keep our families and our communities strong and close together.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“That is because you are an Englischer.”

“I’m a what?” He frowned.

“English. An outsider. Our word for those who are not of our faith. This is our lane.”

Karen slowed the horse and turned onto the narrow road where a large white sign with a black anvil painted on it said, Horse Shoeing. Closed Wednesdays. The word Wednesdays was currently covered by a smaller plaque that said Until Further Notice.

John sat up straighter. “Where did you find me?”

“A little ways yet.”

When they approached the spot, Karen drew the horse to a stop. John jumped down and walked into the knee-high winter-brown grass and shrubs along the verge of the road. The sheriff had combed the area for clues but found nothing.

Karen kept silent and waited as John made his own search. One look at his face made her realize John Doe was still a wounded man, but he was in need of more than physical care.

Chapter Three

John stared at the matted grass around his feet. No trace of the incident remained. No blood stains, no footprints, no proof that he had ever lain here.

Squatting down, he touched the grass and waited for an answer to appear. Why had he been in this place?

Had his injury been an accident or had someone deliberately tried to kill him? Had it been a robbery gone bad as the sheriff thought? No matter what the explanation, the fact remained that he’d been left here to die. The knowledge brought a sick feeling to the pit of his stomach.

Standing, he shoved his hands in his pockets and scanned the horizon. All around him lay farm fields. To the east, a wooded hill showed yellow and crimson splashes of autumn colors. A cold breeze flowed around his face. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, hoping to trigger some hint of familiarity.

Nothing.

He searched his empty mind for some sliver of recognition and drew a blank.

He’d been so sure coming here would make him remember. This was where his old life ended. He wanted to see the scattered bits of it lying at his feet. He wanted to pick up the puzzle pieces and assemble them into something recognizable. Only there was nothing to pick up.

Now what?

He glanced toward the buggy where Karen sat. He’d been found on her land. Did she know more than she was letting on? Sitting prim and proper with her white head covering and somber clothes, it was hard to imagine she could be involved in something as ugly as an assault. But what did he know about her, anyway? Maybe coming here had been a mistake. He would proceed with caution until he knew more about her and her family.

She watched him silently. As their eyes met, he read sympathy in their depths. Turning away he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. The pain overrode the sting of unshed tears. He didn’t want sympathy. He wanted answers.

John didn’t know how long he stood staring into the distance. Eventually, Molly grew impatient and began pawing the ground. He glanced at Karen. She drew her coat tight under her chin. He realized the sun was going down and it was getting colder.

Walking back to the buggy, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting so long.”

She smiled softly. “I don’t mind, but I think Molly wants her grain.”

“Then we should go.” Walking around to the opposite side he climbed in.

“Did you remember anything?” she asked.

“No.” He stared straight ahead as his biggest fear slithered from the dark corner of his mind into the forefront. What if he never remembered? What if this blankness was all he’d ever have?

No, he refused to accept that. He had family, friends, a job, a home, a car, a credit card, a bank account, something that proved he existed. His life was out there waiting for him. He wouldn’t give up until he found it.

When they reached the farmyard, Karen drew the mare to a stop in front of a two-story white house. A welcoming porch with crisp white railings and wide steps graced the front. Three large birdhouses sat atop poles around the yard ringed with flowerbeds. Along one side of the house several clotheslines sagged under the weight of a dozen pairs of pants, dresses, shirts, socks and sheets all waving in the cool evening breeze.

Across a wide expanse of grass stood a large red barn and several outbuildings. In the corral, a pair of enormous caramel-colored draft horses munched on a round hay bale with a dozen smaller horses around them. Molly whinnied to announce her return. The herd replied in kind.

John swallowed hard against the pain in his chest. What did his home look like? Was someone waiting to greet him? Were they worried sick about where he was? If that was the case, why hadn’t they come forward?

Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face. Karen laid her hand on his. The warmth of her touch flooded through him.

Sympathy had prompted Karen’s move. She saw and understood the struggle he was going through. “Let God be your solace, John. He understands all that you are going through. You are not alone.”

John nodded, but didn’t speak.

Karen turned to get out of the buggy but froze. Her stern-faced father stood before her. He looked from John to Karen and demanded, “What is the meaning of this, daughter?”

Stepping down from the buggy, she brushed the wrinkles from the front of her dress. “Papa, this is Mr. John Doe. John, this is my father, Eli Imhoff. Papa, I have rented a room to Mr. Doe.”

Eli Imhoff’s dark bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You have, have you?”

Karen had learned the best way to handle her father was to charge straight ahead. She switched to Pennsylvania Dutch, the German dialect normally spoken in Amish homes, knowing John would not be able to understand them. “I will show him to his room and then I will speak with you about this.”

“Better late than never, I’m thinking,” Eli replied in the same language.

“I’m sure you’ll agree this was a goot idea. You know we need the money. The dawdy haus is sitting empty. This is only for a week, and he is paying us the same amount that Emma charges her customers.”

“And if I say nee?”

She acquiesced demurely. “Then I shall drive him back to town. Although Emma has no room for him at her inn I’m sure he can find someplace to stay.”

John spoke up. “Look, if this is a problem I can make other arrangements.”

Karen crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow as she waited for her father to answer.

The frown her father leveled at her said they would hold further discussions on the matter when they were alone. Looking to John, he said, “You are welcome to stay the night.”

“Thank you, sir. I promise not to be any trouble.”

“You are the man my daughter found on the road, ja?”

“I am. I want to thank you for your help that day.”

“We did naught but our Christian duty,” Eli said, turning away.

As her father disappeared into the house, Karen swung back to John. “Come. You will have a house to yourself. It has its own kitchen, sitting room and bedroom. It is the dawdy haus but my grandparents have both passed away and it is not in use. You may take your meals with us unless you enjoy cooking.”

“What is a dawdy haus?” John asked as he pulled his small bag from behind the buggy seat.

“It means grandfather house. Among our people it is common to add a room or home onto the farmhouse so that our elderly relatives have a place to stay. Many times we have three or four generations living together under one roof. It is our way.”

“Sounds like a good way to me.”

She smiled at that. “I’m glad you think so.”

He swept one hand in front of him. “Lead the way.” The dawdy haus had been built at a right angle to the main farmhouse. It was a single-story white clapboard structure with a smaller front porch. A pair of wooden chairs flanked a small table at the far end of the porch. The outside door opened into a small mudroom. A second door led directly into the kitchen.

Karen said, “We have gas lamps. Have you ever used them before?”

“I don’t know.”

She cringed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. There’s no point in tiptoeing around with your questions. Either I’ll remember a thing or I won’t. I won’t know until you ask.”

Striking a match, Karen raised it to the lamp and lit it. A soft glow filled the room, pushing back the growing darkness. She glanced at John and found him watching her intently. Suddenly, it seemed as if the two of them were cocooned alone inside the light.

The lamplight highlighted the hard planes of his face. She became acutely aware of him, of his size and the brooding look in his eyes. The tension in the room seemed to thicken. His gaze roved over her face. Her palms grew sweaty as her pulse quickened. She wondered again if she had made a serious mistake in bringing him here.

Yet, she could not have left him in Hope Springs any more than she could have passed by him in the ditch without helping. There was something about John Doe that called to her.

He tried to hide his discomfort and his aloneness, but she saw it lurking in the depths of his eyes. He was afraid. She wanted to help him, wanted to ease his pain. He needed her.

The white bandage on his forehead stood out against his dark hair. She gave in to an overwhelming urge and reached out to touch his face. Her fingertips brushed against the gauze dressing. “Does it hurt?”

He turned his head aside. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re forgetting that I saw the gash.”

The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I’ve forgotten a lot of things.”

She let her hand drop to her side. How foolish of her. He wasn’t a stray puppy that needed her care. He was a grown man, and she was flirting with forbidden danger. For the first time in her life she understood how a moth could be drawn to the flame that would destroy it.

She must harden her heart against this weakness. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”

He grasped her arm as she started to turn away. “I can manage. If I need anything I’ll find you. Right now, I’d like to be alone. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course.” She handed him the box of matches.

“Be sure and turn off the gas lamps when you leave the house. There are kerosene lamps, too, if you need them. Supper will be ready in about an hour. You may join us at the table or I can bring something to you.”

“If it’s all the same, I’m not up to company and I’m not really hungry. Thank you, though, for everything.”

Slowly, he withdrew his hand from her arm in a gentle caress. She rubbed at the warmth that remained. She must not confuse his gratitude with affection nor give in to her feelings of attraction. To do so would be unthinkable.

She mumbled, “It is our Christian duty to care for those in need. I will be back with linens and a pillow for you in a little while.”

As she left the house, she paused on the porch to slow her racing pulse. Her family must not see her flustered.

She did not doubt that God had brought John Doe into her life again for a reason but that reason was hidden from her. Was it so that she might help this outsider? Or had John Doe been sent to test the strength of her faith? Would she pass such a test or would she fail?

John drew a deep breath as soon as Karen was gone. He couldn’t seem to concentrate when she was near. He didn’t understand why. The woman wasn’t a great beauty, but she had an elegant presence he found very attractive. Perhaps it was the peace in her tranquil blue eyes or the surety with which she carried herself.

She knew exactly where she belonged in her small reclusive world while he was adrift in an ever-changing sea of turmoil that sought to swallow his sanity along with his memories. Her empathy had quickly become his lifeline. One he was afraid to let go of.

“Get real. I can’t hang on the apron strings of an Amish farmer’s daughter.”

Pushing his attraction to her to the back of his mind, he studied the small kitchen. He was surprised to see a refrigerator. On closer inspection, it turned out to be gas not electric, but it was empty and had apparently had the gas turned off. The few drawers were filled with normal kitchen utensils. The stove was wood burning.

Did he even know how to cook?

He opened a cupboard and pulled out a heavy cast-iron skillet. Hefting it in his hand, he suddenly saw it full of sizzling trout. He saw himself setting it on a trivet, hearing murmurs of appreciation, a woman’s lighthearted laughter.

He spun around to face the table knowing someone sat there, but when he did—the image vanished.

“No!”

The loss was so sharp he doubled over in pain. Who was the woman with him? His mother? A sister? A wife? Where had it taken place? When? Was it a real memory or only a figment of his imagination?

He looked at the pan he held and saw only a blackened skillet. Setting it on the stovetop he rubbed his hands on his thighs. It had been a real memory, he was sure of it. But had it been a month ago or ten years ago? It held no context. It faded before he could grasp hold and examine it.

Pulling himself together, he blew out a shaky breath. Okay, it had only been a flash. But it could mean he was on the mend.

Hope—new and crisp—flooded his body. Maybe the doctors had been right and time was all he needed. He had time. He had nothing but time.

Using the matches Karen had given him, he lit a kerosene lamp sitting on the counter and began walking through the rest of the house. The wide plank floors creaked in places as he entered the sitting room containing several chairs and a small camelback sofa. None of the furniture shouted “kick back and relax.” It was utilitarian at best.

Down a narrow hallway he passed a small bathroom and noted with relief the modern fixtures. At the end of the hall he opened the door to a sparsely furnished bedroom.

The narrow bed, covered with a blue striped mattress, stood against a barren white wall. A bureau sat against the opposite wall while a delicate desk graced the corner by the window. The walls were empty of any decorations. The one chair in the room was straight-backed with a cane seat.

Crossing the wooden floor, he set the lamp on the bedside table. He stared at the thin mattress, then sat down and bounced slightly. It was one shade better than his hospital bed but only two shades softer than the floor. Apparently, the Amish didn’t go in for luxury.

He lay back on the bed and folded his arms behind his head to stare at the ceiling. Was his own bedroom this bare? He waited for another spark of memory, but nothing came.

The pain in his head had settled to a dull ache he’d almost grown used to. There were pain pills in his duffel bag, a prescription filled at the hospital pharmacy, but he didn’t like the idea of using them. His thinking was muddled enough without narcotics. He closed his eyes and laid one arm across his face. Slowly, the tension left his body and he dozed.

A rap on the door brought him awake. He sat up surprised to see it was fully dark beyond the window outside. Karen stood in the doorway, her arms loaded with sheets, quilts and a pillow. She asked, “Did I wake you?”

“No. I was only resting.” John wasn’t about to make Karen feel bad after all that she’d done for him. He rose to take the linens from her. Their fresh sun-dried fragrance filled his nostrils.

Taking a step back, she folded her arms nervously. “I left you a plate of food on the table. You should eat. You need to regain your strength.”

“Thanks.” He expected her to hurry away, but she lingered.

“Is the house to your satisfaction?” she asked.

“It’s great. Better than a four-star motel. That’s a place where people can stay when they’re traveling—if you didn’t know.” Did he sound like a fool or what?

An amused grin curved her full lips. “I know what a motel is. We do travel sometimes. I have even been to Florida to visit my great aunt and uncle there.”

“I’ll bet the horse got tired trotting all that way.”

Her giggle made him smile. A weight lifted from his chest.

Composing herself, Karen said, “I took the train.”

It surprised him how much he enjoyed talking to her. He asked, “Can’t you fly?”

“No, my arms get too tired,” she answered with a straight face.

He laughed for the first time since he’d awakened in the hospital. “I don’t know Amish rules.”

“We can’t own automobiles, but we can hire a driver to take us places that are too far for a buggy trip. With our bishop’s permission, we can travel by train or by bus and even by airplane if the conditions are warranted.”

“That must be tough.”

“That’s the point. If it is easy to get in a car and go somewhere, to a new city or a new job, then families become scattered and the bonds that bind us together and to God become frayed and broken.”

“It’s an interesting philosophy.”

“It is our faith, not an idea. It is the way God commands us to live. How is your headache?”

“It’s gone,” he said in surprise.

“I thought so. You look rested. And now you must eat before your supper gets cold.”

He followed her down the hall to the kitchen. A plate covered with aluminum foil sat on the table. He peeled back the cover and the mouthwatering aroma of roast chicken and vegetables rose with the steam. His stomach growled. He was hungry. “Smells good.”

He hesitated, then said, “I remembered something tonight.”

Her eyes brightened. “What?”

If he shared his small victory would she think he was nuts? He didn’t care if she did. He was tired of being alone.

“I’ve cooked trout before. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it’s my first real memory. At least, I believe it was a memory.”

“It is a start. We must give thanks to God.”

His elation slipped a notch. Wasn’t God the one who’d put him in this situation? If he were to give thanks it would have to be for remembering something important—like his name.

She said, “At least you know one more thing about yourself.”

He could cook fish, he had no criminal record and he didn’t crave drugs. Yeah, he was off to a roaring good start in his quest to collect personal information. Maybe tomorrow he’d find he knew how to sharpen a pencil.

Depression lowered its dark blanket over him. “Thanks for the supper.”

“You are most welcome. I will expect you at our breakfast table in the morning,” she stated firmly. The look in her eyes told him she was used to being the boss.

Her family would be there, people who would stare at him with pity or worse. Was he ready for that?

Not waiting for his answer, she said, “I will send Jacob to get you if you don’t appear. No, I will send Noah. His endless questions will make you wish you had stayed in Hope Springs. The only way to silence him is to feed him. Guten nacht, John Doe.”

“Good night, Karen.”

The ribbons of her white bonnet fluttered over her shoulders as she spun around and headed out the door. It appeared he wouldn’t be allowed to hide here in the house if she had her way.

That was okay. He wouldn’t mind seeing her face across the breakfast table or at any other time. Why wasn’t she married?

He reined in the thought quickly. It was none of his business. She was an attractive woman with a vibrant personality, but he was in no position to think about flexing his social skills. What if he had a wife waiting for him somewhere?

He stared at his left hand. No discernible pale band indicated he normally wore a wedding ring. It wasn’t proof positive, of course. Not every married man wore a wedding band. Did he feel married?

How could he remember frying trout and not remember if he had a wife?

The creaking of a floorboard in the other room caught his attention. Was there someone in the house with him? His mouth went dry as a new fear struck.

Had someone come back to finish the job and make sure he was dead?

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