An Amish Christmas. Patricia Davids

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ