The Postcard

by Beverly Lewis

  Philip began to formulate a strategy for gathering answers to his growing list of questions. To start with, he hoped to meet with at least one of Gabe’s seven sisters. Surely, out of all those Esh women, one would have settled in the Lancaster area.

  The Old Village Store was coming up on the left-hand side of the road. The prominent sign out in front—complete with well pump adjacent to it—declared the date of establishment as 1890. The inverted U-shaped, barnlike buildings had intrigued him earlier this morning when he first drove past this stretch of road. A store with such origins might have some folk connected with it who’d known Gabe Esh or his family, someone who might be willing to direct him to the right people. Hopefully even one of the Esh sisters; perhaps one who may have had a soft spot in her heart for the young man for whom no one had cared to conduct even a memorial service.

  Susanna and her younger sister Leah were friends on two important levels. On the first and most significant, they were intimate sibling-friends; on the second, they were farmers’ wives, or at least had been once. Now that Susanna was busy running an Amish B&B, she regretted not being able to get out to near as many quilting frolics.

  On the first level, the sisters shared memories. They grew up learning the importance of patience and submission to God, the Amish church, and their elders. They sewed together, helped their mamma cook, made beds, mended their brothers’ socks, swept the kitchen, hoed the vegetable and flower gardens, washed the clothes, raked the front and side yards, and put up as many canned goods as any other hardworking sibling team around. When they got married, nothing much changed. They still worked from dawn to sunset, never stopping to rest or think of themselves. It was always “put others before yourself”—their mother’s motto for all her children, especially the girls. So they were prime examples of Mamma’s strict upbringing.

  On the second level, Susanna and Leah had given birth to a good percentage of their offspring in nearly the same months of the year, for all but two sons. (Rachel and Esther had come into the world on the exact same day, like twins carried by different mothers.) Now the two sisters enjoyed sharing stories or chatting over common gossip in each other’s kitchens, usually with a cup of black coffee or iced tea, depending on the season. Or, here lately, they might slip off into town together, stop at the Bird-in-Hand Bakery, and secretly splurge on Grandma Smucker’s giant cinnamon rolls, though they could’ve easily made some at home, had they cared to. The idea of getting out and away from what was forever expected of them was the main thing that compelled them out for a half hour here or there, especially now that most of their children were grown and gone. Leah’s two youngest girls were courtin’ age—Molly, seventeen, and Sadie Mae, nineteen—still living at home and anxiously awaiting the right carpenter’s son or farmer’s boy to ask them to “go for steady or so.”

  When Susanna and Leah weren’t planning the next quilting or apple butter frolic, they were discussing their many grandchildren, commenting on whose offspring reminded them of which brother or sister. Or, in some cases, aunts or uncles.

  But today Susanna had felt the need to make a quick run over to see Leah about something far removed from grandchildren and the like. “Somethin’ I need to tell you,” she’d said right out the minute her sister motioned her into the long, sunny kitchen.

  “You feelin’ all right?” Leah asked, her big brown eyes narrowing a bit as they met Susanna’s.

  “Never better.” Susanna fanned herself with the flap of her long apron.

  Leah pulled out a chair for her, and the two of them sat at the table with a tall glass of iced tea, eyeing each other and ready to giggle like schoolgirls. “This must be some juicy gossip I don’t know about. I’ve never seen your face so flushed.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s gossip, but what I have to tell you is mighty interesting, for sure and for certain.” Leah’s eyes brightened. “I’m all ears.”

  “Will you hear me out before you say a word?”

  Leah indicated that she would with a smile and a nod.

  Then, taking a deep breath, Susanna began to relay the conversation she’d had with Benjamin, first thing after they were up and dressed, as she couldn’t bear to wait till after the B&B guests had taken their turn at the breakfast table. “I coaxed Benjamin outside onto the back patio, and here’s what I said to him. It’s beyond me how I coulda missed somethin’ this special all this time. ’Course he wanted to know exactly what I was thinking, but I hafta tell ya, Leah, I think—and Ben agrees—that our Rachel is someone Blue Johnny’s got his eyes on.”

  Leah’s mouth dropped open. “But he’s a man in his fifties, and he ain’t even Amish, so how on earth’s that gonna work out?”

  Susanna laughed right out loud. “C’mon, now, think ’bout what I’m sayin’ here. In no way am I referrin’ to marriage. The man’s old enough to be Rachel’s father, for pity’s sake! What I’m tryin’ to tell ya is that I think she’s gonna be our next powwow doctor.”

  “Rachel is?”

  Susanna shared with her sister regarding the giftings she’d noticed in Rachel off and on her whole life. “Anyone who’s as sensitive to things like she’s always been—making herself blind and all—well, I’m tellin’ ya, she’s bound to be next. You just wait and see.”

  Leah shook her head, smiling. “And to think you’re her mother and all.”

  “Oh, don’t go giving honor where it ain’t due. It’s nothing I’ve done.”

  “You gave birth to her, didn’tcha?”

  “And eleven others, but none of the rest showed any signs of the abilities Rachel’s got.” Susanna stopped to sip some tea.

  “Well, what’s Rachel think of all this?” Leah asked, tracing the pattern on the green-checkered oilcloth.

  “The poor dear’s fightin’ her natural-born inclinations, rejecting the gifts like I’ve never seen the likes of since—”

  “Don’t tell me!” Leah blurted.

  “Jah, you know exactly who I’m talking ’bout. I’m afraid she’s an awful lot like our uncle Gabriel, except he was far more outspoken and fired up. Bold to a fault—and look where it got him. Honest to goodness, Rachel would be right content to sit in the parlor and crochet afghans most every day if it wasn’t for Annie. Someone besides me oughta tell her that courage ain’t the lack of discouragement or fear but the might to push forward in spite of it.”

  “Ach, you’re soundin’ more like a sage than a guesthouse owner.” Leah laughed, her round cheeks turning pink. “Does Annie ever coax Rachel outdoors?”

  “Jah, they were out pickin’ pumpkins over at the neighbors’ just yesterday.”

  Leah rose and freshened their drinks, then sat back down. “You don’t think she’s scared, do ya?”

  Susanna was shocked that her sister would say such a thing. “Afraid of the transference or just accepting the whole idea of being a powwower?”

  “Well, you know what folks were sayin’ back when Gabe was preachin’ all that about wickedness among the People— evil spirits in the community and all. I remember overhearing a lot of it from our parents, and honestly it makes a body think twice about some of what was going on back then . . . and still is.”

  Susanna huffed at her sister and tapped her fist on the table. “Now, you listen here and listen gut. There ain’t no way on God’s green earth that what the powwow doctors are doin’ is wrong or comin’ from the devil. They’re helping folk, plain and simple, and that’s just right fine with me.” She went on to recite the healings of Bishop Seth’s deaf greatgrandson and Caleb Yoder’s second-degree burns. Even Benjamin’s driving horses had been cured of ulcers when the local veterinarian couldn’t do anything. She knew she didn’t have to, but she reminded her sister of Lizzy’s bad rheumatism. “It’s gone for gut now, ain’t? So how could something like that be wrong?”

  Leah nodded her head slowly, and Susanna felt it was time she oughta be leavin’, now that things were back on somewhat of an even keel between them.
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br />   “Are you planning to go to Lavina’s tomorrow?” Leah wanted to know. “Some of us are gettin’ together to make applesauce, then put up some pickled beets. You could come after you serve breakfast to your guests.”

  Susanna headed for the back door. “I’ll see if Rachel wants to.”

  “Tell her Molly and Sadie are goin’.”

  Calling her good-byes over her shoulder, Susanna wondered why Leah had mentioned her unmarried daughters— Molly and Sadie Mae. The younger girls, along with all the rest of Leah’s daughters, not including Esther out in Ohio, had written Rachel off after the accident. Susanna figured she knew why, too. None of their Amish kinfolk honestly believed that Rachel’s vision problems had anything to do with the English doctors’ explanations. Some of them prob’ly thought she might be faking her blindness, yet if they lived with Rachel and saw how she shuffled through the house, reacting the way a truly blind person would, they’d know. Truth be told, she herself had tested Rachel of sorts, flicking dishrags at her every so often. But every single time Rachel never so much as blinked an eyelash. So Susanna was convinced that her daughter couldn’t see much—knew it beyond a shadow of doubt. She just had no idea why her eyes hadn’t cleared up long ago like the hospital doctor had said they would.

  Well, for now she wasn’t gonna fret over what Leah’s grown children—or hers and Benjamin’s for that matter— thought of Rachel. Leah was prob’ly laughing up a blue streak over Susanna’s idea that Rachel had inherited miracleworking powers. She’d seen the skeptical gleam in her sister’s eye. Leah would be telling Molly and Sadie Mae ’bout it, too. “Why, Susanna’s girl can’t even make herself see, so how’s she gonna heal anybody else?”

  Jah, that’s what Leah was saying about now. But Susanna didn’t much care. Her sister and all the rest of her Esh relatives— Zooks, too—just might be in for a big surprise one day. Maybe sooner than anyone expected.

  Less than forty-eight hours earlier, on Monday, Philip had been going about his life—rushing here and there, gathering information for assignments, writing rough drafts, revising them, handing them off to his line editor—in general, eking out a living the only way he knew how. But here it was Wednesday, and too much had happened for him to merely fly home with his tidy and tight feature article in hand. He’d landed the perfect story, and if he could satisfy his reporter’s curiosity and make everything fit, perhaps he would write a major spread—a human interest piece based on the postcard’s message that would surpass anything he had yet contributed. That is, if he had any success in finding one Miss Adele Herr.

  The postcard, after all, belonged to Gabe’s sweetheart, wherever she might be. He would take some extra time— between assignments—to locate the lady.

  He pulled into the designated parking area in front of the village store side of the complex of buildings and walked across to the hardware store. He noticed the large red pop machine standing to the left of the entrance and almost bought a can of soda, but he was distracted by a pay telephone with a phone book dangling on a chain on the opposite side of the door. On impulse he looked up the name Herr in the book, discovering there were almost as many listed here as in the Reading phone book. Must be a popular German name, he thought. Locating Adele Herr, especially if she had married, could take some time. While he had the book in his hands, he checked on the name Esh and discovered that that name was also common to the area.

  Closing the book, he headed inside to find the most rustic setting he’d seen in years. The hardware shop was a typical country store, complete with wood-burning fireplace and bare wood floors. Every imaginable gadget was on display— an impressive array of items—hand tools and shovels, nails, screws, and brackets of every conceivable size. Antique furniture, scattered around the store, caught his eye, and he wondered if a place like this might sell old writing desks, though he wouldn’t have thought so. Not a hardware store. But as he strolled the aisles, he decided to inquire about antique furniture as a way of striking up a conversation with one of the clerks—if he could locate one.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  He turned to see a short little man with an eager smile. “Yes, I hope you can,” Philip said. “I noticed your antiques . . . are any of them for sale?”

  “I’m sorry, but no. They’re just to give the old place some atmosphere, you know.”

  Philip glanced at the wide plank floors. As if it needs atmosphere, he thought, returning the man’s smile.

  They talked about the weather, how mild and warm it was for this late in the season—a real plus for the tourist business. “We have lots of tourist trade around here. This store’s always busy in the summer and fall. Folks like to come to Lancaster to see the leaves turn colors, you know, especially on toward October.”

  Philip asked where he might find an antique desk. “Something on the order of a rolltop. Know of anything like that?”

  The clerk scratched the back of his neck, wrinkling up his face. “Seems to me Emma had an old piece like that back a few years ago. Wouldn’t have any idea who bought it, though. You could check with her about it.”

  “Emma, you say?”

  “She’s down just a piece, off the pike here”—he was pointing east—“then south on Harvest Road. You’ll see her sign . . . says Emma’s Antique Store.”

  “Thanks, I’ll check there,” said Philip. “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know of any Amish folk named Esh around here, would you? I’m looking for one of Gabriel Esh’s sisters. I understand he had seven—two were twins. Ring a bell?”

  The man grinned from ear to ear. “Asking for Plain folk named Esh is like lookin’ for a needle in a haystack, so to say.”

  Philip nodded. “This man, Gabe Esh, was only twenty-seven when he died—nearly forty years ago. Supposedly, he was a renegade preacher.” Philip was so eager it was all he could do to restrain the flood of questions he wished to ask. The clerk held up his finger, glancing over his shoulder. “Hold on there, just a second. Let me ask someone who might know better about this.”

  Hope fading, Philip idly picked up a tiny gadget for curtain rods, hoping to blend in with the other customers. Still, dressed in slacks and sports coat, he looked every whit the part of a New York reporter. What had he been thinking to make himself so conspicuous?

  When the clerk returned, he had a thin, gray-haired woman with him. She was cheerful enough—seemed to want to help, too. “Joe, here, tells me you’re looking for the Esh sisters?”

  “Why, yes, I am.” Philip realized she was waiting for something more from him, some reason for her to offer information to a total stranger. “I’d like to talk with someone related to the late Gabriel Esh. Someone who might’ve known of his love interest, a Miss Adele Herr.”

  The woman’s eyebrows arched over her inquisitive blue eyes. “Well, in that case, I suppose you should go on over to see Martha Stoltzfus. She runs a quilting barn down off Lynwood Road. There’s a big white tourist sign out front. You can’t miss it.”

  “This Martha Stoltzfus—is she Amish?”

  “Old Order through and through. She’s one of the twins, Gabe’s youngest siblings, ’cept Mary’s gone now, like all the others.”

  “Thanks for your help,” he said. “I appreciate it very much.”

  “I’ll call Martha and let her know you’ll be stopping by sometime. She doesn’t take too well to non-Amish men, though. Just be sure and take a close look at those quilts of hers—some of the finest around Lancaster. And tell her Bertha Denlinger sent you.”

  He thanked both the woman and her short male sidekick and headed out the door, stopping to buy a can of soda on the front porch of the store. “Too easy,” he said, pulling open the can and having a long swig in celebration.

  When he returned to the car, he discovered that Stephen Flory had left a message on his cell phone’s voice mail. “How goes the investigation?” The recording revealed a strong interest in Philip’s work.

  He phoned Stephen back before pulling out
of the parking space. “I’m heading off later to an Amish quilt barn to chat with one of Gabe Esh’s sisters.”

  “So . . . you’re hot on his trail,” Stephen remarked with a slight chuckle.

  “After that puzzling postcard message, I had to know more of the story. I’ve arranged to keep my room at the B&B through Saturday.”

  “Sounds interesting, your visit with Gabe’s sister. Maybe you can fill me in sometime.” The man was more than eager to be included, and rightly so. After all, he had gone out of his way to introduce Philip to Abram Beiler yesterday afternoon— with the appropriate pay, of course—but the matter had become more than an extension of his job, it seemed. Stephen Flory was hooked.

  But Philip preferred not to be put on the spot, having to invite Stephen along to meet Martha Esh Stoltzfus, though the man was cordial enough—and fine company. He just didn’t see the need to alarm the Amishwoman needlessly with two strange men showing up at her place of business. That was one sensible excuse, at any rate. “I’ll give you a complete report, if you’d like.” It was his awkward, yet effective way of sidestepping the issue.

  Stephen seemed reluctant to hang up, and when he pressed for more details, Philip finally mentioned having been to the library, “where I discovered some interesting facts.”

  Admitting that he, too, had read and copied the obituary that morning at his place of work, Stephen demonstrated far more than a passing interest in the story behind the postcard. “Turns out one of my colleagues knows something of Gabe Esh and his precarious relationship with his family and the Old Order community. From what my friend says, the young man was more than a rebel in the community. He was outcast among his people. They out-and-out shunned him . . . and he wasn’t even a church member. How do you figure that?”