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Her Forgotten Amish Past
Debby Giusti
She can’t remember who she’s running from. Is she safe with the Amish? Someone wants Becca Troyer dead, but who or why is a mystery to her. Seeking refuge at the home of Amish farmer Zeke Hochstetler is her only hope to stay one step ahead of the killer. With every clue she finds about her past leading to more confusion, Becca and Zeke must untangle the truth before her pursuer discovers where she’s been hiding.


She can’t remember who she’s running from.
Is she safe with the Amish?
Someone wants Becca Troyer dead, but who or why is a mystery to her. Seeking refuge at the home of Amish farmer Zeke Hochstetler is her only hope to stay one step ahead of the killer. With every clue she finds about her past leading to more confusion, Becca and Zeke must untangle the truth before her pursuer discovers where she’s been hiding.
DEBBY GIUSTI is an award-winning Christian author who met and married her military husband at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled the world, raised three wonderful children and have now settled in Atlanta, Georgia, where Debby spins tales of mystery and suspense that touch the heart and soul. Visit Debby online at debbygiusti.com (http://www.debbygiusti.com), blog with her at seekerville.blogspot.com (http://www.seekerville.blogspot.com) and craftieladiesofromance.blogspot.com (http://www.craftieladiesofromance.blogspot.com), and email her at Debby@DebbyGiusti.com.
Also By Debby Giusti (#u05b36bb9-c61f-568a-81de-4849aab173af)
Her Forgotten Amish Past
Amish Witness Protection
Amish Safe House
Amish Protectors
Amish Refuge
Undercover Amish
Amish Rescue
Amish Christmas Secrets
Military Investigations
The Soldier’s Sister
The Agent’s Secret Past
Stranded
Person of Interest
Plain Danger
Plain Truth
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Her Forgotten Amish Past
Debby Giusti


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09892-2
HER FORGOTTEN AMISH PAST
© 2019 Deborah W. Giusti
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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“What happened on that studio lot that made me run for my life?”
Tears welled in Becca’s eyes. “Oh, Zeke, what if I’ve done something wrong? I told you about the blood on the carpet. What did I do? Did I cause someone harm?”
“Do not think such thoughts.”
“Look.” She pointed to where broken twigs and trampled underbrush curved left. “This is where I left the path. We need to follow that trail.”
Zeke took her hand. “Not tonight. It is late. We can come back tomorrow.”
She shivered.
“You are cold. Let me help you into the buggy. Wrap yourself in the blanket. The road is not far.”
As Zeke urged the mare forward, Becca glanced back to the fork in the trail. She would come back tomorrow. She had to know more about where she had been that first night. The torn fabric from her dress confirmed her presence.
What else would she find on the trail?
A section of bloodstained carpet? A knife?
She shivered again.
Or a dead body?
Dear Reader (#u05b36bb9-c61f-568a-81de-4849aab173af),
I hope you enjoyed Her Forgotten Amish Past. When reclusive farmer Ezekiel Hochstetler finds a battered woman in an Amish dress wandering on a dark mountain road late at night, his peaceful world turns upside down. The fact that she doesn’t know her name or anything about her past adds to his confusion. The last thing Becca Troyer remembers is being chased through the dark woods. Untying her past puts Zeke and Becca in danger not only of losing their hearts but also their lives.
I pray for my readers each day andwould love to hear from you. Email me at debby@debbygiusti.comor write me c/o Love Inspired, 195 Broadway, 24th Floor, New York, NY 10007. Visit me at www.debbygiusti.com (http://www.debbygiusti.com) and at www.Facebook.com/debby.giusti.9 (http://www.Facebook.com/debby.giusti.9).
As always, I thank God for bringing us together through this story.
Wishing you abundant blessings,
Debby Giusti
Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness:
thou hast enlarged me when I was in distress;
have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer.
—Psalm 4:1
In memory of
Betty Ramsdell
August 23, 1919–April 1, 2019
A faithful Christian, devoted army wife
and dear friend.
Thank you, Betty, for your love and support.
Contents
Cover (#u672f4fa0-0561-5b49-8db8-5de48d350a31)
Back Cover Text (#u4b795f07-c44b-5196-9ceb-af5e00d458cb)
About the Author (#ueddf5765-f9e3-5837-8902-d1f651f621f3)
Booklist (#u14d2077f-fee8-5645-a595-8a5d5ff76e14)
Title Page (#u176d7ef6-d375-5e1e-97da-d14b4f7349e5)
Copyright (#u50dd09ba-93c5-536c-bf08-cbdb852e94d6)
Note to Readers
Introduction (#ued93c8ea-a98e-59e8-a611-a6d8e1301891)
Dear Reader (#ufbed7f59-0c6f-5343-82a1-dc9e2ba22223)
Bible Verse (#u8031162d-44b4-538b-9214-1e18168ae3e8)
Dedication (#u55f37944-5fa7-5caa-81fd-702b234404a2)
ONE (#ude5a9948-4d31-5d2f-8de2-32ec5836b0f2)
TWO (#u2bbc9ff8-55e9-591e-b3f2-5d468b2790a0)
THREE (#uf8467bd0-58ef-525c-8a6e-08d372d77c21)
FOUR (#u769780ba-bcdf-520d-ad6a-1daa425c2413)
FIVE (#ub31a0fd8-5d82-54bd-adba-4a23c232fc76)
SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

ONE (#u05b36bb9-c61f-568a-81de-4849aab173af)
“Hello?”
Becky Taylor tapped on the door of the trailer, then glanced at the Montcliff Studio van parked nearby and raised her voice to be heard over the cold wind that whistled through the tall pines.
“Is anyone there?”
Disheartened to have her knock go unanswered, she pulled her black cape tight around her shoulders and adjusted the starched white kapp that covered her knot of unruly hair.
An Amish woman should be able to twist her mane into a smooth and compliant bun, her grandmother’s voice from the past challenged. Instead, Becky battled the wayward wisps that danced in the swirling wind. Raking the chestnut strands away from her face, she glanced up at the dark clouds crowding the sky and the descending twilight that brought with it the smell of November rain and musky, red Georgia clay.
Concerned about the encroaching storm, she knocked again, then shrugged and dropped her hand to the knob that turned too easily. Needing to escape the fat drops of rain that, at that moment, started to fall, she stepped into the small entry space, fully intending to make her presence known. The sound of raised voices from a back room made her swallow down the greeting that had almost escaped her lips. Realizing she had overstepped her bounds by entering uninvited, she reached for the door again.
Footsteps sounded behind her. She started to turn, but just that fast, something cold and hard slammed against the side of her head. A scream lodged in her throat.
Pain, like white lightning, exploded across her forehead and ricocheted down her spine. She gasped for air and crumpled to the floor in a swirl of confusion.
A roar filled her ears as she floated in and out of consciousness. The sounds of a struggle followed by a woman’s scream. Had she screamed? Someone lifted her hand, wrapped her fingers around a hard object and lowered her arm to the floor again. All the while, she remained dazed by pain and unable to move.
She drifted into a numbing darkness, then jerked awake at the sound of running water as if a person was washing in a sink. She blinked to get her bearings. Her head pounded, and a cloying smell filled her nostrils and made her stomach roll.
Air. She needed fresh air.
Rising to her knees, she reached for the door and hoisted herself upright. An object dropped onto the rug. She glanced down, seeing the knife someone had placed in her hand. Her heart stopped as she stared for a long moment at the trellis-print carpet and the blood.
The room shifted. Fearing she would be sick, she opened the door and stumbled down the steps, needing to get away, away from the blood and the knife and whatever had happened that she couldn’t remember.
The rain had stopped, but the ground was wet and her feet slipped on the soggy grass. She staggered toward the dense stand of tall pine trees and hardwoods that edged the property. Her breath clouded the frosty air, and a pounding in her temple kept time with the rapid beating of her heart.
She glanced back and gasped. A man stood backlit in the doorway. Without seeing his face, she felt his gaze and knew instinctively when he spotted her in the descending nightfall. He shouted something, then leaped forward, like a wild animal lunging for its prey.
Run!
She pushed through the underbrush. Tripping on a gnarly root, she caught herself, then lumbered on. Fear compressed her chest, and her lungs burned like fire, but she had to keep moving.
From somewhere behind her, she heard a voice, calling for her to stop. She ignored the warning and pushed on. Bramble and briars tugged at the hem of her dress, catching the fabric and scratching her legs.
Her kapp nearly slipped from her head. She grabbed for the ties, hanging unknotted at her neck and glanced back. The sound of him thrashing through the underbrush made her heart pound all the faster.
She could hear his raspy intake of breath. He called out again, but the roar in her ears prevented her from understanding what he said. All she knew was that he was close behind her. Too close.
If she could hear him, he could hear her.
She turned off the path and pushed deeper into the brush. Her foot snagged on a root. She tumbled to the ground, landed on her hands and quickly climbed to her feet. She had to keep moving.
Branches scraped her arms and caught at her cape. She raised her hands to protect her face as she continued on, afraid to stop, fearing what he would do if he found her.
The terrain angled downward. She heard the surge of water and narrowed her gaze in hopes of seeing what lay at the bottom of the steep ravine. As if on cue, the dark clouds parted ever so slightly and a thread of moonlight shone over a rushing waterfall, swollen from the recent rain. Its beauty lost on her, she saw only the steep incline that needed to be navigated if she wished to escape. Far below, the falling water rushed into a cascading river that surged down the mountain.
Glancing over her shoulder again, she searched for her assailant, then turned back too quickly. Her feet slipped out from under her on the rain-slick slope. She screamed as the mountain gave way, sending her tumbling, head over heels down the incline. Rocks scraped and cut her flesh as she somersaulted, over and over again until she came to a stop on a small outlay of soggy soil.
Her shoulder hit the ground and her head crashed against a jagged boulder. Pain seared through her body. She couldn’t see or feel or think of anything that had happened. All she knew was that the darkness surrounded her like the dead of night.


Movement on the roadway ahead caught Ezekiel Hochstetler’s attention. He pulled back on the reins of his buggy and leaned forward, squinting into the darkness. His mare, Sophie, slowed to a walk and snorted, as if she too wondered what was undulating across the pavement. Surely not a bear. The creature was too slender.
Whatever it was stumbled and swayed as if drunk with muscadine wine or sick with fever.
The buggy drew closer and the moon broke through the clouds covering the night sky. Ezekiel’s heart lurched as he spied the calf-length dress and flowing hair.
An Amish woman with her back to him. Was she sick?
Whether sick, or confused and disoriented, one thing was certain, she needed help.
Pulling the buggy to a stop, he hopped to the pavement and slowly approached her. “Ma’am?”
She glanced over her shoulder as if unaware of his approach. Fear flashed from her eyes.
“No,” she cried, her voice little more than a whisper.
Turning as if to flee, her feet tangled, one upon the other. She gasped, splayed her arms and started to fall.
He caught her, pulled her close and held her tight as she whimpered and fought to free herself from his grasp.
“I will not harm you,” he said, hoping to ease her concern. “You are safe with me.”
She struggled, but her feeble attempts were little match for his firm, but gentle hold.
Staring down at her, his gut tightened, seeing the scrapes and cuts on her arms and cheeks. Brambles nested in her hair. Her kapp hung to one side of her head, held in place by a crisscross of hairpins. Streaks of blood stood out against the starched white fabric.
What had happened to this woman?
With a last surge of determination, she tried to pull free, and then her knees buckled and her eyes fluttered closed. She collapsed limp against his chest.
He lifted her into his arms and continued to hold her as he climbed into his buggy and flicked the reins. He could not leave her on the road, not in this condition. He would take her to Hattie’s farm. His aunt would provide comfort for the woman and provide for her immediate needs. Water and nourishment, along with salve and bandages to cover her wounds.
Holding her close, Ezekiel was reassured by her breath that played across his neck. Although grateful she was alive, he shook his head in bewilderment. Why would a woman stagger along this desolate stretch of mountain road, far from town or any of the Amish farms that dotted the valley?
Another thought came to mind, but he shoved it aside. He could not dwell on the past. He had moved beyond the pain of Irene’s death. At least, he thought he had. Yet something about this woman and the fear he had seen in her eyes brought back all that had happened.
Irene had left him shortly before their wedding, saying she needed time to experience life before she joined the Amish faith and married him. A few weeks later, he had followed after her, hoping to convince her to come back to Amish Mountain. He never suspected Irene had gotten involved with a drug dealer who cooked up methamphetamines in his cabin. Or that she had started using crystal meth.
He shuddered at the memories that welled up unbidden and glanced again at the battered woman in his arms. He needed to focus on her problems and not his own.
Hattie’s farm was not far, and the mare covered the distance at a sprightly trot. Zeke barely touched the reins before Sophie turned into the entrance drive, eager for the oats and hay that awaited her.
Zeke pulled the mare to a stop at the back porch of his aunt’s home. Carefully, he climbed down, still holding the bedraggled woman close.
The kitchen door opened, and his aunt stepped onto the porch, her gaze drawn with worry.
“You are late in coming from town, Ezekiel.”
As he approached the door, her eyes widened. “What have you brought?”
“A woman, Hattie. I found her wandering on the road.”
“She has fainted, yah?”
“I fear her condition is far more serious.”
Hattie held the door open. “Hurry her into the house and upstairs to the guest room.”
Grabbing an oil lamp, his aunt followed him to the second floor and into the bedroom. She pulled back the quilt that covered the bed and stepped aside as he placed the injured woman on the fresh sheet that had dried in the sun and smelled of the outdoors.
Hattie removed the woman’s kapp and pointed to the streaks of blood, then glanced up at Ezekiel who shared her concern.
“Someone has hurt her,” he whispered.
His aunt nodded.
She slipped the black cape from the woman’s shoulders and gasped. Zeke’s gut twisted, seeing the blood that stained the front of her dress. More blood than would have come from her head wound alone.
“Gott help you, Zeke,” his aunt said with a shake of her head. “Trouble has found you again.”
Thoughts of the explosion and subsequent fire flooded over him again. He had carried Irene from the drug dealer’s cabin and had tried to resuscitate her. The memory of her limp body brought the pain back anew.
Giving his heart to an Englisch woman over two years ago had been his first mistake. He had made so many, but he was wiser now and would not be swayed by a new pretty face, even if she was Amish.
For the last twenty-four months, he had found solace helping his aunt with the upkeep of her farm. Here in this idyllic mountain setting, he had holed up away from the world. He would not let anyone, even a woman in distress, disrupt his status quo and the tranquil existence he had created for himself.
He sighed at his own foolishness, letting out a lungful of air. The stranger had already thrown his peaceful life into confusion.

TWO (#u05b36bb9-c61f-568a-81de-4849aab173af)
The man was behind her. She heard his footfalls and his grunts and groans as he moved through the underbrush. Her heart pounded nearly out of her chest. She needed to run, but her legs were weighted down and wouldn’t move.
She thrashed, trying to escape whatever held her back.
A scream tore through the night.
Hands grabbed her. She fought to free herself.
“No!” she cried.
“Wake up, dear. You are all right. No one will hurt you.”
A woman’s voice. Not the man who ran after her. She thrashed again.
A soft hand touched her cheek. “You need water. Sit up, dear, and drink.”
Water?
She blinked her eyes open to see an older woman with a warm gaze and raised brow.
An oil lamp sat on a side table, casting the small room in shadow.
“My name is Hattie. My nephew brought you here earlier this evening.”
“Nephew?” Had he been the man chasing her?
“Ezekiel found you wandering on one of the back roads. You collapsed. He was worried about your health and brought you home.”
“I’m... I’m grateful.”
“You must tell me your name so we can notify your family tomorrow. I am sure they are worried.”
“My name?”
The older woman nodded. “Yes, dear.”
“Ah...” Her mind was blank. She rubbed her hand over her forehead. “I’m not sure.”
The Amish woman stared down at her for a long moment, then offered a weak smile. “We will not worry about your name now. You can let me know when you do remember.”
She reached for a glass of water on the side table. “Sit up, dear, and take a drink. You are thirsty, yah?”
Her mouth was parched, like the desert sand. She raised on one elbow and sipped from the offered glass. The cool water soothed her throat.
“Not too much too fast,” Hattie cautioned.
A noise sounded in the hall. The two women turned and looked at the open doorway where a man stood, holding a lamp.
He was tall, muscular and clean-shaven with a tangled mass of black hair that fell to his neck.
“Do you need help, Hattie?”
His voice was deep and caused her heart to pound all the more quickly.
“My nephew Ezekiel who brought you here,” Hattie explained as an introduction.
She peered around the older woman, trying to see him more clearly. “Thank—thank you, Zeke.”
“If you are hungry, I could get something from the kitchen.”
“Maybe later.”
Hattie patted her hand. “Dawn will come soon enough. Rest now, child. I will wake you for breakfast.”
She nodded and glanced again at the doorway, disappointed to find Ezekiel gone. Had she imagined him? Her mind was playing tricks on her so that she struggled to know what was real and what was not.
Blood. She kept seeing blood.
She took another sip from the offered glass and then reached for the older woman’s hand and held it tight.
“Hattie, may I ask you a question?”
“Certainly, dear.”
She hesitated, unsure of what to ask when her mind was in such turmoil. Would Hattie think her foolish or, even worse, insane?
The older woman leaned closer. “You have been through so much. Perhaps the question can wait until morning.”
She shook her head, knowing she needed answers now, at this moment, so she could end the confusion that played through her mind.
Hot tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back and steeled her resolve. No matter what Hattie thought, she had to ask.
“Who...who am I and why can’t I remember my name?”


Zeke had not been able to sleep, not when a strange woman was in the house, a woman who Hattie said did not know her own name. He paced back and forth across the kitchen and then accepted the cup of coffee his aunt offered once the pot had finished brewing.
“Instead of drinking coffee, Ezekiel, you should return to bed. Dawn will not find us for another few hours and there is nothing either of us can do until then.”
He glanced down at the sweet woman who had provided not only a home but also acceptance when he needed it most. “I do not see you following your own advice, Hattie.”
She chuckled. “Which means both of us are either dummkopfs or concerned about our guest.”
“You are not a stupid person, although some have called me worse names. For this reason, we cannot get involved.”
Hattie frowned. “What do you suggest we do? Throw the woman out with the dishwater?”
He leaned against the counter. “I should not have brought her here.”
“As if you would abandon a woman on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Do I know more about you, Ezekiel, than you know about yourself?”
“I know that neither you nor I want our lives disturbed.”
“Helping a person in need is more important than our peace and quiet.”
He nodded. “You are right. Still, I worry.”
“You worry because of what happened, but we learn from our mistakes. Some days I fear you learned too well.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning you hole up on this farm and venture into town late in the evening and take the long way home as if you are afraid to see anyone. You do not go with me to Sunday church or on visits to friends. You have not spoken to your father for over two years.”
He glanced through the kitchen window at the darkness outside. “My father is busy being the bishop.”
Hattie tugged at his arm. “Yah, he is a busy man, but he is still your father.”
Zeke met her gaze. “A father who is disappointed with his son.”
She tilted her head and leaned closer. “Then perhaps you must earn his respect again. His love is ever present.”
“You accepted me, Hattie.”
“I am your mother’s sister without children of my own. You have always been the son I never had.”
“For which I am grateful.”
“Your mother’s life ended too quickly for both of us. Your father said it was Gott’s will, yet I do not believe Gott wills us pain.”
“Do not let my father hear you say such things. He will have you shunned for going against the Ordnung.”
“He did not shun you, Ezekiel.”
“Only because I was not baptized.”
She raised a brow. “Which you could change.”
“Then I would be forced to attend services and listen to my father preach. We would both be uncomfortable.”
Hattie tsked. “You are headstrong, like your father.”
“I am determined, not headstrong.”
“Then why are you running from life instead of facing it?”
He stared at her for a long moment, surprised by the truth in her statement. Hattie was right. She did know him better than he knew himself. He finished the coffee and placed the cup in the sink just as footsteps sounded on the stairs.
They both turned to find the woman staring at them. She was dressed in one of Hattie’s nightgowns with a robe wrapped around her slender frame. A bruise darkened her cheek and her left eye was swollen almost shut. Bandages covered cuts on her forehead and lower arms where Hattie had tended her wounds.
“I heard voices,” she said, her good eye wide with expectation.
Hattie stepped closer. “Dear, I am sorry we woke you.”
“You didn’t. I tried to sleep, but...” She glanced at the aluminum coffeepot on the back of the stove. “Do I smell coffee?”
“Forgive me.” Hattie pulled a cup from the cabinet and filled it with the hot brew, then handed it to the woman without a name.
She took a sip and glanced at Ezekiel. His stomach churned, not from hunger, but from the way her gaze bore into him as if she could see into the deepest recesses of his heart.
“Thank you again, Ezekiel. A man chased me through the woods. I remember falling, then wandering in the dark, afraid and confused. After that, I awoke in your house.”
“My aunt’s house,” he corrected. “Do you remember anything about the man?”
She shook her head. “I heard him call to me, but I never saw his face.”
Turning to Hattie, she asked, “You bandaged my cuts in the night?”
“While you were sleeping. Your soiled dress is soaking. I will find clean clothes for you to wear after breakfast.”
“Thank you, Hattie. You are both generous and hospitable.”
“We are pleased you could join us. Sit, dear, at the table. It is early, but since we are all up, I will prepare breakfast. You are hungry?”
“I don’t want to put you out.”
“Ezekiel will slice the bread and fetch the butter from outside. The jelly is on the counter. At least, you will have something to eat while I fry ham and eggs.”
“The bread will be enough.”
“Perhaps for you, dear, but my nephew will need his breakfast, as well.”
Never before at a loss for words, Zeke suddenly felt like the odd man at a sewing bee. Quickly, he sliced the bread and then hurried outside to get the jar of butter cooling in the pail of water by the pump. He dried the jar and returned to the kitchen.
Ham sizzled in the frying pan. The pungent aroma filled the kitchen and made his mouth water. He glanced at the woman who watched him wipe his feet on the braided rug by the door. The latest copy of the Budget newspaper lay open on the table.
“Your aunt thought reading the paper might trigger my memory,” she volunteered. “I seem to have forgotten everything about my past.”
“A blow to the head can cause temporary amnesia,” he offered.
She gently touched the bandage that wrapped around her head. “Tell me it won’t last long.”
“I am certain your memory will soon return,” he said with assurance.
“And if it doesn’t?”
“My mother always said to take each day as it comes.”
Her face lit up and she offered a weak smile. “Good advice.”
“Have you read anything in the paper that seems familiar?” he asked.
“A few of the more common surnames. Yoder and Zook. Luke Miller caught my eye as well, yet so many Amish have similar names.”
“And your own, dear?” Hattie turned from the stove to ask. “Have you remembered your own name?”
The light in the woman’s gaze faded. She bit her lip and glanced down at the newsprint as if searching for a clue to her past. Ezekiel sensed her eagerness to uncover something—anything—that would reveal who she was. Surely, she was confused and frustrated and feeling locked in a world where she did not belong.
He had felt the same way when he had been in jail, awaiting his hearing on wrongful death charges and intent to manufacture a controlled substance, not knowing what the future would hold. At least his memory had not failed him, even if it took a good bit of time before his innocence had been believed.
The woman glanced up. “I think it’s coming back to me.”
“Have you remembered something?” Hattie asked.
“As I think of names. Becca swirls through my mind and won’t let go of me.”
“Your first name is Becca?” Zeke asked.
“I believe it could be, along with Troyer as a surname.”
“Becca Troyer,” he repeated.
She looked at Zeke and tried to smile. He thought again of the woman covered with blood wandering aimlessly alone in the night. Did amnesia provide the excuse she needed to keep her past hidden?
As much as he wanted to believe her, Becca could be a fraud.
He turned and started for the door.
“Where are you going?” Hattie called.
“To feed the livestock.”
“Breakfast is almost ready.”
“Later.” He grabbed his hat off the wall peg, opened the door and stepped into the cold morning air.
We cannot get involved, he had told Hattie earlier.
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was already drawn to Becca Troyer.

THREE (#u05b36bb9-c61f-568a-81de-4849aab173af)
After breakfast, Becca helped with the cleanup and then studied the Budget over the next few hours, trying to find something that would trigger her memory. Finally, frustrated, she rubbed her forehead and moaned.
Hattie came closer to the table. “What is wrong, dear? You sound frustrated.”
“I have a name, but I want to remember my past, yet nothing comes. What is wrong with me?”
“You have been injured. You have taken a bump to your head, and it has caused you to lose your memory. Give it time, dear. Relax and try not to fret.”
Hattie went to the window and peered outside. “Ezekiel must be in the far pasture on the other side of the road. I need to sauté onions and peppers and brown some beef for the midday meal before I search for him.”
The older woman’s brow furrowed as she turned back to the counter.
Becca left the table. “You are busy, Hattie. I can get Ezekiel, if it would help you. The fresh air would be good for me, but I will need something to wear other than this nightgown and robe.”
“I have Amish dresses that might be your size, but they are in the bottom of a trunk that will take time to unpack.” Hattie’s eyes widened. “But I bought Englisch clothing at the thrift shop in town last week.”
“Why Englisch clothing?”
“For quilt fabric, dear. The colors were subdued and the fabric perfect for a quilt I plan to make. The clothing is folded on a chair in my bedroom. I washed everything. Go to my room and see if you can find something to wear.”
Becca smiled. “Is it allowed for an Amish woman to dress in fancy clothing?”
Hattie smiled. “The dresses are plain. You should find something to wear. By the time you are back from the pasture I will have at least one of the Amish dresses hanging in your room. You can change as soon as you return to the house.”
Grateful for the help Hattie had provided, Becca hurried upstairs and found the pile of clothing. Sorting through the dresses, she selected a simple tan dress that looked like it would fit. Although it was a bit shorter than what the Amish usually wore, she was thankful to have clothing and found a lightweight cotton jacket that would provide warmth when she ventured outside.
Hattie smiled her approval as Becca entered the kitchen wearing the secondhand clothing. “Take the water jug on the counter. The paper bag contains two rolls with butter and jelly. Tell Zeke to eat the morning snack now and to come home in a couple hours or so for our midday meal. He is a hard worker and sometimes forgets to eat.”
“When did he start working on your farm, Hattie?”
“Two years ago. He had gone through a hard time and needed a place to live away from townspeople who sometimes seem more interested in other people’s business rather than their own.”
“Zeke helps you,” Becca said, “while you help him.”
“We are good for each other, yah?”
Becca nodded. “Yah.”
Grabbing the jug and paper bag, she stepped outside and breathed in the fresh mountain air. The day was cold but the sun was bright, which filled her with optimism. As Hattie had mentioned, her memory would return.
Hattie had pointed her in the right direction, and Becca walked along the road and hurried toward the pasture, all the while enjoying the beauty of the crisp fall morning.
In the distance, she saw Ezekiel sinking fence posts. Even from this far away, she could tell his strength by the ease with which he lifted the heavy posts and sunk them into the newly dug holes. For a moment, she almost forgot her own plight.
But that moment passed with the sound of a car engine.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw a black automobile heading down the mountain. Something about the vehicle made her pulse pick up a notch, or maybe it was being alone on the deserted mountain road that caused her to be anxious. She crossed the road, glanced at the pasture, and then studied the forest that surrounded it, hoping the trees and underbrush would provide enough cover if she needed to hide.
Her pulse accelerated as the car increased its speed.
The pasture where Ezekiel worked sat far from the road. He had his back to her and was probably unable to hear the vehicle. No doubt, he was focused on his work and oblivious to what she was beginning to believe was an encroaching risk.
Reacting to her gut instinct, she made her way into the wooded area and stepped behind a large boulder. Crouching down, she watched the car draw closer. She was probably overreacting, but after last night it would behoove her to be careful.
Relieved when the vehicle passed by, she started back toward the road but, once again, heard the sound of a car’s engine. Glancing in the direction the black car had gone, she realized it had turned around and was coming back.
She returned to the boulder and hunkered down once again. This time her heart pounded even more rapidly.
The car pulled to the side of the road and a man exited from the driver’s side. Early thirties with brown hair pulled into a man bun and a full beard. He had broad shoulders, stood well over six feet tall, and was wearing jeans and a pullover fleece.
He stepped away from the car and peered into the woods, his gaze homing in on the boulder where she hid. Her chest tightened and everything within her cried danger.
Not that she needed a warning. The man’s scowl was enough to cause a wad of fear to jam her throat.
He took a few steps forward and stopped again to study the area. Her heart pounded so hard, she was sure he could hear its erratic cadence.
Glancing over her shoulder, she spied a cluster of large rocks farther from the roadway. Slowly and carefully, she scurried toward the hiding spot and stopped on the far side to catch her breath. She placed the water jug and rolls on the ground and peered around the boulder, relieved to find him still staring into the distance.
Leaving the bag and water behind, she again retreated, going farther into the woods.
A twig snapped. She glanced back, fearful.
He stared in her direction, then started running.
She raced deeper into the woods, leaping over downed trees and skirting low patches of underbrush. The branches and brambles tugged at her dress and scraped her already raw hands and legs. Her side ached and her head pounded.
She glanced back, hearing him trample through the underbrush and hoping he couldn’t hear her footfalls over the noise he was making.
Ezekiel continued to focus on the fence. She yearned for him to glance up and notice the man who had picked up his pace and seemed to be running directly toward her.
She caught her next breath, then ran to the pasture. She could see Zeke at the far end of the cleared area, still intent on his work. She waved her hand, hoping he would see her.
The gate to the pasture lay ahead. She heard the man behind her. Trembling with fear, she struggled with the latch, pushed open the gate and sprinted forward.
A snort sounded to her left. She glanced in that direction and came to an abrupt halt. A huge bull stood staring at her.
From some place deep inside her, a warning bubbled up. She did an about-face and rapidly retraced her steps. Without taking time to shut the gate, she turned right and ran toward another cluster of boulders. Collapsing against the rocks, she drew in a breath and watched the man race through the open gate, into the pasture, oblivious to the danger.
The bull charged.
The man turned around, rapidly retraced his steps and slammed the gate closed barely in time to stop the angry bull. Heaving for air, her pursuer glanced around, no doubt searching for her, then staggered back to his car.
Becca rested her head against the boulder. Tears of relief stung her eyes. She wiped them away, needing to be strong, and turned her attention back to the pasture.
Ezekiel must have seen what had happened because he was running along the outside of the pasture. The bull charged the fence. Big as he was, Becca wasn’t sure the wood barrier would hold.
She hurried forward, slipped out of her jacket and waved it in the air. Her distraction worked. The massive animal eyed Becca, then made his way back to the center of the pasture.
Zeke rounded the fence and ran to where she stood. He grabbed her hand, and both of them raced behind the boulder and hid.
A motor sounded. Through the trees, they saw the black sedan drive away.
“Was that the man who chased you last night?” Zeke asked.
“I never saw the man’s face last night so I’m not sure.”
Becca’s head pounded. If he wasn’t the guy from last night, then two men had chased after her in less than twenty-four hours.


As they watched, the man pulled into Hattie’s drive as if to turn around. He climbed from his car, hurried to the porch and pounded on the door.
“Oh, Zeke.” Becca grabbed his hand. “That man is crazy.”
Zeke pointed to the henhouse where his aunt peered from a window. “Hattie is gathering eggs. Hopefully, she stays put and doesn’t try to engage the man.”
He pounded on the door again, then turned to stare at the farm. Evidently he thought no one was home because he returned to the car and headed down the mountain toward town.
Both Zeke and Becca let out huge breaths of relief once he had driven away. “Let’s hurry back to the house. I want to warn Hattie to get inside in case that guy returns.”
“I’m so sorry, Zeke.”
“You did not cause the man to chase after you.”
“But I’ve caused so many problems.”
He smiled, seeing her worry. “You are not the problem, Becca. The man is.”
After retrieving the water jug and bag Becca had discarded, they crossed the road and hurried to the house. Hattie met them on the porch and filled them in on the unexpected visitor. Becca and Zeke shared their own plight and their concern for Hattie’s safety.
Once inside, Becca went upstairs to change into the Amish dress Hattie had hung in the guest room.
“This man worries me.” His aunt gave Zeke a troubling glance as she washed her hands and dried them on a towel. “The man sees Becca walking along the road dressed like the Englisch and starts running after her. I may be getting old, but my mind is still sharp, yet I do not understand what this means.”
“It means Becca needs to be careful and so do you. Do not open the door if the man returns.”
Her eyes widened. “You think we will see him again?”
“I do not know, but we will take precautions, yah?”
“I am grateful you are with me here on the mountain, Ezekiel. My worry would be even greater if I were living alone.”
“Soon Becca’s memory will return. Then we will know her story and who was running after her.”
Zeke left the house and headed to the barn. The mountain had been peaceful before Becca had appeared in the middle of the night. As he had told her, she was not to blame for upsetting their peaceful existence, yet she had to be involved in something outside the norm since a man was so desperate to find her. Or had two different men chased after her?
He glanced up at the guest room window, thinking of her pretty eyes and smooth skin. Zeke wanted to know the truth about the stranger who was staying with them.
A question kept troubling him. Who had chased after her and why?

FOUR (#u05b36bb9-c61f-568a-81de-4849aab173af)
The sun was high in the sky by the time Ezekiel finished the chores. He wiped his brow, thankful for the cool mountain breeze and glanced at the blue sky, wishing life could be as clear.
Yesterday morn he had worried about the price of corn and soybeans. Today was filled with thoughts of the woman he had found last night.
Since then, he had been in an emotional tug-of-war. His intellect cautioned him to be careful, whereas his heart wanted to trust the woman without a past.
Amnesia or prevarication?
Irene had lied to him all the while she had worked her way into his heart until he was unable to think clearly. Besotted, his father had called him. The fact that Irene’s father and her brother, Caleb, had left the Amish faith only added to his own datt’s irritation about Zeke’s choice of women.
Amish men only marry Amish women, his father had told him on more than one occasion, yet his father did not know Irene or what she had shared with Ezekiel.
I want to return to the Amish way with you, Zeke, Irene had assured him, after I see the world.
The world she explored had been the small town of Petersville, known for illegal activity and a police department that turned a blind eye to crime.
The kitchen door opened, and Becca stepped onto the porch. Ezekiel’s throat tightened, recognizing the pale blue dress she wore. A wedding dress Hattie had made for Irene, the woman Zeke had planned to marry.
“Hattie said lunch is almost ready. You didn’t eat breakfast so you must be hungry.”
He had been hungry, but after seeing Irene’s dress, his appetite left him. “I will join you soon.”
Becca hugged her arms as if chilled by the mountain air. “Your aunt found this dress for me to wear until mine is washed and dried.”
Once again he was at a loss for words. The woman needed clothing, other than the Englisch clothing from the thrift shop, and Hattie had solved that need. Why had her generosity unsettled him?
“Is something wrong?” Becca asked.
“No, of course not.” But something was wrong. His quiet life had been turned upside down.
She stared at him for a long moment as if wanting to say something more, then with a nod, she turned and entered the house.
He let out an exasperated sigh. How could life become so convoluted overnight? He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands at the pump and dried them on the towel. In the distance, higher up the mountain, three buzzards circled in the morning sky. He paused to watch their flight, then turned at the sound of a car coming down the mountain, a flashy sports car, traveling too fast over the narrow road.
He recognized the man at the wheel and waited until Caleb Gingerich, Irene’s brother, braked to a stop. Tall, gangly and midtwenties, Caleb climbed from the cherry red convertible and extended his hand. “Good to see you, Zeke.”
Hattie left the kitchen and stepped onto the porch.
“What brings you to this side of the mountain?” Zeke asked, irritation evident in his voice.
Caleb chuckled. “A piece of Hattie’s pie.”
Zeke glanced at his aunt. “She has not baked today.”
On any other day, Hattie would insist on setting another plate at the table for anyone passing by, but this was not any other day, not with their mysterious newcomer inside.
No doubt hearing the frustration in Zeke’s voice, the younger man’s smile vanished. “After my sister’s death, didn’t we talk about moving beyond that which divides our families?”
“As I recall, you did the talking, Caleb. Besides, your father will never change.”
“He grieves for Irene, but I thought we could move beyond the past. I forgave you.”
Zeke’s gut tightened. “There was nothing to forgive, no matter what your father says.”
Seemingly exasperated by Zeke’s response, the younger man turned toward the porch. “Expect someone from the movie studio to stop by, Ms. Hattie.”
“A bearded guy?” Zeke asked, thinking of the man from this morning.
“A tall guy, clean-shaven,” Caleb said. “The studio needs an Amish farm on which to film a trailer for their next movie, and I mentioned your land. They pay well.”
“Is that how you bought your new sports car?” Zeke asked, his tone sharp.
“Credit, Zeke. Something you Amish don’t understand.”
“It was not that long ago when you and your family were Amish.”
“Things change.”
Ezekiel knew that all too well.
Hattie hurried down the steps and walked to where the two men stood. “I still do not understand why a movie studio comes to Amish Mountain.”
“For the idyllic setting.” Caleb spread his hands and peered at the surrounding area. “Plus Georgia is considered the Hollywood of the South.”
She shook her head with frustration. “Hollywood needs to stay in California.”
Glancing at the convertible, she added, “You must be careful, Caleb. Driving so fast on the winding roads is dangerous.”
He laughed. “Tell that to Zeke. There are more buggy accidents than automobile crashes on Amish Mountain. I bought the car because I’m working at the studio now.”
Hattie raised her brow. “You are a movie star?”
“Maybe someday. Right now, I’m working in the commissary. You should stop by sometime. I could show you around.”
“Commissary?” she asked.
“The dining hall where the crew eats,” Caleb explained.
“They are filming there now?”
“For the next few days, they’re shooting some extra scenes in town. The leading lady is being a little cantankerous. You know how temperamental movie stars can be.”
Something Ezekiel did not know. He doubted his aunt knew anything about Hollywood types either.
“Seems she left the lot,” Caleb continued, “and won’t answer her cell phone. The director is putting up a good front, but from what I’ve heard, he’s worried.”
“Worried she will not return to complete the film?” Hattie asked.
“That’s what I understand, although rumor has it she’s been difficult since filming began. Some folks thought the director was ready to fire her, but the producer stepped in and insisted the movie wouldn’t get the backing it needs without her.”
“An actress leaves before the filming ends?” Hattie shook her head. “I do not understand how that could be.”
“The ways of the world, Hattie, are not as the Amish live.”
“Ach, it is so.”
“I told Zeke that I stopped by for a slice of pie, but I really wanted to talk about buying some of your eggs. The studio cook who fixes meals for the cast and crew has been going to town for his supplies. I told him you might be able to provide fresh eggs from your chickens. I also mentioned your pies and cakes. He’s interested in purchasing your homemade desserts, if you have time for extra baking. You would be paid well for your efforts.”
Hattie thought for a moment and then nodded. “Yah, this is something I can do.”
Zeke touched her arm. “Are you sure you want to get involved with the studio?”
“What could be the harm?” She patted his hand as if to dismiss his concern and then turned to Caleb. “Yesterday, I baked cookies. You will take a dozen to the cook. He can decide if he is interested in buying my baked goods.”
Hattie hurried inside and returned with a filled cookie tin that she handed to Caleb. “You will let me know?”
“I’m sure he’ll agree to buy anything you can provide.” Caleb placed the tin on the passenger seat and rounded the car to the driver’s side.
Ezekiel glanced up and spied Becca at the kitchen window. Her expression made his breath catch.
“You mentioned the missing movie star,” he said before Caleb climbed behind the wheel. “What does she look like?”
“I’ve got a picture of her on my phone. She’s a nice lady, but evidently a little hard to handle. I downloaded her headshot.” He tapped his phone and held it out for Ezekiel to see. “There she is. Vanessa Harrington. You wouldn’t forget her if you saw her.”
Ezekiel took the phone. Hattie stepped closer and both of them stared at the woman filling the screen. She was attractive with long black hair, big brown eyes, high cheekbones and a mouth that puckered into a half pout, half smile.
Relaxing ever so slightly, Zeke handed the phone back to Caleb. “She looks to be in her thirties,” he said, hoping Hattie did not hear the relief in his voice.
“More like midforties, but makeup does wonders.” Caleb swiped his finger over his phone and held up a second photo. “Here she is with the producer, Nick Walker, and Kevin Adams, her leading man. The producer’s the big guy in the suit. The actor’s the bodybuilder with a beard.”
Zeke glanced momentarily at the second photo, noticing the younger man’s arm around the actress’s shoulders. The producer stood behind them, wearing a scowl on his square face.
“The producer does not look happy,” Zeke stated the obvious.
Caleb chuckled. “Mr. Walker is not known for his good humor. He and Vanessa spent a lot of time together from what I’ve heard. Evidently their so-called friendship has cooled somewhat.”
“And the younger man has moved in?”
Caleb shrugged. “Who knows? Although gossip at the studio is as plentiful as acorns on an oak tree.”
“Has anyone else gone missing from the studio?” Zeke asked.
“Not that I know of.” Caleb shoved his phone into his pocket. “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering. I presume the behind-the-scenes folks in the movie industry change jobs frequently. It is probably hard to get good workers.”
“I’m just glad they hired me.” Caleb opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. “I’ll stop by once I hear from the cook.”
As he pulled out of the drive, the kitchen door opened. Becca appeared anxious as she stepped onto the porch. “Did you tell him about me?”
Hattie hurried up the stairs and rubbed her hand over the younger woman’s shoulder. “You need not worry, dear. Caleb works at the movie studio nearby. The cook at the studio wants to buy some of my baked goods and eggs. We did not mention you.”
Hattie glanced back. “Come inside, Zeke. You need to eat.”
His aunt was right. He was hungry.
Climbing the porch steps, Zeke smiled at the newcomer, hoping to ease the tension that lined her pretty face. Her brow was tight with concern as she narrowed her gaze and stepped closer.
“Could there have been an accident on the mountain?” she asked, rubbing her arms as if she was cold.
Which he had not considered. An overturned buggy could be the reason for the blood on the woman’s dress and the lump on her head, yet Becca had mentioned being chased through the woods. Could she have been involved in a buggy accident, as well?
Zeke looked again at where the buzzards had flown earlier. Now they were gone. Had they found a carcass and were picking it clean? A horse perhaps?
His gut tightened.
Or something else?


Becca hurried inside and then turned toward the door as Ezekiel followed her into the kitchen. His smile had vanished, and the frown he had worn earlier this morning had returned to darken his gaze.
Hattie stepped to the stove and stirred the hamburger mixed with a sloppy Joe tomato sauce. The scent of the simmering meat filled the kitchen with mouthwatering goodness. She said something to Zeke in a dialect that made no sense.
Just as before, Becca nodded as if she understood and hoped her response was appropriate. She didn’t want Hattie or Ezekiel to know she had forgotten how to converse in the language common to the Amish.
Every thought that rumbled through her mind was in English, not German and not Pennsylvania Dutch.
Yet she was Amish. Wasn’t she?
Evidently, not a very good Amish woman. The plain people were nonviolent, which meant she shouldn’t have been running away from someone all the while wearing a dress stained with blood.
Something had happened in the woods. If only she could remember what.
Reaching around Hattie, she grabbed the coffeepot and poured a cup of the hot brew, then offered it to Zeke.
“Danki.” He raised the cup to his lips, his eyes never leaving her face. Her cheeks grew warm and a tingle curved around her neck.
Abruptly, he lowered the cup and headed to the table, for which she was grateful. His nearness had unsettled her all the more. She returned the coffeepot to the stove and glanced at the stairway, longing to retreat to the guest bedroom so she wouldn’t have to face her handsome rescuer whose mood swings confused her almost as much as her own lack of memory.
“Sit, dear.” Hattie motioned her toward the table. “The sloppy Joes are almost ready to serve. You can help me then.”
“Has anything new come to you?” Ezekiel asked as she slipped into the chair across from him.
“I have thought of nothing except what I cannot remember,” she admitted. “And still I remember nothing.”
Glancing down, she added, “I keep thinking of the Troyer family to which I must belong since the name seems so familiar.”
She dipped her head. “While you were outside, Hattie placed a wet tea bag on my eye to draw the swelling. As you can see, thanks to her home remedy, it is better.”
“Do not thank me, dear. It was the tannin in the tea.”
“All the while the tea was working, I thought of the Troyers and what they must be like. Hattie mentioned a Troyer family living in the valley.”
“The wife’s name is Ida, dear. She and her husband have five boys.” Hattie reached for a plate and heaped the meat mixture onto a bun, then held it out for Becca who hurried to the stove to help. “Serve Ezekiel first.”
Zeke nodded his appreciation when Becca placed the plate in front of him.
Hattie handed a second plate to Becca. “It looks gut, yah?”
“And smells delicious.” Becca stared at the fresh bun overflowing with the juicy mixture. Just as at breakfast, the portions were generous. “You’ve given me far more than I can eat, Hattie. This should be your plate.”
“You ate little this morning, dear. I do not want you going hungry.”
“Hattie, no one could go hungry in your house.” Zeke chuckled from the table. “You are a bountiful cook.”
His aunt seemed to appreciate the remark and said something in reply that Becca could not understand. A look of concern passed over the sweet woman’s face before she repeated the statement in English.
“Surely you know the Amish saying, dear. When the man grows the food and the woman cooks the food, both eat to their fill.”
Without commenting further on Becca’s inability to comprehend the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect, Hattie pointed to the chair across from Ezekiel. “Sit, dear, before the food grows cold.”
Taking her place at the table, Becca kept her hands on her lap, unsure of the midday meal routine. This morning she had started to eat and then noticed Hattie bowing her head to give thanks. She didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.
Once Hattie was seated, Zeke lowered his gaze. Hattie did the same and Becca followed suit. From the recesses of her limited memory a prayer surfaced.
Thank you for this food and bless all of us today, especially those who cannot be here. Bring peace to our hearts, lighten our steps and help us to do all things according to Your Holy Will. Amen.
She should have been relieved to remember something, anything, but recalling the short prayer only made her want to remember more.
Was it an Amish prayer that she had said with her parents as a child? Or a prayer she said with her own children? How could a mother forget her little ones, those she should love most?
Ezekiel said something.
She glanced up to find him offering an open jar of pickles. She jabbed one with a fork and placed the pickle on her plate. “Danki.”
Hattie patted her hand. “Is everything all right, dear? You look troubled.”
“I’m concerned about upsetting you both by being here.”
“Do not think such thoughts. We are happy to have you as our guest.”
Becca glanced at Zeke. His eyes were on his plate. He didn’t seem as enthusiastic as his aunt about having a stranger in the house, yet he had been the one to bring her here.
She shuddered thinking of what could have happened if he hadn’t found her.
“Is that not right, Ezekiel?”
He glanced at his aunt, his brow raised.
“I said that we are both glad to have Becca with us, yah?” Hattie prompted.
He turned his dark eyes on her again, making Becca’s breath catch as she lost herself for a moment in his gaze. If only she could read his mind.
She reached for her fork. “I am thankful you found me, Ezekiel. If you had not—”
She couldn’t go on. Her mind failed to remember the past, yet it could bring forward terrible thoughts of what could have happened last night.
“All things work together for good,” Hattie intoned with a definitive nod of her head.
Becca wasn’t as sure. She took a bite of the meat mixture, but the food stuck in her throat. More than anything, she wanted to push back from the table and run upstairs to hide from Zeke’s dark eyes and all the questions she saw in his troubled gaze.
She didn’t want to bother this man and his aunt any longer, but before leaving, she needed to find out who she was, no matter how difficult the truth might be to accept.
“Did I hear you mention a nearby town?” she asked, needing something on which to focus other than the man sitting across the table from her.
“Yah,Willkommen,” Hattie answered. “It is some miles away. Does the name sound familiar, dear?”
“Regrettably, nothing sounds familiar.”
Zeke reached for his coffee cup. “You wish to go there?”
“It might help me remember if something triggers my memory.”
“Willkommen has a sheriff,” Hattie mused. “He might know of anyone who is missing.”
“You mean he might have information regarding who I am and where I live?”
Hattie leaned closer. “Yah, but I must warn you, dear. If you go to town and ask questions, you could find more than you want to know.”
“I don’t understand.”
She rubbed Becca’s hand. “Think, dear. You were running from someone last night. If you notify the sheriff, he could tell the person who was chasing after you.”
Hattie shrugged before adding, “A mean husband is someone to fear.”
Becca glanced at Ezekiel, then turned back to Hattie. “I don’t feel like I have a husband.”
“And how would that feel, dear?”
“I... I’m not sure, but wouldn’t I remember the man I loved?”
Hattie leaned even closer. “Perhaps you have a husband you do not love.”
“Yet if I am married, there could be children.”
Ezekiel’s gaze darkened all the more. The direction of the conversation seemed to be unsettling to both of them. “I will go to town and see for myself without involving the sheriff,” Becca said. “Perhaps then I will remember.”
“Ezekiel will take you in the buggy,” Hattie volunteered. “But you must dress so no one will recognize you.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“You should wear men’s clothing, dear. You are slim and not so tall. People would think you a young Amish lad.”
Hattie sat back and smiled with satisfaction. “Dressing as a man would be a perfect cover. Ezekiel’s clothing is too big for you, but I kept a few of my husband’s things. I will find something you can wear.”
Ezekiel stared at Becca, as if she had been the one to suggest the idea of dressing as a man. Hattie was right. The costume would keep Becca from being recognized, especially from anyone who might do her harm, yet the idea of needing to hide her identity from others when she didn’t even know who she was or where she lived weighed heavy on her shoulders.
The sound of a vehicle turning into the drive made Becca’s heart stop. Zeke glanced at her as if he too was concerned.
“Stay here,” he cautioned as he rose from the table and walked to the door, grabbing his hat before he stepped outside.
“Ach.” Hattie patted her chest as if patting down a swell of apprehension, which was exactly what Becca had bubbling up in her own throat. “I do not know who would be coming to see us.”
Hattie’s gaze narrowed, and she pursed her lips. Then, with a shrug of her shoulders, she added, “We go for days without visitors and now they come one after the other.”
Some friendly and some not, Becca thought, her stomach a jumble of nerves. Didn’t Hattie realize they were coming because she was here?
Hattie pushed back from the table, hurried to the sink and then peered from the kitchen window. “It is a tall man who steps from a van. The Montcliff Studio logo is on the passenger door.”
She glanced back at Becca. “I will go outside to learn the purpose of his visit. Perhaps it is the man Caleb mentioned.”
“Please, Hattie, don’t invite him in.”
The older woman nodded, then reached for the doorknob and stepped onto the porch, leaving the door ajar.
In spite of the cool air coming through the open doorway, Becca moved closer, hoping to overhear what was being said. Her pulse raced when she peered outside. A tall, muscular man stood by the van.
The footfalls of the man who had chased after her last night played through her memory. From the sound of him stomping through the underbrush, he had to have been a big man, tall in stature and with a bulky build.
Her gaze homed in on the Montcliff Studio logo on the side of the van. Apprehension zigzagged along her spine as she stared at the black-and-white graphic, longing to remember why it drew her attention.
The man walked to the front of the van, closer to where Zeke stood.
A lump jammed Becca’s throat as she saw the movie man’s long legs and thick build. Hands on his hips, he stared at the barn and then the outbuildings as if searching for something.
Was he searching for her?
Tears burned Becca’s eyes, but she forced them back. Why would an Englisch man from a movie studio be looking for her?
He extended his hand to Zeke. “The name’s Larry Landers. I’m the location manager at Montcliff.”
Zeke accepted his handshake without comment.
“The movie studio,” Larry added as if for clarification. “As you probably know, we’ve been here for the last six months.”
“I know about the studio, Mr. Landers,” Zeke said. “It is located higher up the mountain on Levi Gingerich’s land.”
“That’s right. We’re almost finished with the production of our first film and hope to begin work on our next project in a few weeks. I’m looking for farmland on which to shoot a trailer and a few preliminary scenes, maybe as early as the end of the week.”
“An Amish farm?” Zeke seemed perplexed by the statement.
Landers chuckled, although the gruff sound was anything but humorous. “I mentioned shooting, but not with a weapon, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Raising his hand, palm out, Landers quickly added, “I know you folks are pacifists.”
Becca heard disdain in the man’s voice.
“What I meant,” Landers continued, “was shooting the film. And yes, we’re scheduled to shoot an Amish story and are looking for an Amish farm, otherwise we might have to use someplace in town.”
He pulled a folder from the van and handed the packet to Zeke. “The studio will pay to use your property for a week or two, depending on the weather. We’ll need your authorization. Our landscape crew will arrive as soon as the contract is signed. Their job will be to enhance the property.”
“The land is as Gott provided, Mr. Landers. It does not need to be enhanced.”
“You’re right, of course. Be assured you’ll be compensated for your time and trouble.”
Zeke glanced at the contract, then closed the folder and handed it back. “The farm belongs to my aunt. She is not interested in your contract.”
“You didn’t read the offer.” Landers gazed at the barn and the pasture where the horses grazed. “You folks look like you could use some financial help. I can increase the payment by half to sweeten the deal.”
“Sweet or sour, there is no deal, Mr. Landers.”
“Look, I apologize if I’ve upset you. Perhaps if I talked to your aunt.”
Noticing Hattie on the porch, he took a step forward. “Ma’am, if I could have a moment of your time.”
“You would not hear anything different from her.” Zeke’s tone was firm.
“What about some of your neighbors?” Landers asked.
“You will find more farms in the valley. Some are owned and operated by Englisch farmers. Perhaps they would be willing to rent their land.”
The guy shook his head with frustration. “You’re missing an excellent opportunity.”
Again, he played his gaze over the barn, then turned and stared at the kitchen door for a long moment.
Becca drew back, fearing he could see her. If so, would he recognize her?
He hesitated for a long moment and then added, “Have you folks seen anyone from the movie studio wandering around in the area?”
“Why do you pose such a question?” Zeke asked.
Larry offered a half-hearted smile. “The relationship between the Amish and our studio is not the best. I want to ensure we don’t disrupt your way of life more than we already have.”
“No one unknown has come through my aunt’s property, if that is your question.”
The guy glanced once more at the house. Becca’s heart stopped. She held her breath, fearing he had seen her.
Abruptly, Landers turned and scanned the rest of the farm.
“Let me know if you change your mind about the land.” He shook Zeke’s hand, then threw the folder onto the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. Without further comment, he backed the van onto the road.
“Levi Gingerich never should have rented his property to those movie people,” Hattie groused as she pushed on the kitchen door and wiped her feet on the entry rug. Zeke followed her inside.
“Levi may have needed money,” she continued. “But we do not need a movie studio on the mountain. I have seen some of those people in town. They do not understand the Amish way. Plus, from what I have heard, they are a wild bunch who do not conform to Christian values.”
“You are lumping them all together into one pot,” Zeke cautioned. “I am sure the majority of the actors and actresses are gut people.”
Hattie harrumphed as she walked past Becca and headed to the stove. Zeke returned to the table without comment.
Becca’s heart beat erratically. The tall, muscular man had been looking for someone. Did Zeke and Hattie not realize he could have been looking for her?
She glanced first at Hattie and then back at Zeke. Grateful though she was for their hospitality, she was a stranger in their midst. A stranger with a made-up name and no knowledge of the life she had lived or even her age. A man had chased her last night, and she had been chased again this morning. Now another man with a haughty manner had stopped at the farm.
Tears stung her eyes, but they were a sign of weakness, at least that’s what a little voice whispered in her head. A voice from the past perhaps? How could she know what was memory and what was her own mind playing tricks on her?
“Becca, are you all right?” Hattie asked.
“If you don’t mind, I need to go to my room.” She left the kitchen and climbed the stairs, stepping into the bedroom just as the tears started to fall.
She closed the door behind her and moved to the window, wanting to ensure the studio van was out of sight. Her heart lurched when she saw the vehicle stopped on the side of the mountain road. Larry Landers stood in front of the Montcliff Studio logo on the side of his van. He held binoculars to his eyes and was staring back at Hattie’s house.
Becca jerked away from the window. Fear gripped her anew. Her pulse raced. Who was the man from the movie studio and why was he spying on her?
Pulling in a deep breath, she moved closer and peered again from the window. A black car like the one she had seen this morning had pulled behind the studio van and a bearded man with his hair pulled into a bun was talking to Landers.
Was he asking about an Englisch woman he had seen walking along the roadway? As she watched, the bearded man turned and stared at Hattie’s house, seemingly zeroing in on the guest room window. Again, Becca stepped back, her heart in her throat.
She dropped her head into her hands. The worry and anxiety that had circled through her mind collided in a wave of emotion, like a giant tsunami washing over her. Hot tears ran down her cheeks and dampened her dress, but she couldn’t stop their onslaught.
Struggling to remember anything, she thought back to the woods where the branches had caught at her dress. Was Larry Landers the person who had chased after her last night? Or could it have been the bearded man with the bun? If only she could have seen the man’s face, but all she could remember was the blood on the carpet. So much blood.
She thought of something else that made her pulse race even more.
The knife.
Her heart stopped.
The knife that had dropped from her hand was covered with blood.

FIVE (#u05b36bb9-c61f-568a-81de-4849aab173af)
“Tuck your hair into this hat,” Hattie instructed the next afternoon as she handed a wide-brim black hat to Becca. “My husband’s clothing fits you well, yah? The hat will sit low on your head and cover your hair. It will also cover the swelling on your head and the bruise on your cheek.”
“And what happens if I go inside and need to remove my hat?” Becca asked.
“You will leave it on. A young boy will not be noticed but stay in the buggy if you are concerned. You will see with your eyes as Ezekiel drives through town. Something might bring back your memory. A store, a street, a person. You must be watchful.”
Hattie adjusted the hat on Becca’s head. “And you must be careful lest you see the man who chased after you through the woods.”
As well as the man who had pursued her into the pasture and the tall man who had stopped by the farm yesterday. Becca’s sleep had been fitful, interspersed with dreams of running from two men holding binoculars. She wouldn’t worry Hattie, but the sweet Amish woman was right. Becca needed to be watchful not only in town but also here on Hattie’s farm.
“I’ll be careful, Hattie. You can be assured of that. Zeke is good to take me to town. I appreciate everything both of you have done.”
“Soon your memory will return and you can decide whether to go back to the life you knew or to move on and make a new life for yourself. Gott

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