As troubled as he was by Anna’s last communication to him, Fletcher’s primary concern at the moment was her well-being. Naomi had a tendency for excessive fretfulness; perhaps she was exaggerating the extent of Anna’s memory loss? Pacing back and forth across the braided rug in front of the sofa, Fletcher wiped his palms on his trousers and bit his lower lip. The past few days without seeing Anna awake had seemed unbearably long, but this delay felt even more difficult to endure.
Someone cleared her throat behind him. He turned as Anna made her way down the hall. Her honey-blond tresses, customarily combed into a neat bun, were loosely arranged at the nape of her neck, her fair skin was a shade paler than it normally was and she clutched a drab shawl to her shoulders, but she took his breath away all the same. Rendered both speechless and immobile with conflicting emotions, he choked back a gasp.
Her eyes were downcast, carefully watching her footing as she tentatively stepped into the room. He studied her heart-shaped lips and oval face, her slender nose and the tiny beauty mark on her left cheekbone. But it was the vast depth of her eyes, accentuated with a curl of lashes and gently arched brows, he yearned to behold. Fletcher and Anna had often conveyed a world of feeling with a single glance, and, in spite of everything, he hoped one glimpse into her eyes would convince him of her abiding love.
“Anna,” he stated, moving to offer her his arm to help steady her gait.
She looked up and locked her eyes with his. Even in the dim glow cast by the oil lamp, he could appreciate their magnificent emerald green hue. She seemed to be searching his features, reading his expression, taking in his presence. He waited for what felt like an eternity, but his gaze was met by an impassive blankness.
“I’ve been told you’re my fiancé, Fletcher,” she finally said, although it sounded more like a question than a statement. His last wisp of hopefulness dissipated when she shook his outstretched hand, as if they were strangers meeting for the first time.
* * *
As Fletcher’s expectant countenance crumbled into one of stark disappointment, Anna immediately regretted her gesture. What was she thinking, to shake his hand like the Englisch would? She wasn’t working in the shop, introducing herself to a customer. She didn’t understand why everything seemed so jumbled in her mind.
“I’m sorry, but I need to sit,” she said and settled into a straight-backed chair, which made Fletcher frown all the more.
He perched on the edge of the sofa nearest her, leaning forward on his knees. His large, sky blue eyes, coupled with an unruly shock of dark hair, gave him a boyish appearance, but his straight nose and prominent brow and jawline were the marks of a more mature masculinity. She wondered how she could have forgotten knowing such a physically distinctive young man.
“I’ve been very concerned about you,” he stated. “How are you feeling?”
“Denki, I’m doing better,” she said, although she had a dull headache. “Oh! But where are my manners? I should offer you something to drink. Would you like a cup of—”
She rose too quickly from her chair and the room wobbled. Fletcher again offered her his help, which she accepted this time, grasping his muscular forearm until the dizziness passed. Then he assisted her back into her seat.
“I didn’t kumme here to drink kaffi, Anna,” he said, crouching before her, still holding her hand. “I came here to see you.”
Flustered by his scrutiny and the tenderness of his touch, she pulled her arm away and apologized. “I’m sorry I look so unkempt, but combing my hair makes my head ache.”
He shook his head, insisting, “I wouldn’t care if your hair were standing on end like a porcupine’s quills, as long as I know you’re alright.”
Although she sensed his sentiment was earnest, her eyes smarted. Couldn’t he see that she wasn’t alright? And didn’t he understand his nearness felt intrusive, given that she had absolutely no memory of him? He seemed so intense that she didn’t want to offend him, but she wished he’d back away.
As if reading her thoughts, Fletcher retreated to his cushion on the sofa and said, “It’s okay if you don’t remember me yet, Anna. The doctor said this could happen. They told us your memories might return in bits and pieces.”
Anna nodded and relaxed her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how uptight she’d felt. She noticed his voice had a soothing quality. It was deep and warm, like her dad’s was.
“Melinda told me a bit about you, but I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start,” she confessed.
“Why don’t I give you the basics and if there’s anything else you want to know, you can ask?” Fletcher questioned. When Anna nodded in agreement, he said, “Let’s see—my name is Fletcher Josiah Chupp and I’m twenty-four. My daed was a carpenter. He and my mamm passed away by the time I was fifteen. I have three older sisters, all married, and sixteen nieces and nephews. I moved to Willow Creek, Pennsylvania, from Green Lake, Ohio, in September. My onkel Isaiah had been in dire need of another carpenter on his crew for some time.”
“Because my daed died?”
Fletcher glanced down at his fingers, which he pressed into a steeple. “Jah. Your daed worked for Isaiah and he had a reputation among the Englisch of being an excellent carpenter. He left a big gap in my onkel’s business. No one could ever fill his shoes.”
“No one could ever replace him as a daed, either,” Anna murmured. After a pause, she asked, “So then, you live with your ant and onkel, and with Aaron and his sisters?”
“Neh. There wasn’t room enough for me there. I live in my groosdaaddi’s home.”
“Elmer! Your groossdaadi is Elmer Chupp! I remember him,” Anna exclaimed. Then she realized aloud, “But of course I would, wouldn’t I? I’ve known him for years. He was my daed’s first employer, before Isaiah took over their family business. You must greet him for me.”
Fletcher rubbed his forehead. “I don’t want to distress you, Anna, but my groossdaadi died in late December from pneumonia.”
“Neh! Oh, neh!” Anna’s bottom lip began to quiver.
“His passing was peaceful and it’s a blessing to know he’s not suffering the pain he endured toward the end,” Fletcher said. “He always appreciated the soups and meals you made for him. And you were very consoling to me while I mourned.”
“Dear Elmer Chupp.” Anna clucked sorrowfully. “Didn’t you say you lived with him?”
“Jah, I moved in with him when I first arrived in Pennsylvania,” Fletcher clarified. “Now I live there alone. After you and I became betrothed, I discovered Groossdaadi willed his house to me, as his first grandson to tell the family of my intention to marry. For some reason, Groossdaadi chose not to follow the traditional Amish practice of bequeathing it to his youngest son, my onkel Isaiah. In any case, there were property taxes due, which you and I paid from my construction salary and your savings from working at Schrock’s Shop, so the house is as gut as ours.”
Anna’s mind was reeling. She and Fletcher owned a house? On one hand, getting married and setting up her own household was a desire she’d harbored for years. On the other hand, with every new piece of information revealed to her, she was becoming increasingly uneasy at how seriously her life was intertwined with the life of a man who seemed like a virtual stranger, albeit, an appealingly thoughtful and stalwart one.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she admitted, “I’m confused about the timing. In Willow Creek, it’s customary for most Amish couples to keep their courtships as private as they can. They wait until July or August to tell their immediate families that they intend to marry. Their wedding intentions aren’t published in church until October, and wedding season follows in November and December, after harvest. Yet Melinda says it’s now March. Why did we already tell our families we intend to marry next fall?”
“We