Читать книгу Amish Country Amnesia - Meghan Carver - Страница 15

THREE

John helped as best he could in cleaning up their simple breakfast of sticky rolls and scrambled eggs, but his skills were so lacking that he figured he hadn’t done much kitchen work before. His shoulders sagged at the thought of how long it might take to regain his memory.

Sarah was jittery as she quickly washed the dishes and laid them out on a towel to dry. Between keeping an eye on him and jumping up to look out the window, she barely sat for the meal. He hoped his presence wasn’t too upsetting to her, but how could it not be? She didn’t know him, and yet here he sat, completely dependent upon her goodness. What kind of man was he? Could he be trusted? Was he honorable? Neither of them knew.

As she laid the last glass on the drying towel, he ventured a suggestion. “I think we need to head back to the scene of the accident. Or was it an attack? It’s frustrating not even to know what happened yesterday.” He rubbed a hand over the knot in the back of his neck and took a deep breath. “If I could just remember—something, anything—I might know what to do next. But there could be something at the site to help me remember. Fill in some of the emptiness. It’s a good time to look because of the bright sunshine. If there’s any clue there, we should be able to find it.”

Lyddie ran for her heavy cape. “Mamm, may I take Snowball and the sled?”

Sarah turned from the sink to her daughter, her eyes wide. “It has not yet been decided.” She set her worried look on John. “Do you think it is safe?”

What did he think? With this amnesia, his mind felt like it couldn’t think, or at least it was difficult to think. “You said there was no one there when you found me. And obviously, no one has found us here. To be completely honest, I don’t know. But it seems that it should be, and I don’t have any other ideas for how to figure out who I am or where I’m supposed to be. I think this is my only chance.”

“Jah. I think you are right.” She hung up the towel and headed for the stairs. “I will put on an extra pair of leggings for warmth, and we shall go. Lyddie, same for you. And we will take Snowball but not the sled. John, what do you think?”

“Yes, the sled could get in the way, but the dog could be helpful in staying alert.”

A few minutes later, John had bundled on a heavy wool coat and hat that Sarah had in the barn, and they set off toward the site of his snowmobile crash. The sunshine made the snow sparkle, but it did not add any warmth to the day, and he pulled the coat closer around him. Snowball frisked about, her white tail curled up over her back. John had no doubt that the dog would sniff out danger before he saw it. But John still couldn’t help constantly scanning their surroundings for anything remotely suspicious.

As he crested the top of the ridge, John got his first good look at the snowmobile. But all that remained were charred parts and crumpled fiberglass. A whisper of smoke half-heartedly rose from the wreckage, but it was not enough to mark their location to anyone nearby. He held out an arm to stop Sarah and Lyddie. He listened for a full minute, but the only sound close by was the panting of the malamute.

He skidded down the slope and stopped next to the debris. Would it summon up any memories? The vinyl seat remained intact, and he tried to picture himself sitting on it, his hands on the handlebars. His snowmobile suit was gray. He knew that because he had seen it. But nothing dislodged any memories.

“Spread out a bit,” he instructed Sarah and Lyddie. “Look for anything that might be the least bit helpful.”

Sarah circled around the creek bed, where she had found him the day before, her head bent to the task. Lyddie followed behind her mother, overturning a few rocks. She wandered toward the woods, picking up sticks and throwing them into the trees, and then returned toward John. Her full blue skirt swished against her black snow boots, and snow that had fallen from the trees rested on her shoulders and kapp. Snowball followed her faithfully, sniffing in her footsteps.

The child was adorable, but John forced himself to return his gaze to the remains of the accident site.

“Look! I found something!” Lyddie’s squeal of delight drew him quickly to her side. She bent to the ground and retrieved from the snow a piece of metal that reflected the bright sunshine.

The snow quickly brushed off of the edges, and she handed it to John. “What is it? What does it say?”

Sarah appeared at his side, her breath puffing in small clouds. “It is the badge of a police officer.”

“Fort Wayne Police Department,” John read. “Is that far from here?”

“It is over an hour by car.” She shrugged. “We pay a driver and go to shop sometimes. Is this yours?”

“I don’t know. It could be mine. Or it could belong to one of the men who Lyddie says attacked me. Let’s keep looking. Maybe there’s some identification.”

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.

With a death grip on the arm of her only child, she turned to run. Her heavy winter boots felt glued to the ground, too bulky to move, but she clunked along for a few steps. The weight of her despair sank her farther down into the ground. How could she possibly outrun a bullet at her slow speed? Gott was always there, she reminded herself, and she begged for His protection.

The cracking sound of a gun firing rang in her ears. Would she feel the pain of death? Or would she just suddenly find herself in the presence of Gott? Who would care for Lyddie?

A strong force—a hand—pushed on her back. Strong enough to push her down. She landed face-down in the snow, her hand still on Lyddie, who fell next to her.

Lyddie turned to look at her, fear contorting her face.

“I love you,” Sarah mouthed.

Then she closed her eyes, praying that her death would be quick and painless.