try something new. Ya? Look at those animals. They seem like giant poodles to me. Who figured out that their wool would be a good crop?”
“Caleb, you surprise me.”
“Ya?” He reached forward and brushed some grass off her coat sleeve, no doubt left by one of his alpacas that had been nosing closer for apple peels. “Is that gut or bad?”
“Both. The alpacas will be entertaining.”
They’d returned to flopping down in the dirt.
“Your herd looks like they will produce a variety of coffee colors.”
“Coffee, huh?”
“Something Englischers love—lots of browns and tans and mochas and cappuccinos. Maybe even a cinnamon hue on that far one.”
“Cappuccino?” He could feel the frown forming on his lips. No doubt she loved visiting a coffee shop and wasting her money.
“Plus their fiber is hypoallergenic, which is what makes it very popular.”
“Funny that you know that.”
She simply shrugged.
“I know nothing about shearing, but I can learn.”
“Do you have a local library?”
“Sure.”
“You can search how to do that on their computers.”
He felt something freeze inside of him. This happened every time he began to feel comfortable with Rachel. She said or did something that reminded him she didn’t belong here and probably wouldn’t be staying. He stepped away from the fence, so now they were facing each other, though Rachel was a good head shorter than he was.
“We don’t use the computers.”
“Why?” She cocked her head and looked genuinely puzzled.
“Because we choose not to. We’re Plain...” He couldn’t help emphasizing the last word, though he realized it sounded patronizing.
“Uh-huh. Well, I can tell you’re getting aggravated, so I suppose I should go back inside.”
“We just talked about what it means to be Plain, and then you throw out a comment about using computers.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a computer, Caleb.” She stepped closer, right up into his personal space, and stared up at him.
He took a step back.
“Computers aren’t evil.”
“Never said they were, but they’re not Plain.”
“A computer isn’t going to cause anyone to leave the faith.”
“It could. The things you can see on one...well, it’s like bait to our youngies...”
“Of which you are one.”
He laughed at that. “Turned twenty-five last year.”
“Me, too.”
They both froze, the argument suddenly forgotten.
“Another piece of the puzzle of Rachel,” he said softly.
She glanced at him uncertainly, a range of emotions playing across her face, and then she turned and wandered back into the house, pausing now and again to look back at the alpacas.
* * *
Rachel spent the rest of Friday morning helping Ida, but honestly there wasn’t much to do for a family of three—four if she counted herself. Was she a part of Ida’s family? Was this her home now? When would she remember her past?
And beneath those questions were Caleb’s words, mocking her.
Amish women work hard, too. At least most of them do.
Did he think she liked not being able to remember her own last name or where she was from? Did he think she enjoyed being ill?
“The headaches are better, ya?” Ida was crocheting a gray-and-black winter scarf for Caleb. She only brought it out during the day, not wanting him to see it until Christmas morning.
Rachel was sitting and staring at the crochet needle that Ida had given her. She’d even shown her how to use it, but the rhythm and stitch pattern seemed completely foreign. If she’d crocheted in her other life, she certainly couldn’t remember doing so.
“Some.”
“That’s gut. You’re a little better every day. You could be entirely well by Christmas.”
“Does your community celebrate on December twenty-fifth or on January sixth?”
“Both. The older generation—older than me even, they prefer Old Christmas.”
“Probably includes Caleb.”
“Caleb likes both holidays—mainly because I cook his favorite dishes.”
“I wish I could remember how to use this.” Rachel stared at the crochet needle. “I wish I remembered something useful.”
“That seems to happen when you’re not thinking about it.” She pointed to the journal that contained the list that Rachel had made. The list was pitifully short, in her opinion. She opened the journal and stared down at the first page.
My name is Rachel.
I have a brother.
I know about alpaca wool.
Used to wear sunglasses?
I’m 25 years old.
“Those things could describe a lot of women.”
“And yet they describe you, and Gotte made you special and unique.”
“Now you’re trying to cheer me up.”
“Indeed.” Ida peered at her over the reading glasses she wore while crocheting. The frames were a pretty blue, which probably irked Caleb to no end. A blue dress was out of the question—blue frames couldn’t be far behind.
“Do you know what I think is wrong with you?”
Rachel nearly choked on the water she’d been sipping. She’d known Ida for only less than a week, and yet already she knew the woman had a gentle spirit—one that wasn’t critical.
“What’s wrong with me?”
Now Ida was smiling. “Uh-huh.”
“Tell me, Ida. Because it may just be that my brain is bruised, but I feel all out of sorts.”
“You
