“Jah, they do.” Her mouth curved up slightly, then resumed its somewhat taut position.
He wondered if she might be feeling more than a little uneasy, perhaps even fearful. “I’m driving well below the speed limit,” he offered.
She nodded but still did not speak.
He let it drop, deciding the woman needed space, time to adjust to the ride. After all, it hadn’t been so long ago that she’d lost her husband and young son . . . because of an automobile.
Rachel rode in the backseat of Philip Bradley’s car, sensing that he wanted to put her at ease. But she preferred to remain silent, thinking on Lily’s riveting story. Honestly, she found it right surprisin’ that her own father had been involved in settin’ Gabe up for the most unjust shunning ever. No wonder Mam had reacted so severely upon Philip’s first inquiring of her. No wonder Rachel’s own questions about Gabriel Esh had always been met with guarded remarks.
And what about that dream-vision or whatever it was last night? She’d experienced such a mighty bold feelin’— rare to be sure—risin’ up powerful-strong within, and she knew it must’ve come from hearing the story of Gabe’s stand against wickedness in the community.
So, praise be, over the span of years, godly Uncle Gabe had touched her, influenced her to make the decision, once and for all, to turn away from her wavering over Blue Johnny and the other “healers.” Cousin Esther would be right proud of her.
Rachel could hardly wait to hear the rest of Lily’s story. . . .
If Susanna had a hissy fit over Rachel talking to Philip, well, today she liked to have the tremors. After that no-gut New Yorker man came and stole her girl away, Susanna just spun herself in circles every which way, rushin’ all over her kitchen, tryin’ her best to hunt down stew fixin’s, forgetting that most everything she needed for it was downstairs in the cold cellar.
Annie seemed as perplexed at her as Benjamin, and the minute the stew meat, potatoes, onions, carrots, and celery were all chopped up and pushed into a big black kettle, Susanna got off her feet and had to fan herself to beat the band, even though Annie kept on saying, “S’not the least bit hot in here, Mammi Susanna.”
Lily was perched in the midst of even more pillows than yesterday when Philip and a staff nurse guided Rachel into the older woman’s room. But she was smiling as if she had been waiting for their visit with great anticipation.
“I’ve brought Rachel Yoder with me,” Philip said, introducing the two women.
“Very nice to meet you, Rachel,” said Lily, extending her thin hand.
Philip watched as Rachel’s hand met and clasped Lily’s briefly. “I got to hear all about my great-uncle last evening,” said Rachel, slipping her hand into her pocket and holding out the tape for Philip. “It was the most interesting story I’ve ever heard, I think.”
“For me, too,” Philip added quickly, taking the tape from Rachel.
The nurse located an extra chair so Rachel and Philip could sit while they visited, eager for the continuation of Lily’s account of her friend and Gabe Esh.
Lily seemed transfixed by Rachel, and Philip found it intriguing that she would study the blind woman so carefully. “I must tell you something, Rachel,” she said at last. “You look very much like your mother’s uncle.”
“I do?” Rachel said.
“Yes, very much,” replied Lily. “In fact, the resemblance is as striking as if you had been his own daughter.”
Rachel’s eyes appeared to be focused on her lap, but not seeing. “No one has ever told me that.”
“I suppose not,” Lily replied softly, that faraway look creeping into her gaze once again. “It is truly remarkable. And it is a compliment to you, because Gabriel Esh lived up to his name in that he had the face of an angel. At least Adele thought so.”
Philip felt as if he were witnessing the melting away of years as Lily, a peer of Adele Herr’s, and the descendant of Adele’s loved one sat in the same room together. It was as if they had come across time to this very moment.
He noticed that someone had pinned Gabe’s postcard to the center of Lily’s bulletin board. Obviously, having it in her possession meant a lot to the woman, and Philip was glad he’d had the opportunity to deliver it.
“Let’s see,” Lily said, “where did I stop yesterday?”
“The shunning,” both Philip and Rachel blurted together, which brought smiles all around.
“Yes, the shun imposed on Gabe was the most shameful thing that had ever happened in the church community,” Lily remarked. “It tore the Old Order district into pieces.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel asked softly.
Lily turned her head toward the younger woman. “Gabe’s shunning fragmented the People. I’d never seen or heard of anything so divisive happening among the Amish before. It shook the core of the community.”
Rachel sighed audibly. “That may be the reason for so many Amish Mennonites and New Order Amish in our area now. Many of my own relatives are no longer Old Order, as well.”
Lily nodded thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised to hear that.”
Rachel was silent, sitting with her hands folded in her lap. But Philip could hear her shallow breathing in the chair next to him and wondered what was going through her mind.
“I don’t think I told you that it was Lavina Troyer who rented a room to Adele the year she taught at the one-room Amish school,” Lily said.
Rachel seemed surprised. “Lavina did?”
“But offering the English schoolteacher a place to stay wasn’t the only demonstration of Lavina’s kindness. She was far wiser than most people gave her credit for, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten ahead of myself. . . .”
Lavina had gone the second and third mile to befriend Adele Herr. She lived alone in her deceased father’s farmhouse, bequeathed to her after his passing. At twenty-eight, she was now considered an alt Maedel—a maiden lady— among the People, and because she had more than enough room and needed the extra income, she offered to rent out part of the upstairs to the English schoolteacher.
On one of Adele’s last days in Bird-in-Hand, at the end of the school year, Lavina was busy cutting off the cream from a gallon jar of old milk when Adele came into the kitchen. A refreshing April breeze was blowing in the window, and the smell of fields and dirt and dairy cows wafted in right with it.
Adele dropped her teacher’s notebook on the table and stood staring out across the barnyard. The sun shimmered off the pond south of the barn, casting shadows on a gentle slope that moved upward to scattered willows circled around the sparkling water. “Oh, Lavina, I’m going to miss this beautiful place, and all the children, too,” she blurted.
“Well, I hope y’all be missin’ me, too,” Lavina said, wide-eyed and grinning.
Adele turned and looked at her friend. “Of course I’ll miss you. You’ve been so very good to me. I don’t know how to thank you, especially for teaching me all the tricks of the trade—the many canning and cooking hints, and needlework, too.”
“We should be thanking you for your gut work with our youngsters.” The Amishwoman smiled sweetly. “You’ll hafta come back and visit sometime. Maybe when you can stay longer, jah?” There was a twinkle in her gray-blue eyes.
“That’s very kind of you, Lavina. Thank you.” But Adele knew she could never come back to Bird-in-Hand. She headed upstairs to pack up the few things she’d brought with her to Amish country.
There was a private meeting of the deacons, Preacher King and one other preacher, and Bishop Fisher that night. They planned how to oust Gabe Esh from their midst, talking over the way to expedite things the following Sunday when the church membership would gather after the preaching service.
Preacher King went along with Bishop Fisher’s idea to put it to a vote of the People, to forego approaching the rebellious young man in the usual scriptural way, giving Gabe a warning and opportunity to repent. But then, what was there for him to repent of? He’d had a differing view of the Bible fro
m theirs, and he’d refused the powwow gift from the bishop—that’s what it amounted to. They’d have to keep a lid on this. If word leaked out beyond the Lancaster community, out into neighboring circles, Plain folk might frown on not only their procedure for shunning, but also the reason for it.
Gabe drove his horse and carriage right into Lavina’s yard the day Adele was scheduled to leave. He caught her just as she was loading up her car. “I wanted to come over to say good-bye,” he said, helping her lift several medium-sized boxes into the trunk.
She hardly knew what to say. Here was the man her heart had always longed for, and yet she had refused him, rejected his marriage proposal on a most romantic carriage ride.
“Will you pray for me, Adele? For the work God’s called me to do?” His eyes searched hers.
She found herself nodding. “Of course I will.”
“May I write to you from time to time?” he asked, reaching for her hand.
She thought about that. “Only if you write in Pennsylvania Dutch, okay?”
Gabe didn’t question her reasoning, just seemed glad that she would agree. “We’ll always be friends, jah?” he said, removing his hat. “Always?”
“In our fondest memories, yes,” she replied. “I’ll never forget you, Gabe Esh. Never as long as I live.”
Gabe moved toward her, his eyes shining. “I love you, Adele,” he said once more. “Always remember that.”
She longed for one last embrace but felt herself backing away. “I’m sorry, Gabe,” she said, reaching for the car door.
“I’m so very sorry. . . .”
His eyes were sympathetic and tender, yet the muscles in his jaw twitched repeatedly. “I’m mighty glad the Lord brought us together, even as friends, Adele dear. And I will miss you . . . for always.”
She tried to swallow the throbbing lump in her throat, escaping to the privacy of her car before tears spilled down her cheeks uncontrollably. Closing the door, she pushed the key into the ignition, blinking back tears, struggling with the shift. Then slowly, she pulled away, waving a tearful farewell to Lavina, who had just come out to sit on the porch.
But it was the vision of a dejected blond man, standing alone in the sun next to a chestnut-colored mare and an open courting buggy, holding his straw hat in both hands, that she was to remember for all her days.
Three long letters arrived from Gabe the first week after Adele returned home. She was thankful he’d remembered to write them in his native language. Her father’s indignation over what he perceived to be a continuing relationship had been the main reason for her strange request—that Gabe’s letters be written in Pennsylvania Dutch. Yet her response to her friend’s correspondence was utter silence.
For two more excruciating weeks, his letters came, but she did not answer them, though they were not filled with declarations of devotion. The young Amishman had honored her heartbreaking decision, filling his missives instead with the things of the Lord, page after page of testimonials of souls finding salvation and divine healing in some cases. Her wonderful Gabe, unfairly shunned, was following God’s call on his life, working with a Beachy Amish preacher outside Bird-in-Hand.
Adele began to look forward to hearing from him nearly every other day, though to reply might encourage him, she feared. So she refrained from answering his letters, though it tore at her heart to keep her silence.
In the early part of May, her mother, who had been ill for years, slipped away to heaven in her sleep. Her death was a blow to Adele, and it set her thinking about the brevity of one’s life and how each day was unquestionably a divine gift. Her mother’s passing also forced her to evaluate her own life in the light of eternity.
So the day after her mother’s funeral, Adele crept into her mother’s former sitting room and penned her first and only letter to Gabe. As she wrote, she felt as if a dam had broken loose within her, and she realized without a doubt that not only did she love Gabe enough to commit her affection to him, she was now willing to submit to the Plain lifestyle in order to share his life and ministry.
May 14, 1962
Dear Gabe,
Your precious letters, all of them, are gathered around me on my mother’s rickety old rolltop desk as I write. My heart can no longer bear not to respond to you.
Although I said before I left that it seemed impossible for us to be together, I know now that I do not want to live my life without you. I am willing to abandon my modern lifestyle for you, dear Gabe, if need be.
Since we’ve been apart, I have come to understand that in spite of our contrasting backgrounds, we do share life’s most important commonalities, you and I. We are similar in our zeal for God, our love for the spiritually lost, and, of course, we both enjoy nature—yes, I miss our many walks together. And we are drawn to children. . . .
If you still feel about us the way you did the night of our last buggy ride, then my answer is yes. I will wait intently for your reply.
With all my heart, I do love you!
Your “fancy” girl,
Adele
Lovingly, Adele assisted her father in sorting through her mother’s clothing, furnishings, and personal effects in the week that followed, donating much of it to charity, although the wobbly rolltop desk was put out in the shed, waiting for an antique dealer to haul it away.
Adele waited breathlessly each day for Gabe’s response, but none came. Days passed, and still there was no word from the smiling, blond Amishman. She thought that perhaps he hadn’t received her letter, though it was not returned stamped “Undeliverable” or any such thing. A thousand times she considered composing another in the event that the first had ended up in a dead-letter file somewhere. But she chose to wait instead, praying that all was well with her dear Gabe, hoping that his silence was not evidence of his waning affection or, worse, that he no longer cared at all.
Late in the afternoon, on Sunday, May thirtieth—two weeks and two days after she had written her letter to Gabe—Adele received a phone call from Lavina Troyer, telling her that Gabriel Esh’s life and ministry had been cut short in a car accident. “He was on his way to a preachin’ service . . . over near Gordonville,” the young woman stammered tearfully. She went on to say that his family would not be offering a funeral service or a burial site “due to the shunnin’.”
Stunned and heartbroken, Adele took to her bed with such grief as she’d never known. Lavina arranged to bury Gabe with some of her own money, which originally had been invested by an older brother and set aside for a possible dowry. With the help of a New Order Amish friend’s connection at the Lancaster Mennonite Historical Society, Lavina purchased a grave plot and headstone in a Reading cemetery, giving her former school chum a proper burial.
Adele joined the young Amishwoman on the grassy slope, where the two stood just below the headstone, taking turns reading Gabe’s favorite Scripture passages at this, their private service. Lavina glanced toward the sky when she said, “Gabe was prob’ly just too gut for this old world, and the Lord God heavenly Father saw fit to take him home.” Adele was inconsolable and fell into Lavina’s arms, promising to keep in touch “no matter what.”
In the years that followed, Adele remained single, throwing herself into her instruction of children, filling up the empty years with teaching, as well as caring for her aging father. She never found the kind of love she had experienced with Gabriel Esh and could not forgive herself for having let him go.
Occasional letters were exchanged with Lavina, the unpretentious, simple-minded Amishwoman with a heart bursting with charity and goodness, who, in her own naive way, had loved Gabe, too. Because of Lavina’s compassionate decision to bury Gabe in Reading, Adele was able to visit her beloved’s grave, just blocks from her father’s house.
Weeks later, Adele heard from Lavina that Adele’s letter had been found among Gabe’s personal effects, though it was little consolation.
Every January seventh, Adele ordered abundant flowers, which she placed on Gabe’s grave
, commemorating the day of his birth. But after a time, a shadow fell over her spirit, and her faith faltered. She spent her remaining years pining for what might have been, disappointed with God, disappointed with herself.
A hush fell over Lily’s room as she spoke the final words of the heartbreaking story. Rachel brushed tears from her face, and Philip coughed softly, composing himself as well.
“Adele rarely spoke of Gabe after his death,” said Lily. “She saved each of his letters, memorizing them over the years. They were her only link to him.”
Philip stared up at the postcard tacked neatly to the bulletin board above Lily’s head. How ironic that something so small and seemingly insignificant at first had brought the three of them together on this autumn afternoon.
When Lily’s nurse came into the room with medication, Philip and Rachel quickly stood and said their quiet thankyous and good-byes. Philip gathered up his tape recorder, wishing they might’ve had time to discuss the remarkable tale with Lily. He also wished he’d thought to ask her how she knew Adele Herr but assumed, upon further reflection, that the women had probably met while at the Millersville college or had been close teacher friends. Philip felt, however, that he and Rachel had already presumed to take up a good portion of Lily’s afternoon, and it was apparent that the retelling had taken much out of the dear woman. No, it was time to go.
Philip and Rachel settled in for the drive back to Lancaster, with Rachel sitting in the front passenger seat this time. He’d helped her get situated there after their visit with Lily, and Rachel hadn’t refused, although he didn’t think she was sure at first exactly where he’d put her. It seemed a better choice than the backseat. This way, they could talk more readily about Adele and Gabe, if they chose to.
“We should’ve asked Lily when her friend passed away and where Adele was buried as well,” Philip mentioned when they got onto one of the main roads.
“Jah, and it’s a pity, really, that Adele died without knowin’ Gabe’s answer. Receivin’ that postcard would’ve changed her life, ain’t so?”
The Postcard Page 23
