Five
S tepping off the front porch, John looked up. The morning sky hung low, gray and overcast. The wind carried a hint of rain as it scattered fallen leaves across the ground in front of his feet. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Karen working in the kitchen through the windows. Once again he was struck by how gracefully she moved.
She wore a dark purple dress today with a black apron over it. The color accentuated her willowy frame. The ribbons of her white cap drew his attention to her slender neck, the curve of her jaw and her delicate ears.
He turned away from the sight, recognizing his interest for what it was. The attraction of a man to a lovely woman. He had no business thinking about any woman in a romantic light. Not until he’d solved the riddle of his past.
Heading toward the barn, he studied the looming structure. It was a huge, solid building, obviously well cared for. Pulling open one of the doors he entered into the dim interior. Instantly, the smells of animals assailed him along with the odors of hay, old wood and feed.He knew these smells the way he knew he was right-handed.
Off to the left was an area that served as Eli’s blacksmith shop. Brooms and assorted tools hung from horseshoes attached to the bare wooden walls and overhead beams. Two steel frames suspended from the ceiling had been rigged so they could be released to swing down on either side of a fitful horse during a shoeing. An anvil sat secured to a worn workbench. Beside it was a water barrel and racks of horseshoes of different sizes. A rolling cart in the corner contained all the tools a farrier needed in their proper places.
Walking over to the shoes, John picked one up. It was too heavy. He hefted another. They should be lighter. He didn’t know why, but he knew they should be.
The sound of a loud whinny greeted him. He replaced the shoes and moved toward the source. In the filtered daylight he made out a half dozen equine heads hanging over their stall doors to check out this newcomer.
He stopped at the first stall. Molly nuzzled at his shirt pocket. He scratched her head. “Sorry, I didn’t know I needed to bring a treat. I’ll do better tomorrow.”
“Do you like horses, Mr. Doe?”
John turned to see Mr. Imhoff approaching from the back of the barn. In his free hand he held a pitchfork.
“It appears that I do,” John answered.
“Is it true what my daughter says? That you have no memory of your life before you were found on our lane?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“I have heard of such a thing. My father’s oldest brother was kicked in the head by a horse. It was a full day before he recovered his senses.”
“I have recovered my senses, just not any personal memories.”
“That is a strange burden for God to give a man, but He has His reasons even if we cannot understand them.”
Hiding his bitterness at God, John turned back to Molly. “Your mare has nice confirmation. Do you plan to breed her?”
“I’ve already had two nice colts from her.” Eli began walking toward the back of the barn. John followed him to a small paddock where a black horse was trotting back and forth.
John leaned his elbows on the top rail and watched the animal with pleasure. “Hey, pretty boy. You look like you’ve got some get up and go,” he murmured softly.
A blinding pain made him wince. He saw another black horse, rail-thin with its hip bones sticking out. The animal was covered in sores and flies. Death hovered over him.
Sucking in a quick breath, John opened his eyes. The vision was gone.
Eli didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. He said, “This one’s name is One-Way, and he should look fast. His sire, Willows Way, won the Hamiltonian at the Meadowlands ten years ago.”
John rubbed the ache from his temple. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid that doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“It means his sire was a racehorse, a trotter and a goot one.”
John looked at the Amish farmer in his dark coat, long
S tepping off the front porch, John looked up. The morning sky hung low, gray and overcast. The wind carried a hint of rain as it scattered fallen leaves across the ground in front of his feet. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Karen working in the kitchen through the windows. Once again he was struck by how gracefully she moved.
She wore a dark purple dress today with a black apron over it. The color accentuated her willowy frame. The ribbons of her white cap drew his attention to her slender neck, the curve of her jaw and her delicate ears.
He turned away from the sight, recognizing his interest for what it was. The attraction of a man to a lovely woman. He had no business thinking about any woman in a romantic light. Not until he’d solved the riddle of his past.
Heading toward the barn, he studied the looming structure. It was a huge, solid building, obviously well cared for. Pulling open one of the doors he entered into the dim interior. Instantly, the smells of animals assailed him along with the odors of hay, old wood and feed.He knew these smells the way he knew he was right-handed.
Off to the left was an area that served as Eli’s blacksmith shop. Brooms and assorted tools hung from horseshoes attached to the bare wooden walls and overhead beams. Two steel frames suspended from the ceiling had been rigged so they could be released to swing down on either side of a fitful horse during a shoeing. An anvil sat secured to a worn workbench. Beside it was a water barrel and racks of horseshoes of different sizes. A rolling cart in the corner contained all the tools a farrier needed in their proper places.
Walking over to the shoes, John picked one up. It was too heavy. He hefted another. They should be lighter. He didn’t know why, but he knew they should be.
The sound of a loud whinny greeted him. He replaced the shoes and moved toward the source. In the filtered daylight he made out a half dozen equine heads hanging over their stall doors to check out this newcomer.
He stopped at the first stall. Molly nuzzled at his shirt pocket. He scratched her head. “Sorry, I didn’t know I needed to bring a treat. I’ll do better tomorrow.”
“Do you like horses, Mr. Doe?”
John turned to see Mr. Imhoff approaching from the back of the barn. In his free hand he held a pitchfork.
“It appears that I do,” John answered.
“Is it true what my daughter says? That you have no memory of your life before you were found on our lane?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“I have heard of such a thing. My father’s oldest brother was kicked in the head by a horse. It was a full day before he recovered his senses.”
“I have recovered my senses, just not any personal memories.”
“That is a strange burden for God to give a man, but He has His reasons even if we cannot understand them.”
Hiding his bitterness at God, John turned back to Molly. “Your mare has nice confirmation. Do you plan to breed her?”
“I’ve already had two nice colts from her.” Eli began walking toward the back of the barn. John followed him to a small paddock where a black horse was trotting back and forth.
John leaned his elbows on the top rail and watched the animal with pleasure. “Hey, pretty boy. You look like you’ve got some get up and go,” he murmured softly.
A blinding pain made him wince. He saw another black horse, rail-thin with its hip bones sticking out. The animal was covered in sores and flies. Death hovered over him.
Sucking in a quick breath, John opened his eyes. The vision was gone.
Eli didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. He said, “This one’s name is One-Way, and he should look fast. His sire, Willows Way, won the Hamiltonian at the Meadowlands ten years ago.”
John rubbed the ache from his temple. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid that doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“It means his sire was a racehorse, a trotter and a goot one.”
John looked at the Amish farmer in his dark coat, long
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