Amish Country Amnesia. Meghan Carver

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       TWO

      An eerie quiet filtered through his mind, a stillness that felt foreign and uncomfortable. With what felt like great effort, he opened his eyes only to find more darkness, softened slightly by moonlight coming through a window. Before he could form a coherent thought or try to lift his head, the darkness consumed him again.

      His next sensation was a sharpness in his temple. Without even opening his eyes, he knew it was daylight. He released his eyelids to a slit. Bright sunshine streamed through windows on either side of the bed.

      He lifted a hand to his forehead, trying to locate the source of the stabbing pain. His hand came into contact with what felt like a bandage, but the hurt seemed to come from all over his head. Just the act of moving his arm made him aware of an aching soreness that consumed his entire body. Shading his eyes, he opened them further.

      The walls around him were a stark white. Light blue curtains hung at the windows, but they were thin enough that they did not block the light very much. He was in a bed, covered with a colorful quilt, a wood armoire standing against the wall across from him. Near the door, a young girl with a blue dress and white cap on her head sat in a straight-backed chair, reading a book. She must have noticed his movement, for she looked up and their stares locked. Her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise, and she dashed from the room.

      Before he could try to sit up, the girl returned with a young woman who wore a similar dress and cap.

      The woman pressed her lips together as if concerned, and tiny crinkling lines formed around her eyes. But her gaze radiated warmth and care. “How are you?” Her voice was quiet and calming.

      She pulled the chair up to the bedside and sat, her hands clasped in her lap. Her face seemed to be completely devoid of makeup, and yet a beauty radiated from her that he hadn’t seen in... Well, he couldn’t remember when.

      He cleared his throat, trying to summon his voice. His mind was a complete blank, yet a sense of discomfort, danger even, seemed to hover over him. How was he? “I’m... I’m sore.”

      “I am glad to see you are awake. I bandaged the cut on your forehead last night.” She fluttered her hand up to the side of his head. “May I check it?”

      He nodded. She peeled back part of the bandage, her touch a whisper against his skin. “It has stopped bleeding. That is gut.” She stood and stepped to the window, lifting the curtain to look out. She stood there a moment, surveying, a frown creasing her brow. But as she returned to the chair, she seemed to force a small smile. “Now. Introductions. I am Sarah Burkholder. This is my house. And this,” she motioned the girl forward, “is my daughter, Lyddie.”

      She looked at him, expectation etched around her eyes and mouth.

      But his mind was blank, a black hole of nothingness. He closed his eyes to block out any distractions, including the woman’s pretty face and the sweetness of the little girl, and searched for any information about who he was. What was his name? What was his job? What had happened yesterday that landed him here in this home? And why did he have such a pervasive feeling of danger?

      He had no idea.

      He opened his eyes to find the woman still watching him, waiting for an answer. “I don’t know.”

      Confusion flitted across her face. “You do not know your own name?”

      He thought again. “No.”

      “Where do you live?”

      Again, he searched and came up blank. “I don’t know. Here? With you?”

      “No. Not here.” She giggled, a musical sound that calmed him. “What is your job?”

      “I don’t know. What can you tell me about yourself? Where is your husband? Where are we? How did you get me here?”

      She held out a hand. “In good time. First, I will send Lyddie to fetch the doctor.”

      At a nod from her mother, the girl ran out of the room. A few moments later, an exterior door slammed.

      The woman settled herself again on the chair. “My husband was killed two years ago when a car hit his buggy. We are near Nappanee in Indiana, in the home my husband built when we moved here. We are Amish.” She gestured to her dark blue dress, her white apron, her starched kapp.

      “Yes.” Somehow, he knew the word Amish and had a vague inkling of what it meant. That’s why the girl went running for the doctor. There would be no telephone in the house.

      “Lyddie and I brought you here on a sled pulled by our malamute, Snowball. I did not see it, but she told me that you were chased by two men on snowmobiles. You crashed into a tree. I think you hit your head on a rock by the creek.”

      “What about the two men?”

      “They left you. They must have thought you were dead.” She paused, clearly thinking through her next words. When СКАЧАТЬ