An Amish Christmas. Patricia Davids
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