Carrie Lighte - Anna's Forgotten Fiancé

“Gut job,” he remarked when Roy finally made it through the maze of busy streets and down the main stretch of highway. From there, they exited onto the meandering country back roads that eventually led to the house Anna shared with her stepmother, Naomi, and Naomi’s four sons, Raymond, Roy, Eli and Evan.

“Fletcher!” seven-year-old Evan whooped, sprinting across the yard when he spotted them coming down the lane. He tore alongside the buggy shouting, “Anna’s awake!”

“Bobblemoul,” eight-year-old Eli taunted, referring to his brother as a blabbermouth. He leaped down the porch steps after him. “You weren’t supposed to tell. She said she isn’t ready to see him yet.”

“She said what?” Fletcher asked, hopping from the buggy after Roy brought it to a halt.

“Now who’s repeating something they shouldn’t?” Evan retorted to Eli.

“Roy, please hitch the horse for me,” Fletcher requested and strode toward the porch, his heart hammering his ribs.

Naomi greeted him at the door with a wooden spoon in one hand and a bowl in the other. “Kumme in,” she invited.

“Hello, Naomi. How are you?” he inquired politely before asking the question that was burning on his tongue.

“I’m gut,” she said. “I see you’re teaching Roy how to handle the horse in Englisch traffic? Denki—I worry about him around all those cars. He needs the practice.”

“He’s improving already,” Fletcher remarked and then cut to the chase. “Is it true? Is Anna awake?”

“She is,” Naomi replied. “But there’s something you need to know.”

“I’ve heard,” Fletcher acknowledged. “Eli said she isn’t ready to see me yet. I realize she probably needs a few minutes to get dressed and find her bearings. I can wait.”

“Oh, dear,” sighed Naomi. She sat down at the kitchen table and tapped a chair to indicate Fletcher should sit, as well. “I’m afraid that’s not what she means by not being ready to see you. Do you recall the doctor said her memory might be impaired after the fall?”

Fletcher moved toward the table but he didn’t sit, despite the heaviness in the core of his gut. He braced himself for another distressing disclosure. “Jah, I remember.”

“Then you recall he instructed us it most likely would only be temporary, so there’s no cause for alarm,” Naomi continued cautiously. “However, before you see her, you should be aware she’s having difficulty remembering anything at all that happened after late August or early September.”

Fletcher gulped when he realized what Naomi was getting at. “I moved to Willow Creek in early September.”

“Jah,” confirmed Naomi, answering Fletcher’s unasked question. “But the doctor said putting a face with a name may help her recollection. It’s possible as soon as she sees you she will remember who you are. However, she might not. At least, not right away.”

“Please, will you tell her I’d just like to see her?” he pleaded. “I haven’t spoken to her since before her fall.”

Naomi nodded. “I’ll let her know and I’ll ask Melinda to assist her down the stairs. Go through to the parlor. We’ll give you two your privacy there. But, Fletcher, keep in mind she’s been through a lot. She’s very sensitive right now.”

“I won’t say anything to upset her,” he promised.

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.