The Postcard

by Beverly Lewis

  “If anything had happened to you today,” Rachel was saying to her little girl, “I could never have forgiven myself. Never.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault I got stung by that mean old hornet,” Annie insisted. “And Dawdi Ben says it ain’t your fault about the accident at the Crossroad, neither.”

  Now it was Rachel who was silent, and Philip drove for several minutes without glancing once in his rearview mirror.

  The sun bore down on the hood of the car as Philip drove Rachel and Annie Yoder back to Bird-in-Hand, to their home at Orchard Guest House. He thought of another Orchard House, though not an inn open to overnight guests. It was the Massachusetts home of Louisa May Alcott, a favorite author of his niece. He had taken Kari, along with her parents, on a tour of the old place on the outskirts of Concord. Set back in the woods, off a narrow, tree-lined road, stood the big brown house where the classic novel Little Women had been penned in 1868.

  The call from Stephen Flory to his cell phone came quite unexpectedly as Philip was approaching Smoketown. “I think you’re going to be very interested in something, Philip.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Believe it or not, a woman in Reading—residing in a nursing home—is willing to tell you what she knows of Gabe Esh and Adele Herr.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “The ailing woman’s name is Lily, in case you wish to pursue the lead.”

  “Do I ever!” He thought Rachel might be fascinated to hear this. “Sounds too good to be true.”

  “The connection came from a very reliable source right there in the Bird-in-Hand community—a friend-of-a-friend sort of thing—so you can believe it.”

  “Thanks, Stephen. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “By the way, I’m still checking on that obit for you,” Stephen added. “If Adele Herr died anywhere in Pennsylvania, I should be able to track down the death notice.”

  “Maybe this Lily in Reading can fill me in. Thanks.”

  “Give me a call when you can. I’ll have more details for you.”

  Philip wondered how Susanna Zook would react when he asked to rebook his room. Again. As for juggling his flight schedule—that is if the Reading visit forced him to extend his stay—he might decide to take the Amtrak back to New York. At any rate, he’d have to give Bob Snell another call. Janice, too.

  “I may have some interesting news for you about your mother’s uncle by this evening,” he told Rachel, glancing over his shoulder.

  “What do you mean?” she asked a bit hesitantly.

  “A friend of mine put his feelers out and has a lead on someone who seems to know the woman Gabe wanted to marry. Looks like I’ll be heading back to Reading this afternoon, hopefully.”

  Rachel was quiet. He wondered if she might have inquired more were it not for Annie seated next to her, looking wide-eyed. And now quite bushy-tailed.

  “Sometime I’d like to tell you what I discovered in Reading . . . at a cemetery there,” he said discreetly, even though Annie was hardly paying attention to the conversation.

  Back at the Amish inn, Philip phoned his editor and left a message on his office phone. Next, he called Janice, who offered to pray for him while he was having some much needed R and R. He didn’t feel rested at all at the moment. Janice had no idea what he had been through that day.

  The next morning, he waited downstairs for three other guests to complete the check-out process, expedited efficiently by Susanna Zook.

  “I don’t suppose it would be possible to lengthen my stay,” he said as he paid his bill in full.

  Susanna shook her head stiffly. “We’re sold out up through the next full month.” She flipped through a black leather notebook. “Sorry.”

  She offered not a word about his having befriended her daughter and granddaughter. No show of gratitude, though Philip wasn’t looking for it. Still, he thought she seemed rather pleased that her B&B was fully booked—that there was not even a square inch left for one Philip Bradley.

  He returned to his upstairs quarters to pack his bag. Finished with that small chore, he closed his laptop and carried his personal belongings to the front door, not bothering to call a good-bye to either Rachel or Annie, though he would have liked to, providing Susanna hadn’t been hovering there, waiting for him to exit. She was so eager to see him out, in fact, she opened the door as if shooing out a nasty fly.

  Outside, Benjamin was stooped over in the hot sun, weeding a long bed of low-growing cushion mums of red, yellow, and bronze. He looked up from his crouched position and nodded. “Didja enjoy your stay with us, Mr. Bradley?” the man asked, scratching his beard.

  “Very much, sir. Have a nice day.”

  “And the same to you” came the tentative reply.

  Philip proceeded quickly to his car, eager to phone Stephen Flory for more details regarding Lily, the friend of Adele Herr. Before pulling out of the driveway, he chatted by cell phone with Stephen about the location of Fairview Nursing Home and whom to contact once he arrived there. Also the phone number. “Any suggestions on a place to stay around here? Or maybe even Reading, if need be. I’ve been booted out.”

  “No kidding.” Stephen seemed amused.

  “It seems Benjamin and Susanna Zook were more than eager to have me vacate the premises.”

  “And why is that?”

  He chuckled. “It’s a mystery, unless they were put out with me for saving their granddaughter’s life.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Never mind. Not important.”

  Stephen had a suggestion. “Why don’t you come stay with us? We have a spare room in our basement. Think it over and let me know.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate the offer,” said Philip. “I’ll see what I can do about getting in to see Lily this afternoon.”

  “Better call ahead . . . find out the visiting hours.”

  “I’ll do that and get back with you about the invitation.

  I just might take you up on it.”

  “Very good.”

  They hung up, and Philip immediately dialed the phone number for the Fairview Nursing Home in Reading. He had a good feeling about this visit.

  Part Three

  Love is intensity: it does not give us eternity but

  life, that second in which the doors of time and

  space open just a crack. . . .

  Octavio Paz

  And it shall come to pass, that before they call,

  I will answer; and while they are yet speaking,

  I will hear.

  Isaiah 65:24, KJV

  Twenty

  The middle-aged receptionist greeted him warmly, almost too enthusiastically, as if she encountered few opportunities to welcome visitors.

  “I’ve come to see Lily,” he told the woman with shoulder-length red hair. “My name’s Philip Bradley.”

  “Ah yes.” She pushed up her glasses. “And how is it you’re related to our Lily?”

  “No relation. I’m a friend of a friend, you could say.” He thought about it, wanting to be absolutely truthful. “Actually, I have in my possession an old postcard that belonged to someone I understand Lily—your patient—knew well.” He reached into his sports coat pocket, displaying the pictureless card and the English translation stuck to the front with a Post-it note.

  The redheaded woman accepted it, glancing at the postcard briefly. “I’ll give this to her and see if she’s still up to having a visitor.” She stood up then, and he saw that she was a short woman. Possibly only five feet tall or less. Shorter than his niece. “Can you wait here for just a moment?”

  “I’d be glad to.” He chose a comfortable chair in the small fern-filled sitting area and browsed through a magazine while he waited.

  The receptionist returned sooner than he expected. “I’m afraid Lily’s not feeling well after all. She’s simply not her best today, though she had agreed to see you. Perhaps another time.”

  His heart sank. “Tell her I hope she’s better ve
ry soon.”

  The petite woman walked to the door with him. “Again, it’s a shame you made the trip for nothing.”

  “No . . . no, I understand.” Before leaving, he wrote his cell phone number on one of his business cards. “You can reach me at this number anytime.” So determined was he to meet with Adele’s friend, he had already made up his mind to be available for her. No matter what time of day—or night—Lily might be able to see him.

  Rachel and Mam made chowchow together after slipping three apple pies into the oven. “Annie’s her happy self again,” Rachel commented. “I can’t begin to say how awful worried I was.”

  Susanna didn’t reply but continued chopping cauliflower and celery to add to a large bowl of cut green and yellow beans, sliced cucumbers, lima beans, diced carrots, and corn. The ingredients would be cooked till tender, then salted and drained. Next came chopping and more salt for the green tomatoes and the red and yellow peppers. A syrup made from vinegar, sugar, celery seed, mustard seed, and other spices was brought to a rolling boil and mixed with the many vegetables. Rachel especially liked to add onion to their chowchow.

  “I guess Annie will be stayin’ far away from them hornets’ nests from now on,” Mam blurted. “A hard lesson to learn, to be sure.”

  “Jah, but she says she wasn’t disobedient. Copper just got away.”

  “Still, she oughta be punished for it.”

  Rachel didn’t have the heart to consider such a thing— not after her little one’s suffering already today. “In case she ever gets stung again, I wanna get her an epi-kit.”

  “A what?”

  Rachel explained what the doctor had said at the hospital. “It could be the difference between life and death.”

  “That’s real silly, ’specially when Blue Johnny can do the same thing, prob’ly. And you could, too, if you stopped bein’ so stubborn about receiving the blessing.”

  Rachel chose to ignore the comment. “If you’d heard Annie wheezin’ and all—why, it was downright frightening.” She paused, thinking she shouldn’t say much more about this. “One of the nurses said we got Annie to the hospital just in time. Honestly, I don’t know what we would’ve done if Philip hadn’t helped us.”

  Again, Susanna clammed up.

  Rachel hadn’t found conversation with Mam to be very agreeable; she was a woman who fought against most everything a person had to say, it seemed. So when Mam was silent, there was usually an important reason for it. But just now, Rachel had no idea at all what was causing her mother to be so upset at Philip Bradley. None whatsoever.

  “Philip Bradley’s making another trip to Reading,” she ventured, changing the subject, hoping Mam might not fly off the handle.

  “What the world for?”

  “Something about a cemetery up there . . . and a woman in a nursing home who knew Adele Herr.”

  Mam nearly choked, carrying on so bad Rachel ran some water into the sink and filled up a glass real quick.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be right fine when Mr. Bradley’s long gone, that’s what!”

  Rachel was shocked. What had caused this hostility toward the kind and gentle young man?

  Philip attended church on Sunday with Stephen and his wife, Deborah. The interior of the meetinghouse was marked by stark simplicity: a small, raised platform with center pulpit, windows of clear glass, and modest light fixtures overhead. There were long wooden pews occupied by Mennonite worshipers—women and small children on the left side; men and older boys on the right. Most every woman wore a head covering of some kind or other. Some of the men wore plain black coats with no lapels, and collars similar to a liturgical collar.

  So Stephen Flory was a Bible-believing, conservative Mennonite. Philip should have suspected as much, given the warm hospitality and congenial spirit exhibited by both Stephen and his wife. He took the knowledge of it in stride. After all, the man had generously opened his home to this virtual stranger. “Stay as long as you like,” he’d said upon Philip’s arrival back from Reading. “We’re always glad to have guests around here.”

  Deborah, a pleasantly plump brunette, had agreed, nodding her head and smiling her welcome. “We don’t always get folk in from New York City.”

  He returned her smile, thinking he must be quite a spectacle here. It was as if Lancaster County residents didn’t often get to see someone from the outside world. Glad to have the company, especially in view of the easy camaraderie between himself and Stephen, he was more than happy to go along with their church plans.

  It was the pastor’s sermon that caught him off guard. A message about the role of the Christian in spiritual warfare. When Philip inquired of the Scripture references later with Stephen, he was told that the pastor was well versed in intercession. “He’s new here, but he’s on fire. Wants to see us move forward in what we believe to be the end times before Jesus returns for His church.”

  Philip had never heard anything so straightforward—not even during his churchgoing days as a boy. But he was polite and listened. It was the least he could do for his host and hostess.

  After church, he was treated to a superb dinner in the Flory home: roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, corn on the cob, coleslaw, Jell-O salad, and angel food cake. Table conversation centered around small talk mostly, but an occasional comment was made about the young new pastor.

  Just as he leaned back, realizing that he had enjoyed Deborah Flory’s cooking entirely too much, Philip’s cell phone jingled. He excused himself and took the call in the living room. “Hello?”

  “Philip Bradley, please.”

  “This is he.”

  “I’m the receptionist at the Fairview Nursing Home in Reading. Lily is asking for you. Would it be convenient for you to come see her today?”

  “Why yes, I can leave here within the hour.”

  “She says the sooner the better.”

  “Very good. Tell her it will be sooner.” He didn’t think to ask if the woman would mind if he made a tape recording of his visit. He was thinking of Rachel just then, knowing that the young blind woman might enjoy hearing Lily’s answers to his many questions. He would wait until he got there to ask permission.

  Meanwhile, he thanked Deborah for the delicious dinner. “I’ll treat the two of you to a meal before I leave.”

  “It’s a deal.” Stephen nodded, beaming. “Have a safe drive and a pleasant afternoon.”

  “Hopefully, Lily won’t turn me away this time.” He meant it as a joke, but he was more than ready for the solution to the postcard’s mystery, hoping Lily might clear up a number of things for him. For Rachel, too.

  Rachel sat close to Annie on the preaching bench at Lavina’s. It was the older woman’s turn to have service at her house. The second sermon seemed ever so long— longer than usual—but maybe, Rachel thought, it was because she had other things on her mind. Things like wanting to sing praises to God for giving her Annie back to her, for sparing her little one’s life. She wished it might’ve been possible for her to attend her Beachy church this morning, but Dat said they were runnin’ late—his pat excuse, it seemed—and she went along with it. Still, she daydreamed about the more evangelical service going on up the road a piece.

  Letting her mind wander, she thought about Mam’s unfriendly comments toward Philip Bradley. She didn’t know why it bothered her so that her mother didn’t think kindly on the man who’d saved Annie’s life. From everything she knew of him, Philip was good-hearted and trustworthy. It seemed there was a strong undertow of ill will toward their former guest. Maybe it was best he left when he did, but she wondered how she was ever to hear what he’d discovered in the cemetery in Reading. And what of the possibility of Philip talking to a woman who knew Gabe’s English sweetheart? She wished she might be told something, if not from Mam and Dat, then Philip Bradley.

  She dismissed those thoughts in time for the benediction, followed by Lavina’s brothers and other men rearranging the benches in th
e front room, making ready for the common meal.

  As much as she loved the People here, she missed the fellowship of those friends and relatives at her own Beachy church. And she missed Esther on this day particularly, anxious to answer her cousin’s recent tape with one of her own.

  It was Lavina’s strange remark to her that got Rachel thinking more about Philip Bradley and the “lead” on Adele Herr he supposedly had uncovered in Reading. “Someone’s soon gonna hear the truth ’bout Gabe Esh,” Lavina whispered in passing as she carried a stack of plastic plates across the kitchen.

  There wasn’t any question in Rachel’s mind that Lavina was the one whispering because she recognized the familiar smell of garlic on her breath. Could the older woman know about Philip Bradley’s plan to go to Reading?

  Rachel was downright befuddled; she couldn’t quite put two and two together.

  By the time Philip made the turn into the long, wide driveway leading to the Fairview Nursing Home, the digital clock on the dash glowed three-fifty. He hoped the ailing woman might be well enough to see him this time. Parking the car, he reached for his briefcase, where he kept his portable tape recorder. If all went well, he’d soon have Lily on tape, answering his questions about Gabe Esh’s life and the story embracing the postcard. Such a format was ideal for a blind woman, though he knew his visit here was more to satisfy his own curiosity than to present a tape to Benjamin and Susanna Zook’s daughter.

  “Oh good, you’re here,” said the same receptionist, looking up, her green eyes smiling. “Lily’s waiting for you.”

  “Thank you.” He followed the slight woman down a long, narrow hall with private rooms on either side. An occasional wheelchair was parked next to the wall, but he saw no children or families and wondered how a sickly, elderly person might feel, banished to such a place.

  The woman stopped at a doorway marked Rm. 147. “I’ll be happy to introduce you.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” he said, waiting for her to enter the sunny room.