Upon her return to Bird-in-Hand, Adele told Gabe that she was the grand-niece of the bishop. “Seth Fisher married my father’s aunt—that’s how we’re related. There was a break away from the Amish several generations back,” she explained. “Most of my father’s people are Baptists. Isn’t that interesting?”
“And very unusual, seeing as how they all came from the same Anabaptist roots.” Gabe actually took the news of the connection to his People as an encouraging sign. “Maybe we’re not so far apart after all.”
She smiled at his attempt to dissolve the gap between them. “Three generations ago someone was shunned, excommunicated from the Amish church. I don’t see how that’s such a good thing.”
They joked about it—that they were nearly distant cousins in a vague sense—and Gabe continued to stop by after school or made arrangements to spend time with Adele nearly every day.
For four bliss-filled months they enjoyed somewhat of a dating relationship, though purely platonic, until mid-April, the end of the Amish school year. Three days before she was scheduled to return to Reading, Gabe invited her on a final buggy ride.
“I chose Dat’s oldest horse for tonight on purpose,” he confessed to her, giving a quiet laugh. “This way we’ll have plenty of time to talk.”
The night was warm, filled with the sweetness and the promise of springtime. “I wonder what you’d say if I told you I’d like you to think about marryin’ me,” said Gabe, his eyes intent on her as the horse pulled them forward into the starry night.
Again her heart was drawn to him. “I . . . I do care for you, Gabe,” she said softly, “but . . .”
Before she could say more, he moved close to her, gathering her into his arms. “Please, my dearest one, you mustn’t decide tonight.”
“Oh, Gabe, I wish . . .” She yielded to his warm embrace as his lips found hers.
“I know,” he said breathlessly. “I know, my darling fancy girl.” And he kissed her again.
She snuggled close to her beloved, under the dim covering of a partial moon, and knew in her heart of hearts there could never be another night like this. She would return to her father’s house and never see Gabe Esh again. As fond as they were of each other, their love was not meant to be.
They rode in utter silence, except for the occasional snort of the mare and the quaint clip-clop against the road. Adele watched the moon come and go under a smattering of clouds, a lump in her throat and a tear in her eye. “Gabe, I don’t have to wait to give you my answer. The past months have been the most wonderful of my life. I thought I’d never meet someone like you, someone gentle, who loves children, someone sensitive to the Lord and to me. Oh, Gabe, we both know it can never be.”
“Shh, don’t say any more. I understand why you feel that way, Adele, but I also believe that if we are both willing, we could make it work.” He held his “fancy” girl close to his heart, oblivious of what was to come, as they watched the moon slide under a cloud.
Lily sighed, still clutching the postcard. “Not long after that night, Gabe witnessed of God’s saving power to one Amish farmer too many.”
“What do you mean?” asked Philip.
“He went over to Benjamin Zook’s place, and right there in front of Ben and his wife and their little children, Gabe preached to them of Jesus.”
“Benjamin Zook? You don’t mean the husband of Susanna Zook?”
“Yes . . . yes, I believe that was her name. Do you happen to know them?”
“They are the owners of the Amish guesthouse where I discovered the postcard, and the parents of the young woman of whom I spoke—one of the reasons I made this tape recording. Susanna Zook was related to Gabe Esh.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I’d forgotten, but yes, I believe she was Gabe’s niece.”
Philip was struck by the connection. “What happened at the Zooks’ farm when Gabe witnessed?”
“Well, Benjamin was so put out with Gabe’s condemnation of powwow doctoring that he went immediately to the bishop and complained. It was Ben Zook who began making the first loud noises toward getting Gabe excommunicated and shunned.”
“But if he hadn’t ever joined the Amish church, how could such a thing happen?”
She sighed deeply. “As far as Bishop Fisher was concerned, Ben Zook’s outrage was the ammunition he needed. One irate farmer and one spurned bishop made for the kindling that was to ignite a roaring fire, to burn Gabe out of the community.”
Lily’s room had grown dim with the setting of the sun, and Philip was surprised that her tale had lasted well over an hour.
“Do you mind if we stop for now?” Lily said, looking wan. “I’m quite weary.”
Philip turned off the tape recorder and thanked the lady for her time. “I hope you will rest now.” He stood to go.
She shook her head. “You come again tomorrow, Philip,” she said almost in a whisper. “I’ll finish the story then.”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” he confessed.
She extended her hand to him and squeezed it lightly.
“You’re a good man, Philip Bradley. Why don’t you bring along Gabe’s grandniece tomorrow. I’d like to meet her.”
He thought it interesting that Lily wanted to meet Rachel, though he had no idea how he might persuade the young woman to accompany him to the nursing home tomorrow. Would Susanna Zook even allow him to speak to her daughter again? That was one hurdle he wasn’t sure he was willing to attempt.
Twenty-Two
Philip stopped briefly at the Orchard Guest House on his way back to Stephen Flory’s home. Susanna answered the door, looking quite startled when she saw who was standing on her doorstep. “I’m full up, Mr. Bradley,” she said before he could even speak.
“I’m not here about a room. I’m here to see Rachel, if I may.”
Susanna stood her ground, not budging an inch. “I’m afraid Rachel’s not available at the moment.”
He toyed with handing over the tape to her, hoping it might find its way into Rachel’s hands, but he was no fool. “I’ll wait until she is available, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have guests to attend to.”
Just then Annie spotted him and came running toward the door. “Mr. Philip,” she greeted him with a grin. “You came back!”
“Well, yes, I did. But not to stay.”
“Do you wanna see where the wasp stinged me? Do ya?”
He leaned over to inspect the tiny mark on her cheek. “All better, looks like to me.”
She was grinning, looking up at him with adoring eyes. “Mamma says you saved my life, didja know that?”
He couldn’t help smiling now, even at Susanna, who appeared to be guarding the doorway with her round personage. “I was very glad to help.”
“You did more than help me,” the child insisted.
Chuckling, he stood up only to come face-to-face with Annie’s mother. “Oh, hello, Rachel.”
“I heard Annie talking so loudly, I had to come and see for myself.”
“Mr. Philip’s here, Mamma!” Annie tugged at Rachel’s sleeve.
Rachel smiled; Susanna scowled.
“Hello again,” he said. “I stopped by briefly to loan you something from the woman I visited in Reading today—the one who knew Adele Herr.”
With that, Susanna turned on her heel, leaving Rachel, Annie, and Philip standing there together. “I think you will enjoy hearing the story of your mother’s uncle . . . and his beloved.” He gave the tape to her. “I also believe it will answer your questions, and then some.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m very gut at running a tape recorder—it’s one of the ways I communicate best.”
“Wonderful.” He paused, thinking how he should present Lily’s invitation. “Before I leave, there’s one other thing,” he said quickly, keeping an eye out for Susanna Zook, who was bound to return in a huff with Benjamin and order him off. “Lily would like to meet you. She’s invited you
to come and hear the rest of the story . . . in person.”
“Lily?”
“Yes, Adele Herr’s close friend. The woman in the Reading nursing home.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. Would you like to ride along with me?”
“I . . . I don’t care much for cars,” she said, more cautious now.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m a very careful driver.”
She thought for a moment. “I might sit in the backseat, if that’s all right with you.”
“Not a problem.”
Rachel’s face broke into a spontaneous smile. “Then, jah, I’ll go there with you.”
Philip could think of nothing else during his restaurant stop for supper. Rachel Yoder had actually consented to accompany him to meet the dear friend of her great-uncle’s fiancée. Why should he be excited about something so perplexing?
That night, Rachel listened to Lily’s recorded story with rapt attention and interest. She was amazed at the parallels between herself and Gabe Esh—his childhood matching hers so completely, though he had become a straightforward and courageous teenager and young adult. What had caused him to change, she did not know, just as the People in his day didn’t seem to understand either.
She figured she couldn’t pick Dat’s brain about all that he had heard and seen during the early days of Gabe’s “preaching,” but she wished she were bold enough to do just that. So much more she wanted to know about the man who had obviously rocked this community forty years ago.
One thing was sure about her parents, though—she noticed they seemed more united recently—’least since Philip Bradley had come to stay at the B&B. Was it because of finding the postcard? She wondered about that till the tape began to make a bumping sound in the recorder, and she turned it off.
The sixty-minute tape seemed to last only a few minutes, and she could hardly wait to hear the rest of the woman’s story. To think that her own father had been partially responsible for Gabriel Esh’s outrageous shunning. Mighty shocking, it was.
She wondered, too, what Esther and Levi might say about all this if they knew. But she would wait to tell her cousin till after her visit with the Reading woman. Then tomorrow night she would make another taped letter for her Ohio cousin. Such interesting news she would have this time!
After supper, she thought only of the hapless lovers, Gabe and Adele, wondering what was to become of their short-lived relationship, though she knew it could never come to fulfillment due to Gabe’s untimely death.
Even though it would mean riding in a car yet another time and traveling with a near stranger, she could hardly wait to meet Adele’s friend face-to-face.
Susanna would have liked to have had a fit once that Mr. Bradley left. She had restrained herself because of Annie, however, and it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, what with her granddaughter carrying on so about the man who’d saved her life, for goodness’ sake!
“It’s downright saucy, him showin’ up on our front steps,” she ranted to Benjamin in the privacy of their own quarters.
“Why didn’tcha just shut the door on him?” Ben said, looking a bit peeved.
“I’m a kind woman, that’s why.”
“Then you best not be complainin’ to me.”
Susanna was put out with her husband. She reached for a bed pillow and pounded at it, pretending to fluff it but gut.
Things seemed to be unraveling around her, and she felt somewhat helpless about it all, beginning with the handsome and tall smooth-talkin’ reporter. Whatever was he thinking, coming back to their inn thataway? Brazen, he was, insisting on talking to Rachel, a widow still in mourning. Couldn’t he see how wounded the poor girl was? Couldn’t he see that she was suffering, missin’ her husband?
“It’s beyond me what the man wants with our Rachel,” she let slip, not even realizing that she suspected any romantic interest on the part of Mr. Bradley.
Ben shook his head and got out of his chair. “I’d say you’re borrowin’ trouble, Susie. Ain’t no way a good-lookin’ fella like that is interested in our daughter; Plain and blind she be.”
Susanna dismissed their conversation; she didn’t have time for such speculatin’. Other things were brewing in her mind just now.
Susanna waited till Benjamin was clearly asleep, then made her way downstairs to phone a Mennonite van driver a few miles up the road, asking him to come pick her up. It was still plenty early in the evening for what she had in mind. Early enough to pay a visit to a longtime friend. . . .
Rachel heard the gentle sound of a car’s engine idling in front of the B&B just as she was beginning to nod off. She gave it nary a thought, as quite often a traveler or two would arrive as late as nine-thirty of an evening, coming to book an available room. Usually, though, it was Mam who took care of things after the supper hour, because Dat wasn’t much gut to anyone after about eight-thirty or so.
Annie had decided to “be a big girl” tonight and, of her own accord, had gone to sleep in her little bed across the room. Yawning, Rachel lay down and stretched out a bit. She missed Jacob more than usual—having more space in bed upon first retiring and all—and reached for the extra bed pillow and drew it close, hugging it to herself.
A mixture of familiar smells—pungent, yet musty—met Rachel’s nostrils, urging her to consciousness, but she felt serene and too relaxed to rouse herself, assuming the pipe tobacco must surely be commingled with her dream.
It was the dreary murmurings, a man’s monotone, that startled her out of sleep. “Who’s there?” she whispered, fearful of waking Annie.
The chanting continued, and she recognized the voice of Blue Johnny.
“Was in der Welt—what in all the world?” Rachel gasped, pulling herself up to a sitting position in bed. She clutched her pillow, wondering how this could be. Blue Johnny, here, in her bedroom?
Then, slowly . . . miraculously, her eyes began to behold a hazy vision of a small girl, curled up on a bed against the wall. Long honey-colored braids fell loosely over the tiny shoulders and back.
What was happening? Was her sight returning?
“Annie?” she managed to say. Then she groped her way out of bed and was met by the blurred figure of a tall, bushy haired man and Mam, too, holding a large lantern, its golden light spilling over the room. “Why are you here?” she whispered.
His features were impossible to identify, yet a radiant glow had settled over him, from the lantern light, no doubt. His dark eyes were silent, hollow pools. “You know I have the power,” said Blue Johnny. “And you have it, too, Rachel Yoder. You can heal, just as I can.”
She felt helpless to oppose the echo of his words. They flowed like warm oil over her sensitive being, enveloping, entrapping her very thoughts. Yet something deep within fought to free her from his sway, and she forced her misty gaze away, searching the room for Annie.
With a whimper, she stumbled to her daughter’s bedside and knelt there, stroking the long, silky braids, seeing her little one as through a veil, for the first time in two long years—the skin, fair as a dove; the cheeks, pink as a rose petal. How beautiful her young daughter appeared to her hungry eyes, how very lovely. Or was it just her own imaginin’? It was as she cherished Annie with her cloudy sight that she thought she saw something of Jacob in the little girl. Jah, just the slightest glimmer of his dear, dear face.
“Best not waken her,” Mam said.
Even as she continued to touch her daughter’s satiny hair, she recalled Lily’s tape-recorded story, the amazing account of her own great-uncle Gabe. How the young man with giftings similar to her own had refused the powwow doctors of his day, had rejected the strong inclinations that had come through the bloodline of his family—her family— how he’d stood firm against the Old Order bishop.
“No,” she heard herself saying, as if in a dream. “I will not accept this sort of healing . . . and the transference neither.”
“But, Daughter . . .” Mam was weepi
ng now.
“Don’t be foolish, Rachel,” Blue Johnny said then. “You don’t want to miss out on your little girl’s growing-up years, now do you?”
Rachel turned and raised her voice to him. “I’d rather be blind forever than choose the devil’s gift.”
Annie began to stir, and as quickly as the shadowy vision had come, her sight left her once again. “Please, just go now,” she told Blue Johnny.
“Ach, Rachel . . .”
“Make him leave, Mam.”
Leaning hard against the bed, she reached for her child’s little hand and held it.
“Just remember, Rachel, I have the power to give you full sight,” Blue Johnny reminded her. “Someday . . . someday soon, you’ll come looking for me. Mark my words.”
Someday soon . . .
She cringed, forcing the impact of his unholy words from her head, relieved to hear footsteps exiting the room. Then, when the upstairs had become still once again, she rubbed her eyes, thinking that the encounter might’ve been just a dream. A terrible, awful one at that.
Twenty-Three
Philip felt it awkward for Rachel to sit in the backseat on their trip to Reading, as if he were a chauffeur for an Amishwoman, for pete’s sake. Nevertheless, this was the arrangement the blind woman had agreed on, and he found himself stealing glances in his rearview mirror.
At one point, while waiting for a traffic light to change, he caught himself staring at her, wondering what Rachel’s hair might look like down, flowing over her shoulders and back, freed from the severity of the bun and head covering she always wore. Free and graceful, and perhaps a bit wavy, as there were hints of some curl whenever a strand of hair fell loose from the twisting on the side, leading back to the bun.
“I think you’ll like Lily a lot,” he said, making small talk to ease the tension he could feel emanating from her.
Rachel was silent.
“Gabe and Adele seem like real people to me.”
The Postcard Page 22
