Hi! Sorry this is a bit delayed. I was sick this past weekend. I was hoping to have some time to edit while I was recovering, but this chapter needed more help than I hoped. The bright side is that you get two very close chapters this week!

Newreader2022: Thank you very much for your kind words! I do plan to continue this story past what was already written. I do have a few additional chapters completed and have every intention of keeping a similar schedule. Once I hit the moment where I run out of chapters I will likely go on a two-week update schedule.

Guest 1: Thank you so very much for your kind words. I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Guest 2: Happy to hear your thoughts, thank you! Enjoy chapter eleven.

Polinka22malinka: Your English is wonderful! I'm so very glad you found this story and are enjoying it for the first time! I would love to hear your thoughts.

Truckee Gal: That's right! She's on her way to surviving pneumonia, but dissociative fugue? Not so lucky. Here's hoping she starts making a speedy recovery from here. This was last we saw Scarlett in the last story so lots of new adventures coming for her soon.

Mistress: Your review touched me more thank you know. Thank you from my heart. Scarlett is in a very precarious condition and has a lot of healing to do physically before she can even touch the mental side.

Aethelfraed: I made a very conscious decision early on to divorce (no pun intended) Scarlett from all of her comforts. Those were the things she clung to the most and without them she is just like Gerald. Fugue states are also known to be a complete change of personality with no memory whatsoever. She needs to figure out who she is and what she wants before we can get place her back into the same toxic environment she came from. As always, thank you for reading!

Guest 3: We will have to see about the happy ending, but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this!

Francessee8: Hi new reader! No one can summarize the ending but me because I never finished this story. I hope you'll continue to follow along! Fun fact: I have changed the ending in my mind several times so we'll see how it all ends up shaking out!

Chapter Eleven

Several days after the woman's traumatic resuscitation, Ebba Whitaker recounted what had happened the day they found her in the field. Their foreman, Elmer Voorhees, had been assessing the crops for damage after a heavy storm system blew up through the south. Indiana had been overwhelmed with a deluge of rain they were unaccustomed to getting and was wholly unprepared for.

Elmer was a congenial man in his mid-thirties; lean with a fiery mass of red hair he kept tied at the nape of his neck while he worked. He lived in a small cottage at the periphery of the property with his wife, Anna, and their two children. On his assessment, he had seen large sections of the corn crop disturbed, the stalks trampled and twisted from the ground at wild angles.

He believed an animal had gotten loose from their neighbors' cattle farms in its fear of the booming thunder and sought to return it. Upon reaching the disturbed crop, Elmer found a prostrate woman, dressed in black, and with her face half submerged in pooling water. Her arms and legs were splayed out at odd angles like a doll that had been tossed off of a child's bed. Her ebony hair wild, covering the exposed half of her face not submerged.

He called out to her and when she did not respond, he panicked. He crouched down next to her to see if she was breathing. He saw no rise and fall of her chest, but he touched her hand gently and though it was ice cold, her fingers twitched under his graze. Immediately he called for help, turning her body over so that the entirety of her face was exposed. He swiped her hair from her face and checked for a pulse. When the faint thrum of her heartbeat tapped against his fingers, he took her in his arms and ran towards the house.

It was Ebba that caught sight of Elmer halfway through the fields from one of the upstairs windows, panting and carrying a black mass of a body; his red hair wild against the overcast sky and the dark lump in his arms. She sent her granddaughter, Margaret, to the Voorhees cottage and her husband to fetch Dr. Swable before she ran to meet her foreman.

The rest, Ebba recounted, passed in a blur of half-moments. She remembered the panicked look in Elmer's eyes when he glanced down at the sodden, unconscious woman. He carried her mud-caked body to a spare bedroom where Mrs. Whitaker tore off the soaked dress and stays and tried to wash the exposed parts of her body with hot water. It was while Mrs. Whitaker was heating a second kettle of water that Margaret and Anna rushed into the house and began desperately attempting to ignite warm friction with their hands and breathe life back into the ghostly woman.

When he did arrive, Swable was startled to find the unknown woman in a state worse than he was expecting. Her skin was white, so fragile that she looked as though the bed sheets might swallow her whole. Swable was unsure if she would make it through the night. She had been frozen down to her core and had been wet for who knows how long before that. The unknown woman wheezed with what little breath she had, and laid so still that on several occasions he feared her impending death. Despite her state, he mixed her a tincture and instructed Ebba to keep her warm.

The kindly woman stayed up with her all night pressing warm, wet towels to her forehead, cleaning the cuts and bruises on her feet, and washing away the caked mud from her skin and hair. She told her stories of the farm, of her childhood, her granddaughter. Ebba held her hand, squeezing her fingers as if willing some of her own strength to enter into the unconscious woman. Eliza asked her grandmother several times if she would like a reprieve, but every time she refused.

Ebba stayed like this for a long time; knelt at the edge of the bed willing and praying the girl's safe passage back to consciousness. Margaret came to sit with her in the early hours of the morning, helping her grandmother tip broth into the girl's mouth. They were both elated when they watched her throat bob gently. It felt like a sensational victory for her to have survived that first night.

Ebba had thought the young woman looked like an angel despite the paleness of her face and sunken eyes. She looked eerily peaceful in her sleep, so peaceful that Ebba wondered if she wanted to be stirred at all. Several days passed this way. On the third day, Ebba sat at the edge of the bed holding one of the woman's hands and whispered, "Wake up, dear. Please, wake up." The groan that slipped from the girl's cracked lips gave her a renewed hope that has slowly started fading. Ebba was thrilled when she woke up.

For weeks the Whitakers and their granddaughter nursed the unknown woman to health. She spoke very little and slept fitfully often. The exposure had caused a weakness in her that lingered far longer than Swable had thought that it should. Her appetite was virtually non-existent in those first few days and despite their best efforts, the family could not entreat her to consume anything solid in those dangerous days following her discovery.

Dr. Swable prescribed tinctures to increase appetite, and when that did not work, laudanum. He was stunned when the woman's body rejected it outright. She vomited immediately after ingesting the liquid and began to tremble, moaning. From then on he prescribed nothing but herbs, a diet high in animal fat, and rest. The woman couldn't afford to lose any additional weight. She bordered on skeletal and her inability to keep food down was alarming, to say the least.

Ebba so kind to her during those dark day. Sometimes the elder woman spoke about the experience of finding the dark-haired beauty, but more often than not they sat in silence as the woman slept. She was so weak and dangerously frail. She often barely had the strength for conversation but when she was able, she inquired after Ebba and Bluffton, Indiana and the farm. She asked about Ebba's life, her husband, and her grandchild. The young woman was full of cracks and inconsistencies, but hearing the stories of the kindly woman who kept her alive and stayed by her bedside warmed her.

She was so thankful to Ebba and her husband, John, for all of their kindness tender compassion. Ebba recounted her humorous anecdotes and helped her out of bed when she felt strong enough to stretch her legs. John asked after her often and inquired to his neighbors if they knew of her. Margaret sat with the woman often and read to her when Ebba was needed elsewhere. The family's hospitality and benevolence spread over and through her, warming her from the inside out despite the omnipresent nagging concern of her identity.

The young woman often tugged at the corner of her rigid mind, but every time she thought introspectively she was met with an unyielding nothingness. She pushed desperately at that steel resolve remembering only a dull ache in her chest- an unknown memento she could not seem to grasp. She took to rubbing her hand gently against her collarbone as if the soft friction might ignite a memory. It had not worked, however, it did become a nervous tick. Whenever Dr. Swable would come by the Whitaker's farm for his daily check-in, she would absentmindedly graze her chest answering his same questions with the same responses.

Two weeks had passed since she had woken up to the bucolic fields swaying in the breeze outside her window. Dr. Benjamin Swable called daily to check on her, but despite his best tinctures and gentle, probing questions, she could not remember herself. He mixed her tinctures to relieve stress and to get her to sleep. He silently hoped that her speckled memory was a result of exposure and the stress that it put on her body. He prayed that with enough rest and relaxation she would retain her memories, but as each day bled into the next he began to realize that her care was far beyond his expertise.

He was a physical doctor and had been for the entirety of his career. He could tell if a wound was infected. He had delivered hundred of babies. He had amputated limbs and kept soldiers out of shock and sepsis. Swable was considered one of the best doctors in Indiana, but he was no alienist. He knew nothing of ailments of the mind. So he continued to treat her physical body the best of his abilities in hopes that it might be a segue to a stronger mental constitution.

Every day the young woman showed signs of renewed strength. She began to eat full meals, sleep less, and walk more, but her mind made minimal, if any, improvements. Swable suggested to both the young woman and the Whitaker's that they seek the help of the local sheriff to see if there were any reports of missing persons in the neighboring counties. The young woman readily agreed, wondering herself if anyone was looking for her.


The county sheriff, Raymond Harrow, called the following Tuesday with a small stack of papers of the missing women from Bluffton and its surrounding counties. Ebba, John, Raymond, and the young woman sat around the Whitaker's simple dining table with coffee and cornbread that Ebba had made that morning. The sheriff was a short, stocky man with a horseshoe hairline of dark peppered hair. The young woman thought him to be in his mid-fifties, but could not be certain. Despite his balding, he had a youthful, jovial face that betrayed his age. He was gentle in his questioning which was in part due to Ebba's request to move slowly with interrogations as well as the young woman's apparent fragile demeanor.

"Pleasure to meet you," Raymond said, settling into his chair, his Hoosier twang deep but light. "Mrs. Ebba is mighty pleased to have some extra company I hear." He nodded a smile at Ebba.

The young woman nodded, the corners of her lips twitching upwards, "She and Benjamin have been so kind to take me into their home and allow me to stay while I've been getting my strength back." Ebba reached out a wrinkled hand, patting the young girl's tenderly. "I'm starting to feel a bit steadier on my feet."

"Good to hear," Raymond quipped, taking a piece of cornbread. "Ben Swable and Ebba have told me that you're a bit lost, is that right?"

The young woman nodded slowly, "Yes, sir."

"No need for 'sir'," Raymond said, waving his hand to bat away the formalities before taking a sip of coffee, "We're a small town here in Bluffton. Call me Raymond."

The young woman nodded in reply. She noted the congeniality between the Whitakers and the sheriff and wondered if all of the residents of Bluffton were this familiar. She felt something slow and warm bloom inside her in that moment, caught within a circle of people that had almost certainly know each other their entire lives. She wondered what it might be like to have friends know you in the particular way that comes from many years of acquaintanceship.

Before the thought could solidify in her mind, Raymond continued, "Let's get you found."

Raymond spread out the wanted and missing persons papers across the dining room table splitting them between local, Decatur County, and neighboring county papers. "I wrote to some colleagues and friend in Shelby and Jennings counties for any information on missing young ladies." He pushed a few papers towards the young woman and the Whitakers before sheathing a pile from an envelope in his lap. "These are from Columbus and Indianapolis."

The young woman took up the sheets before her. Image after black and white image of women between the ages of sixteen and fifty peered back at her. A shiver ran down the length of her spine as she began reading each description of lost or wanted women; their sketched outlines stark against the thin pages. Loved ones had spent time writing personality traits, facial features, and names. Behind all of these women were families that loved them. She flipped over the last of the Decatur pile and realized she was not one of them.

She squared her shoulders, passing the pile in her trembling hand to Ebba and reaching for out-of-county papers. More women, more faces, more descriptions. The young woman swallowed hard wondering how many people were in the world looking for transient souls. How many people waited for a sign, a word, or anything from someone that was lost. Perhaps some of these women were dead. Perhaps none of these girls would ever be found. The thought shook her and she swallowed hard.

"None of these look to be me," she said quietly, glancing up and Ebba and John before turning her gaze to the sheriff.

Raymond nodded, sifting through the documents and looking back up at her in intervals to evaluate her face. "No, they don't. And you have no recollection of how you came to be in the Whitaker's field? None whatsoever?"

"None," she responded, laying the missing papers on the table. "I only remember that it was raining, but even that I'm unclear if it's my own memory or Ebba recounting it to me. Just… water."

Raymond made a small, curt hum, "Not much clarity in that, miss. That storm system ran down the entirety of the state and then some. A cousin of mine in Tennessee wrote me on Friday and said it was just as miserable down there. Nearly tore down a tree on his house."

"Could she have come from out of state?" John asked, shuffling all the papers strewn about the table and handing them to the sheriff.

He shook his head skeptically, "It is certainly a possibility, but one I would say is rather unlikely. It's a good six or seven miles to the nearest station."

"Her feet were covered with cuts and bruises when we removed her boots," Ebba offered, patting the young woman's hand again. "It's conceivable that she did make that walk."

Raymond pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, clicking his tongue in thought. "If that's the case this will be much harder that I was originally anticipating." He turned his gaze to the young woman, "If you had been traveling by carriage within Indiana and had an accident, we'd have a much better chance of figuring out what happened to you. Did you have anything on your person when you were found? Anything that may give us a place to begin?"

The young woman furrowed her brows and sighed, "No, I don't think so. Just the dress I was found in. I'm sorry I have nothing additional to offer." She turned to Ebba who smiled softly in return.

"Don't you apologize, dear. You have nothing to be sorry for." Then to Raymond, she continued, "A reticle was found down over in the Gentry's field a ways away. They brought it over to us. I can bring you what's left of the dress and the bag if you'd like to see." Raymond nodded, turning toward the young woman for approval.

"Oh, yes, of course," she said, taking a long drink of her coffee.

Ebba stood, leaving the room and the remaining three in a stifled silence. When she returned, carrying a mound of shredded black fabric and a muddied purse, Raymond's usually jocund face stilled. Ebba draped the crepe fabric over the back of an unused chair. The bodice of the dress was torn in haphazard pulls around the breast and waist. The hem was stained and jagged with micro-tears throughout.

He reached for the bag, untying the strings and tipping the contents of it onto the table. Out fell a white handkerchief embroidered with the letters RKB, a handful of coins, and a four-carat diamond ring encircled in emeralds. Raymond glanced up at the young woman in the chair. She returned his gaze, her shoulder's square, and her eyes unyielding yet questioning. It was only then did he take a hard look at her.

He noted upon meeting her that she was thin, but he did not realize how gaunt she was. Her collarbones jutted out of her chest, hollowing out just below the slope of her shoulder. Her face was sallow with traces of blue-black bags beneath her eyes. She looked as if she was up of all jagged angles and might crumble beneath too much weight. The woman before him looked as if she had gone to war herself, tugging and screaming and forcing her way out of the line of fire with every breath. He thought that it was surely a testament to her resolve that she sat before him and he was suddenly struck with a thought that soured in his stomach.

"Do you want to be found?" Raymond asked, quietly.

She cocked her head slightly, puzzled. He watched her dark brows furrow, a small crease forming at the bridge of her nose. "I want to know who I am, yes."

"That's not what I asked."

She straightened, flinching slightly as she did so. She was thrown off by his question and did not fully understand the subtext behind it. She wasn't sure why she wouldn't want to be found. She thought of the pictures of all the women on the missing posters in the envelope on the table. Did they want to be found? Did their families miss them? Surely they must if there were advertisements and rewards for their safe journey home.

Something about the stares of all those young women unnerved her. She wondered what it must feel like to wander the earth as a ghost: terrifying, sad. She wondered what it would feel for those lost women to see their families again after so many months apart. She wondered what it would feel like to never see them again. She thought of the possibility of never being found or seeing her family again. She wondered, fleetingly, if they would miss her.

She glanced at Ebba and John who watched her just as expectantly as Raymond. John's hand grazed Ebba's and a pinprick of a hole formed within her breast. She felt suddenly melancholic and realized that despite the warmth the Whitaker's showed her they were not her family.

"I don't understand. Why would I not want to be found?"

Raymond began to speak but caught himself after casting a glance at Ebba who had widened her eyes and pursed her lips in a warning. The woman took the opportunity to continue, "If I have a family and if they are looking for me, I would like to give them peace of mind. I don't want to be just another one of these nameless faces." She gestured to the envelopes of missing person papers.

Raymond eyed her uncertainly, "If you ever decide the contrary, we can assist you. We've a lovely community here in Bluffton. You'd be more than welcome in our county."

She shook her head, "I have nothing except what you see before you." She motioned towards the haphazard pile of fabric slumped across the chair and the contents of the bag. "This is all I have. I have very little of value monetarily or otherwise to offer anyone here in Bluffton. I'm sure my family is worried sick and looking for me."

"Alright, then," Raymond said, leaning forward in his chair. "I will put an advertisement in the Decatur County papers for a found Jane Doe, list out your features, and anything you may remember. Anything could be useful at this juncture. We will see if that turns up information. I'll post a copy it at the nearest train depot and send it out to some family in neighboring counties. If I hear or see of any new missing persons I will send word right away. I will do what I can."

"Jane Doe," the young woman whispered quietly, rolling the syllables around in her mouth.

"It is just a placeholder name. We can call you something else here with us if you'd like. Until you remember your own name, that is." Ebba said, mistaking the utterance of the nomenclature to be dislike rather than curiosity.

"No," the young woman said, "It's pretty- Jane. I like it. Please, call me Jane. "