Amish Country Amnesia. Meghan Carver

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СКАЧАТЬ to Lancaster County, to Pennsylvania and the family she had left behind? A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek at the memory of her husband. Life had changed drastically in that one terrible moment, and not for the better.

      Even though she had committed to teaching for the entire school year and did not need to decide for a while, she promised herself she would pray during the winter break and seek the will of Gott for her future.

      She dried her hands on a nearby towel and then dabbed the corner of her apron to her eyes.

      How could it have been Gott’s will that her husband die in that buggy accident? That was best for her? For their daughter, Lyddie?

      Ach. That was not the Amish way, to question the authority of Gott. Another tear overflowed, and she lifted the apron again. Father, if Thou be willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but Thine, be done. At least she had Lyddie, the joy of her life, although the poor child was growing up without her daed and at only six years old.

      Where was Lyddie anyway? She had been instructed to stay close to the house and barn today.

      Sarah retrieved her heavy winter cape and bonnet from the hook near the door and stepped out onto the back porch. The noise of other snowmobiles was a little louder outside, but then they moved away. She inhaled deeply, the winter air slicing through her lungs, and savored the return of the stillness.

      But she still needed to find Lyddie. With snowmobiles around, the child ought to stay closer to home. Most of their Englisch neighbors were mindful of those in the Amish community, but Lyddie still had chores to complete, as well. The floor needed to be swept and the eggs gathered.

      She walked to the end of the porch, her gaze sweeping from the barn to the tree line. “Lyddie!” But there was no telling if she was in earshot.

      Sarah stepped back inside and changed quickly into her heavy snow boots. She would have to go searching on foot.

      As Sarah pulled the door closed behind her, the child broke from the trees, followed closely by Snowball, their brown-and-white malamute. A look of alarm held fast on her face as she ran as best she could through the snow, a few blond curls that had struggled free from her kapp flying behind her. “Mamm! A man. An Englischer! He is hurt. He has been attacked.” Lyddie gasped for breath as she skidded to a stop in front of her mother. The dog barked as if to urge Sarah to help, then turned and faced back toward the woods.

      Sarah’s hand flew to cover her mouth and then migrated south to cover her heart as if it could still the wild beat at Lyddie’s news. An attack? She prayed the child was mistaken.

      Lyddie pulled at her mother’s hand. “Mamm. We must help the man.”

      “Jah. We must.” She paused. “In case it is needed, hitch the sled to Snowball.”

      Lyddie ran to the barn to retrieve the sled she had rigged to hitch to the large snow dog. Sarah stepped back inside to grab a quilt, and when she returned to the porch, daughter and dog were ready to go. With no idea what she might find, she at least wanted another way to supply warmth.

      Sarah pulled her cape about her and stepped out to follow her daughter. “Show me where he is.”

      She followed as Lyddie led Snowball and retraced her tracks in the snow, babbling like the brook in springtime about hiding in the trees as the snowmobiles came closer and watching two snowmobiles chase another snowmobile and the man who then did not move. The dog bounded alongside, strangely quiet, as if she knew her barking could draw unwanted attention. After hiking for several minutes, Sarah felt the acrid odor of smoke fill her nostrils.

      She pushed Lyddie faster, clumping behind in her snow boots, as they followed the sight of a thin plume of gray smoke rising from over another hill. Gott, have mercy.

      They crested the hill, and Lyddie led her through some trees and into a tiny clearing next to the creek. Sarah knew it well. Some wild raspberry bushes grew not far away where they would pick berries in the heat come August. But now, everything was covered with the white blanket of winter even as more snow fell.

      At the site, Sarah gasped. How could anyone have survived that? A red-and-black snowmobile had crashed into a tree, and flames rose from its crumpled form. She rushed forward, the heat warming her face. Instinctively, she held out an arm to hold Lyddie back from the fire.

      She turned toward her daughter, not taking her eyes from the wreckage. “Lyddie, where is the Englischer? Show me.”

      The girl moved past Sarah’s arm and skirted around the flames. She held out a hand to Snowball and he sat, then she headed for some boulders at the edge of the creek bed. “Here. He has not moved.”

      Sarah surveyed the area. With what Lyddie had said about the man being attacked, she didn’t want to risk any danger on their part. But all seemed still and silent there in the woods.

      On the other side of the boulders, a man in a gray snowmobile suit lay with a fine layer of snow on him. A gash on the side of his head trickled a bright red flow of blood. A little bit of blood had dripped onto his shoulder and the rock where he had apparently hit his head. His snowmobile suit was torn in a couple of places, but other than that, he appeared well. His eyes were closed as if in sleep, but Sarah flew to his side. She kneeled on the snow next to him and pulled down the collar of his protective jacket to feel for a pulse. His heartbeat was strong. She released a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. The man was still alive. She lowered her head and turned to listen for his breath. It was even and steady. She then gently felt every bone, but each felt solid and unharmed.

      So far, everything had checked normal, but he still had not reacted to her touch.

      She prodded his shoulder, lifted his hand, rolled his ankle. “Hello? Can you hear me? Can you wake up?”

      He remained unresponsive.

      A chill shook through her. Whether it was fear or the cold did not matter. She needed to be careful of her surroundings, for her sake, for the sake of her daughter and for the sake of this unknown man. But she also needed to get him to warmth and shelter to treat his wounds.

      She shook her head, a desperate attempt to understand human beings. What kind of person would allow an injured man to lie in the snow and not care for him? Obviously, not a good one. Lyddie had said that there were two on snowmobiles chasing the man. She had even mentioned a gun in the hand of one of the pursuers. Had they hoped to kill him? Thought he was dead?

      Sarah stood and looked back to the site of the accident and what was left of the tracks in the snow. Thankfully, all remained quiet. But what if the attackers returned? Lyddie had said they had driven off and out of sight. But if they were evil enough to leave a hurt man here, a man who appeared to be dead, what would they do to an innocent Amish woman and her daughter? There were no other footprints besides their own and a couple of sets of prints near where the snowmobiles had stopped. It seemed as if they had dismounted but then left again. There were also no other snowmobile tracks, but the falling snow was quickly filling in everything. Soon, there would be no visible signs of any human presence left.

      The best thing to do would be to get the man to the house immediately. To safety. A neighbor had a telephone in his barn for business, but the neighbor was farther from here than the distance to her own home. If his pursuers did return, Sarah did not want to be there, exposed, nor did she want the injured man to be, whoever he was.

      “Lyddie.” СКАЧАТЬ