Amish Country Amnesia. Meghan Carver

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      As Sarah and Lyddie pushed snow away from the debris, questions pinged in John’s mind. Could the badge be his, thrown off him in the wreck? What about a weapon? Was he a police officer?

      Ten minutes of thorough searching yielded nothing more.

      John examined the badge in his hand, trying to force himself to remember. “So, I could be a police officer. Or maybe I’m not. There’s no way to know if this badge belongs to me because there’s no name on it, just a number, and I don’t remember any numbers. I suppose it could have been thrown off me in the wreck, but if I am a law-enforcement officer, then where is my weapon?” He pulled off a glove and rubbed his temple. A dull throb began to echo through his head. Or am I the criminal the police were chasing?

      “This does not help with any memories?” Sarah gazed at him with eyes crinkled and warm with tenderness and compassion.

      Before he could answer, Snowball perked up her ears and uttered a low growl.

      Lyddie dropped to the snow next to her, a mittened hand on her back. “What is it, Snowball?”

      “Shh.” John held out his hand to silence them. He listened intently, straining against the growing thrum of the headache. A machine was approaching. A snowmobile?

      “Could it be someone to help?” Sarah kept her voice to a whisper.

      John shook his head. “No way to know. But we need to get out of here. I can’t explain why, but I don’t want us here when the snowmobile arrives.” He nodded toward the woods. “Into the trees. Quickly.”

      He grasped Sarah’s hand to lead her, and he was instantly warmed by her touch. Sarah threw him a startled look but did not draw away. She urged Lyddie toward the woods and called for Snowball to follow.

      Several feet into the tree line, John made sure Sarah was tucked behind a large cottonwood. He looked back toward the clearing just in time to see a snowmobile emerge from the far side. A glance back to Sarah revealed that she had grabbed hold of Snowball’s collar. Lyddie stood on the other side of the dog, her hand resting on the dog’s head as if to keep her calm.

      It would have to do for now. Their movement through the trees, to head for Sarah’s house, would only draw attention to them. And since they could never outrun a snowmobile, it was best to hide.

      John crouched behind another tree and turned his attention to the approaching snowmobile.

      The driver pulled up to within a few feet of the crash debris. He killed the engine and then dismounted. He wore a typical snowmobile suit, black with white trim, and he appeared to be a thick man underneath. But since the man wore a helmet and goggles, John could not tell anything more about him.

      The man surveyed the accident site, then picked up a stick and poked at the debris. When he seemed satisfied, he dropped the stick and slowly scanned the surrounding area.

      Snowball continued to pant, although the sound was so quiet that John had to strain to hear it. Lyddie put her hand over her mouth and clamped it shut. John wanted to tell her that the dog would not take kindly to that, but he didn’t dare whisper or leave his hiding place. The dog pulled her head away, a low whine issuing forth as she shook her muzzle free.

      John dared a peek around his tree. The man had taken a couple of steps in their direction. He had removed his gloves and tucked them in a cargo pocket and was working on his goggles and helmet. John’s gut clenched at the possibility of being discovered, but all he could do was wait.

      With his head cocked, the snowmobile driver stared at the trees, a look of deep concentration on his face as if he were listening. Had he heard Snowball whine? It could have sounded like a wild animal, and yet there weren’t many animals out in the winter. John turned back to Sarah and Lyddie just in time to see Sarah move to correct the girl, probably for holding the dog’s mouth shut.

      As she reached out a hand, Sarah seemed to lose her balance, and she wobbled out from her hiding place.

      Helpless where he was, John watched the man’s stare zero in on Sarah as she leaned out. She immediately grasped the trunk of the tree and pulled herself behind it, but not before a loud inhalation escaped.

      John’s heart beat wildly against his rib cage, and he swallowed down bile as his stomach churned at the look of evil on the man’s face.

      * * *

      Sarah’s gasp seemed to echo through the empty woods. She shot her hand up to cover her mouth, but it was too late to stifle the sound.

      He had seen her.

      Whoever that man was that radiated evil intent, he now knew they were there.

      But just as startling was the blue-and-purple bruise mark around the man’s neck and on his hand, peeking out from the cuff of his jacket. Even in the midst of her fear, a small wave of sympathy rose for the man with such a birthmark. Her gaze flew to his eyes again, and the sympathy quickly disappeared at the malice she saw there.

      She clutched at what felt like safety—the solidness of the tree trunk. Her feet felt mired in the deep snow and the boots. She could not run if she tried.

      Lyddie stood from kneeling next to the malamute and looked at Sarah, her eyes wide with questioning and fright. The girl was just trying to be helpful, but it could get them all killed.

       Gott, help us!

      But in that moment of desperate prayer, Lyddie’s whisper filtered in.

      “Mamm! That is the man! I saw him yesterday!” Even through the mitten, the point of her finger was unmistakable. “See his neck and hand? Scary!”

      “Lyddie!” Her whisper came out more harsh than she intended. She needed to have a talk with her daughter about kindness and compassion when others looked different, but now was not the time. “Get back!”

      As Sarah grasped Lyddie’s shoulder and pulled her behind the tree, she snuck another glance through a few fall leaves that still clung to several branches. The man’s eyes were wide, and a small smile snaked across his lips as if he understood the situation. Perspiration dampened her brow despite the cold of the winter day. She struggled to even her breathing and remain calm, but her breath continued to puff out in short spurts.

      She looked at John, and he simply held a finger to his lips to indicate she should remain quiet.

      At the very least, the man had to know now that she had been around the site of the crash and, most likely, knew something about John. He knew that she was involved.

      If there was any doubt of the man’s knowledge of her, it was all erased as he drew a weapon out of a cargo pocket and pointed it at her.

      Her breath hitched. She clutched at Lyddie and Snowball, both to protect them and to keep from collapsing.

      He slowly approached the tree line, each step an ominous crunch in the hardened snow.

      “Sarah.” John’s whisper filtered through the panicked haze in her mind. She forced her gaze away from the gun to see John motioning for them to run deeper into the woods.

      Somehow, she moved her head enough to nod her assent.

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