An Amish Christmas. Patricia Davids

time since he’d awakened in the hospital. “I don’t know Amish rules.”

      “We can’t own automobiles, but we can hire a driver to take us places that are too far for a buggy trip. With our bishop’s permission, we can travel by train or by bus and even by airplane if the conditions are warranted.”

      “That must be tough.”

      “That’s the point. If it is easy to get in a car and go somewhere, to a new city or a new job, then families become scattered and the bonds that bind us together and to God become frayed and broken.”

      “It’s an interesting philosophy.”

      “It is our faith, not an idea. It is the way God commands us to live. How is your headache?”

      “It’s gone,” he said in surprise.

      “I thought so. You look rested. And now you must eat before your supper gets cold.”

      He followed her down the hall to the kitchen. A plate covered with aluminum foil sat on the table. He peeled back the cover and the mouthwatering aroma of roast chicken and vegetables rose with the steam. His stomach growled. He was hungry. “Smells good.”

      He hesitated, then said, “I remembered something tonight.”

      Her eyes brightened. “What?”

      If he shared his small victory would she think he was nuts? He didn’t care if she did. He was tired of being alone.

      “I’ve cooked trout before. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it’s my first real memory. At least, I believe it was a memory.”

      “It is a start. We must give thanks to God.”

      His elation slipped a notch. Wasn’t God the one who’d put him in this situation? If he were to give thanks it would have to be for remembering something important—like his name.

      She said, “At least you know one more thing about yourself.”

      He could cook fish, he had no criminal record and he didn’t crave drugs. Yeah, he was off to a roaring good start in his quest to collect personal information. Maybe tomorrow he’d find he knew how to sharpen a pencil.

      Depression lowered its dark blanket over him. “Thanks for the supper.”

      “You are most welcome. I will expect you at our breakfast table in the morning,” she stated firmly. The look in her eyes told him she was used to being the boss.

      Her family would be there, people who would stare at him with pity or worse. Was he ready for that?

      Not waiting for his answer, she said, “I will send Jacob to get you if you don’t appear. No, I will send Noah. His endless questions will make you wish you had stayed in Hope Springs. The only way to silence him is to feed him. Guten nacht, John Doe.”

      “Good night, Karen.”

      The ribbons of her white bonnet fluttered over her shoulders as she spun around and headed out the door. It appeared he wouldn’t be allowed to hide here in the house if she had her way.

      That was okay. He wouldn’t mind seeing her face across the breakfast table or at any other time. Why wasn’t she married?

      He reined in the thought quickly. It was none of his business. She was an attractive woman with a vibrant personality, but he was in no position to think about flexing his social skills. What if he had a wife waiting for him somewhere?

      He stared at his left hand. No discernible pale band indicated he normally wore a wedding ring. It wasn’t proof positive, of course. Not every married man wore a wedding band. Did he feel married?

      How could he remember frying trout and not remember if he had a wife?

      The creaking of a floorboard in the other room caught his attention. Was there someone in the house with him? His mouth went dry as a new fear struck.

      Had someone come back to finish the job and make sure he was dead?