Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"That's a pretty bonnet you're wearing," John said as he stood behind Tara, who was checking her appearance in the parlor mirror.

"Oh, thank you. I just bought it the other day and I've been saving it for today. I always like to have a new bonnet for the Sunday before Christmas. My mother was the same," she said.

The bonnet was purple with a matching tie, and in her cotton dress and purple shawl, Tara looked even prettier than usual.

"For church, you mean?" John said, and she nodded.

"That's right. I'm just going now. Would you like to come?"

Since coming to Freemont, John hadn't given much thought to religion. He had heard the name of the local pastor, Reverend McGuire, and he had heard about Gina's Christmas food drive, organized by the church, but as for attending a service or reading the scriptures, John had been lacking.

He didn't know what he believed, though he felt fairly certain he had a faith of sorts. In the clinic, lying awake at night, he had prayed for his memory to return, even as now he was beginning to wonder if he really wanted it to.

"Well, if it's all right with you. I wouldn't want any tongues to wag," John said, but Tara shook her head.

"It doesn't matter if they do. They can wag all they like. If you want to come to church, you can come to church," she said, offering him her arm.

John was only too glad to accompany her, and they made their way to the mission church on the edge of the town. It had once been part of the clinic, and the campanile stood tall over the yard where the steps led up to the entrance to the ward and operating room.

John was glad to no longer be a patient, though he still didn't feel he had made a great deal of progress when it came to recovering his memory. There was so much he still could not remember, but he wondered if perhaps the passages from scripture, the prayers, and the hymns might go some way to helping him remember.

"Good day, Nurse Culden, and this must be Mr. Smith? I'm very pleased to meet you," an aged man with gray hair and a kindly face said to them as they made their way up the steps to the door of the church.

"Good day, Reverend McGuire. Yes, this is John. John, this is Reverend McGuire, our pastor," Tara said.

The pastor held his hand out to John, who shook it, thanking him for his welcome.

"I'm pleased to meet you, too, Reverend McGuire. I hope you don't mind me joining the service? I can't say I remember very much about what I believe, but when I was in the clinic, I prayed to God to give me strength for what was to come," John replied.

He hoped the pastor wouldn't think he was being insincere, but Reverend McGuire merely smiled and nodded.

"God always answers our prayers, but not necessarily in the way we think they should be answered. I've been praying for you, too. And I can only believe it won't be long until you remember," he said.

Tara led the way inside. The church was already filling up, and as they made their way down the aisle, heads turned to look at them.

"Just ignore them," she whispered, but John was already feeling self-conscious.

He didn't want to feel as though he was being judged. He and Tara had done nothing wrong. If anything, they had held back on the feelings they had for one another, even as it seemed the town had arrived at a different conclusion. John knew what it looked like—the usurping of a position—but he also knew he had behaved honorably, and had every intention of continuing to behave so.

"Everyone's looking at us," he whispered as they sat down in a pew close to the front.

"Well, it's not every day they meet someone who can't even remember their own name," Tara replied.

John smiled. She was right, of course. There was something intriguing about a man with no memory. Who was he? Where had he come from? In a small town like Freemont, news traveled fast, and it was obvious to John he was still the talk of the town. But his appearances with Tara would also raise fresh speculation.

Gossip could always be counted on to fill a void, and where there were no definite answers, something would be made up. In this case, it seemed the town had already agreed the two of them were courting, and that Kyle had been pushed aside in favor of the man with no memory.

"Let's hope I can remember how to sing," John said, as the organ blew into sound.

The congregation took up a rendition of "I Will Follow Thee My Savior."

I will follow Thee, my Savior, Wheresoe'er my lot may be; Where Thou goest I will follow, Yes, my Lord, I'll follow Thee.

I will follow Thee, my Savior, Thou didst shed Thy blood for me; And though all men should forsake Thee, By Thy grace I'll follow Thee…

As he sang, John realized he knew the words without looking down at the hymn book. They were there, in his mind, in his memory. He had sung the hymn before, and often, it seemed. Glancing at Tara, he smiled, lowering the hymn book and continuing without the words.

Though Thou leadest through afflictions, Poor, forsaken though I be, Thou wast destitute, afflicted, And I only follow Thee.

I will follow Thee, my Savior, Thou didst shed Thy blood for me; And though all men should forsake Thee, By Thy grace I'll follow Thee.

"You've sung it before, haven't you?" Tara whispered as they sat down after the hymn had finished.

John nodded. "I know it. I know it by heart. But I wouldn't have known it before, if that makes sense. It's like the coffee. The music brought back the memory," he said as Reverend McGuire cleared his throat.

"My brothers and sisters, those words remind us of what Our Lord did for us on the cross, but the cross needs the cradle, and we're but a few days away from Christmas, and the joy of the savior's birth," he said.

The words resonated with John. He felt a surge of emotion at hearing the name of the Lord, and as Reverend McGuire opened a large Bible on the lectern, John was struck by a feeling of certainty as to what he believed, even as the substance eluded him. This meant something to him, and a shiver ran through him as he heard the story now read from scripture:

A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, who stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead. And by chance there came down a certain priest that way, and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.

And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side. But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was, and when he saw him, he was moved with compassion. He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.

And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two denarii and gave them to the host, and said unto him, ‘Take care of him, and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee.' Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbor unto him that fell among the thieves? And he said, ‘He who showed mercy on him.' Then said Jesus unto him, ‘Go, and do likewise.'

When Reverend McGuire finished reading, John let out a deep breath, glancing at Tara, who glanced back at him. He smiled. John hoped she realized the significance of the reading, even as he knew she would be too modest to admit she had done the same.

Tara was John's Good Samaritan, and more than that, John knew it was a story he had heard many times before. Reverend McGuire was now preaching on the parable as a prelude to welcoming the Christ child—that unless a Christian opened their heart to the stranger, there would be no room for them in the stable.

"I remember that story. I remember hearing it read in church," John said after the service had ended and the two of them were walking back to the homestead.

"That's wonderful, John. It's another piece of the puzzle. Think of all the things you've remembered since leaving the clinic. Little by little, you're putting the pieces together, and it won't be long before you see things clearly," Tara said.

John was grateful for her confidence in him. She never faltered in her belief that he would get better, and that his memory would return. The continued healing of his leg was accompanied by a gradual healing of the mind, or so it seemed and, having recalled further passages of scripture and the words of hymns during the service, John felt certain he had come to remember something definite about his past.

"I really felt I could remember the story—the story of the Good Samaritan," he said, and Tara smiled, slipping her arm into his as she did so.

"It's a good story to remember."

They walked on through the snow, and John tried hard to remember further details—the church he had attended, the faces in the congregation, if he had been married in a church…

"I really do feel I might remember more now," John said, for he was beginning to have confidence in himself, spurred on by Tara's encouragement.

"That's wonderful, John. I'm so pleased. It'll take time, but you've got that time," she said.

John nodded, but in his heart, he wasn't so certain. The future lay open, and he was worried that when Kyle returned, his time at the homestead would come to an end. He and Tara were growing close, and Kyle would surely not be happy about it.

"Tara, I…" he began, and he was about to ask the question that was foremost on his mind when a shout from behind caused them both to turn.

"Tara? John? Oh… it's too terrible," Gina called out, hurrying to catch up.

There were tears in her eyes and her face was red. She looked from Tara to John, shaking her head. She seemed on the verge of hysterics.

"Gina? What's wrong? What's happened?" Tara exclaimed.

"I've just come from the lockup where we've stored the donations for the Christmas food drive. Everything's gone," she replied, and now she began to sob, clinging to Tara, who put her arms around her to comfort her.

"Oh, Gina, how terrible. Have you told your brother?" Tara asked, glancing at John, who was horrified to think someone had stolen the donations meant for the poor and needy of the town.

"He's there now with the deputies. But what can he do? Everything's gone. I stupidly left the money box with all the donations there, too. I thought it would be safer there than at home," Gina said, shaking her head as she looked up from Tara's shoulder.

Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and John's heart went out to her. Gina had worked so hard to collect donations for the food drive, and to think of someone stealing them was shocking.

"I'm so sorry, Gina," John said. Tara pulled out a handkerchief from her sleeve, giving it to Gina to dab her eyes with.

"Will you come and help? Everywhere's such a mess. We might be able to salvage a few bits and pieces. But they even took the toys meant for the children," she said.

"We'll come and help, of course. And I'm sure when the rest of the town finds out, you'll have lots of donations to make up for the loss. Come on, we'll go now," Tara said, glancing at John, who nodded.

The lockup was behind the coffeehouse, and as they approached, John could see the sheriff and two deputies examining the broken lock on the door. Boxes and tins were strewn across the ground, and it seemed the thieves had used a cart to transport the stolen goods away, wheel ruts leading along the path toward the trail out of town.

"Is there any chance of catching up with them, Sheriff?" John asked as he and Tara approached with Gina.

Thomas looked up, but instead of his usual friendly demeanor, he glared at John and shook his head.

"I doubt it. It'll be an out-of-town job. Whoever planned this will have been watching for some time. They'll have known when there'd be no one about. It happened last night, after the coffeehouse closed. Louisa Bennett looked out at midnight and nothing was disturbed," he said. "I know it wasn't anyone from the town."

John didn't understand how he could be so certain. Freemont was a big enough place to harbor the good and the bad, and it was surely a mistake to discount anyone who called it home.

"Why's that?" he asked.

"Because the tracks go in the direction of Helena, that's why. I'd say it's an organized gang. They've bided their time, watched and waited. The food drive was no secret. Gina's been collecting since the summer. They've waited until just the right moment… they must've known," the sheriff said, and he narrowed his eyes, fixing John with a look of suspicion.

"Is something wrong, Thomas?" Tara asked.

John felt a sudden uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew what the sheriff was implying, and it made him feel sick to even think an ounce of suspicion should rest on him.

"I think you know what I mean, Tara. It's all very convenient, isn't it? Strangers arriving in Freemont… one of them disappearing, one of them not remembering anything. We don't have trouble like this. We're law-abiding people, but as for your visitors…" he said.

John was about to object, but Tara gave an angry cry, clenching her fists as she glared at the lawman and shook her head.

"That's nonsense, Thomas, and you know it," she exclaimed.

But the sheriff didn't flinch. He looked John up and down as he spoke.

"I've got my eye on you, John Smith—or whoever you are," he said.

"He's got a broken leg. How could he possibly have anything to do with it? Do you think he took his splints off and ran over here last night when I wasn't looking?" Tara said.

"It took more than one person to do this, Tara. He might not have been the one loading the cart, but he'll have known all about the comings and goings around here. And can you vouch for him the whole night? What are your sleeping arrangements?" the sheriff asked.

At these words, Tara slapped him across the face with the back of her hand—much to everyone's surprise, especially the sheriff's.

"Don't you dare question my morals. I'll tell you this—John Smith's a good and honest man, and he doesn't have anything to do with this, so look elsewhere for your culprit," she said. "Come on, John, let's go home."

John said nothing until they were out of earshot of Gina, the sheriff, and his deputies. Tara was marching ahead, and John had to hobble quickly to keep up. As they turned the corner by the coffeehouse, he caught up with her, catching her arm. When she turned, he saw there were tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, but she smiled and shook her head.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," she said, brushing away the tears.

"I promise you I don't have anything to do with this," John said.

It was a terrible thought, and to be accused of such a thing filled him with horror. Tara slipped her hand into his and squeezed it.

"I know you don't. And so does he. He's just angry. And he's right—these things don't happen in Freemont. But that's no reason to blame a stranger, is it? He'll see that eventually."

"Thank you for sticking up for me," John said as they made their way back to the homestead.

"I hate seeing injustices. It happens all the time—particularly to women. It's not right," she said.

John agreed, and he was grateful to Tara for believing him. He knew his presence in Freemont could be interpreted as suspicious. It would be the most convenient of circumstances to pretend his memory was gone and an injury had brought him to the town just at the time when donations were pouring in for a Christmas food drive.

The sheriff was right. John had had ample opportunity to observe the comings and goings around him, and if he was part of a criminal gang, the things he knew would all be very useful in planning a robbery of this sort. But John had done none of those things—he had simply found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I'm very grateful. For everything," John said.

"I just hope this doesn't sour things with the Fentons. I don't want to fall out with Tiffany over this," Tara said.

"What about Gina?" John asked, fearing the two friends might now have another falling out, leaving him in the middle.

"Oh, Gina knows what her brother's like. Once Thomas gets an idea in his head, it's hard to get it out," Tara replied. "When she first started seeing Randy, Thomas was convinced he was seeing another woman. He even followed Randy to a house on the edge of town, bursting in on him and finding he was teaching a woman to read so she could read stories to her blind son. I don't always have much time for Randy, but he was honest in that."

John nodded. He had been the talk of the town following his rescue, but he did not want to become notorious, and he was worried suspicions about him would spread.

"Let's just hope the real thieves are soon caught. Surely, someone must know something about what's happened," he said.

Tara nodded. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time. Come on, let's get inside. I need something hot to drink and an hour or so by the stove to warm up," she said.

John agreed. He was tired—the strain of trying to remember his past coupled with the accusations the sheriff had leveled against him had left him exhausted. His leg was hurting from the walk, and he was relieved to get inside and sit down in front of the stove.

"I'm sorry if I've made things difficult for you," he said.

Tara had set a kettle of water to boil on the stove, and she looked up at John and smiled.

"You haven't. He'll come around… men usually do once they've had their sulk," she replied.

"I don't mean that. I mean what Sheriff Fenton thought about… us."

John had been embarrassed by the implication of the sheriff's words—at the suggestion of impropriety between him and Tara. As with the suspicions over the robbery, such accusations were groundless. There had been no suggestion of anything immoral. John had held back from expressing his true feelings, and Tara, too, had been reserved in her conduct toward him.

"Oh, let him think what he likes. It's what's in here that matters," Tara said, tapping her chest.

John agreed, but he still didn't like the thought of others making assumptions—gossiping or whispering about them behind their backs.

"You're a remarkable woman, Tara… Nurse Culden," he told her.

"Let's have a cup of coffee. We've earned it," she said with a smile. And, as they sat together by the stove, talking and idling away the hours, John thought again of what it would be like to have this always, and for the two of them to share what was so obviously suspected by others.