Carrie Lighte - Anna's Forgotten Fiancé

“You made my favorite dish,” Aaron declared appreciatively after grace had been said and everyone was served.

“Did I?” She didn’t remember Aaron liking this casserole in particular.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Melinda piped up. “He says every dish is his favorite so the hostess will serve him the biggest helping.”

Anna thought that sounded more like the jokester Aaron she remembered.

“Don’t scare me like that,” she scolded. “I panicked my memory loss was getting worse.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Aaron apologized. “But honestly, this casserole is Fletcher’s favorite dish. Right, cousin?”

Without warning, Fletcher spat the mouthful of noodles he’d been chewing onto his plate and guzzled down his water. Scarlet splotches dotted his face and neck.

“Does this have mushrooms in it?” he sputtered.

“Cream of mushroom soup, jah,” Anna answered, appalled by his lack of manners. “I didn’t realize you don’t like them.”

“I’m allergic to them!” Fletcher wheezed.

* * *

“Quick, bring me the antihistamine we use for Evan’s bee sting allergy,” Anna directed Melinda, who darted to the cupboard and produced the bottle.

Anna poured a spoonful of syrupy pink liquid, which she thrust toward Fletcher’s lips. After he swallowed it, she gave him a second dose.

“Perhaps Raymond should run to the phone shanty and dial 9-1-1,” Naomi suggested.

“Neh, the redness is starting to fade,” Anna observed.

Indeed, Fletcher’s breathing was beginning to normalize and within a few more minutes, his heart rate slowed to a more regular pace. Anna, Melinda and Naomi encircled his chair while the boys remained motionless in their seats, too stunned to move. Aaron nervously jabbed at his noodles with a fork, but didn’t lift them to his mouth.

Fletcher coughed. “I feel quite a bit better now. Please, sit back down and eat your meal, if you still can after my unappetizing display. I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m the one who is sorry, Fletcher.” Anna’s voice warbled and her eyes teared up. “I didn’t know you were allergic. I could have killed you!”

“That’s one way to get out of marrying him,” Aaron gibed, reaching for the pepper.

“Aaron Chupp, what a horrible thing to say! Anna didn’t do it on purpose,” Melinda admonished, swatting at him with a pot holder in mock consternation as Anna fled the room.

“It was only a joke,” he objected contritely. “No need to be so sensitive.”

Fletcher pushed back his chair. “If you’ll excuse me, a little fresh air always helps me feel as if I can breathe better after one of these episodes.”

He stalked across the backyard, stopping beneath the maple tree. Inhaling deeply, he took a mental inventory of his grievances. First, Anna pretended she thought he was Aaron and then when Aaron actually entered the room, she seemed more delighted to see him than she’d been to see Fletcher. Second, he felt slighted by how carefully Anna avoided his touch. Of course, spitting his food out at the table—even if it was necessary—wasn’t likely going to cause her to draw nearer to him anytime soon. But most irksome of all was Aaron’s jape, That’s one way to get out of marrying him. Was that just another one of his cousin’s goofy attempts at humor, or did the joke have a more weighty meaning?

Fletcher picked up a stone and threw it as hard as he could in the direction of a wheelbarrow across the yard. With all of his might, he pitched another and another.

“Gut aim,” Naomi said after each rock had clattered against the metal and he was empty-handed again.

“I didn’t know you were behind me,” he answered, embarrassed she’d seen his temperamental behavior.

“I wanted to be certain you were okay. Whenever Evan gets stung, the effects of the adrenaline linger for him, too. He says he has the most irritable thoughts, claiming it’s as if the bees are buzzing around in his brain as well as under his skin.”

“I don’t know if I can blame my thoughts on adrenaline,” Fletcher replied.

“Sometimes, we’re not quite ourselves when we’re ill or upset. Not Evan. Not you. Not me. Not Anna,” Naomi said pointedly. “You have to give it time. Things will work out.”

Naomi Weaver’s gentle way of imparting wisdom reminded him of his own mother. “Jah,” he answered. “I understand.”

“Gut. Now kumme inside for dessert.”

Melinda was placing fresh bowls on the table, where the boys sat in silence. Anna had returned to the kitchen and was preparing dessert at the counter with her back to the others.

“Since I didn’t eat any dinner, I should be allowed two helpings of dessert, don’t you think?” Fletcher questioned Evan, tousling the boy’s hair to break the tension in the room.

“How do you know if you’ll like it, when you don’t know what it is?” Evan asked.

“Well,” Fletcher said, winking at him as Anna turned with a tray, “I’ve got high hopes it’s molasses and mushroom pie.”

Anna paused before pushing her features into an expression of exaggerated dismay. “Oh, dear! I’ve made the wrong thing—I thought mushroom dumplings were your favorite.”

Fletcher clutched his sides, laughing. Now this was more like the kind of interactions he and Anna usually shared. Hilarity filled the room and when it quieted, Anna announced, “I am truly sorry for my mistake, Fletcher. I meant you no harm.”

“There’s no need to apologize—I’m the one who should have reminded you.”

“Do you have any other allergies I should know about?”

“Just mushrooms,” he stated.

“Gut.” Then she addressed everyone. “What else has happened around here since early September? Gut or bad, I want to know. I need to know. It may help my memory kumme back. Also, I’d prefer that no one outside of this room, with the exception of the Chupp family, finds out I have my amnesia. In order to ensure that, I’ll need to be made aware of what’s been going on in Willow Creek.”

“Grace Zook had a bobbel—a girl named Serenity—in January,” Naomi told her.

“How wunderbaar!” Anna’s fondness of babies was reflected in her tone.

Melinda added, “Doris Hooley married John Plank last fall, shortly after the tornado.”

“Was anyone from Willow Creek hurt in the storm?” Anna asked.

“Neh, not seriously, although many houses and offices needed repair,” Naomi said.

“Jah, the tornado was gut for business. For a while, we couldn’t keep up with the demand. So I took over as foreman for my daed’s Willow Creek clients in May,” Aaron stated. “He’s handling the Highland Springs clients. They were hard hit, too.”

Anna raised her brows and Fletcher wondered whether her expression indicated she was dubious or impressed to hear about Aaron’s promotion to foreman. She extended her congratulations.

“We lost a beloved family member,” Evan reported, his lower lip protruding. “Timothy.”

Anna gasped. “Who is Timothy?”

“He was my turtle. I found him at the creek in October. His foot was injured from a fishing hook and I was caring for him until he was well again.”

“That’s very sad he died,” Anna said, her mouth pulling at the corners.

“He didn’t die,” Evan clarified. “We lost him. You lost him. You were supposed to be watching him in the yard after church when it was our Sunday to host, but he crawled off. How could that happen? Turtles are naturally slow on land—and he was injured.”

It happened because she wasn’t watching the turtle, Fletcher reminisced as wistfulness twisted in his chest. She was with me behind the maple tree and we were sharing our first kiss.