The Postcard

by Beverly Lewis

  It was Philip’s turn to be curious. “So you do have something on him?” he joked.

  “Maybe we should pool our resources.”

  “Tomorrow . . . you name the place.”

  “The Bird-in-Hand Family Restaurant has a good menu. I’ll meet you there for supper.” So it was set. The two would attempt to piece together the puzzle of Gabriel Esh’s life.

  Meanwhile, Philip needed some fresh air and a change of clothes—something casual that would give him the appearance of a relaxed sightseer instead of a journalist. He drove down the road, drinking his soda as he headed back toward the turnoff to Beechdale Road. Noticing how clear and blue the sky was, he thought it a good idea to get out and enjoy the morning. Susanna had kindly suggested the walking path through the orchard a number of times since he’d checked in. Now would be as good a time as any.

  Pulling into the lane at the Orchard Guest House, he parked the rental car on the far north side, in front of the Gift Nook just off the main house. He wondered if the boutique had been a Dawdi Haus at one time—an addition built to house aging Amish grandparents, so he’d learned.

  He turned off the ignition and shed his sports coat, heading around the side of the house, past lavender and rose-pink asters standing sentry along a path of old bricks. He was able to put a name to the large flowers because he’d heard his grandmother mention their names more than once as a boy. “Asters are as showy as can be,” she would say of her favorite annuals.

  Philip paused to take in the well-manicured back lawn, noticing an antique-style wooden wheelbarrow overflowing with red geraniums and white nasturtiums. His gaze lingered on an oval gazebo with its crested roof and vines trailing up its lathed posts in the front. Something out of Better Homes and Gardens.

  Beyond the gazebo, east of the yard, the gravel footpath beckoned to him by way of colorful pots of hybrid fuchsias— deep pinks, reds, and purples—their bright heads nodding in a row. He strolled past a white resin birdbath and decided he wouldn’t take time to change clothes before his walk. The breezes were warm and tantalizing, and he knew from having stared out the second-story bedroom window that far beyond the orchard a creek awaited him. He wanted to sit beside its banks, the way he and Grandpap had often sat when he was a young boy. Wanted to contemplate the remarkable morning, to collect his thoughts before the visit with Gabe’s sister.

  Just southeast of the B&B, farmers were cutting tobacco. Rachel didn’t have to see it to know. The smell was fondly familiar, pungent with memories of playing near the tobacco shed with Esther while their fathers and brothers worked hard to cut and store the moneymaking crop come September and October every year.

  She wanted to go walking out to Mill Creek while Mam was out visiting Aunt Leah. The creek, which ran diagonally across her father’s property, was running full due to recent rains, Dat had said at breakfast. She had never gone so far on the property and decided today was the day for some adventure.

  “Wanna go for a gut long walk?” she asked Annie, finding her cane in the umbrella stand just inside the back door.

  “Mamma? Are ya sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “But you usually say you’d rather stay inside.”

  “I know, but it’s high time I got out more,” she admitted. “Besides it’s a perfect day for a walk, ain’t so?”

  “Can we take Copper along?” Annie asked, scurrying about.

  “Not such a rowdy dog. He might lead us astray.” She laughed but meant every word.

  She heard Annie’s feet slide against the floor. “You can’t be comin’ along with us this time,” Annie was telling the dog. “You best wait till Mammi Susanna gets back. Maybe then I’ll take ya for a walk.”

  “That shouldn’t be too long now,” added Rachel. “So are we ready?”

  They headed outside, past the flagstone patio, making their way through the wide backyard toward the direction of the orchard. The grass felt cool on her bare feet, and she thrilled to the buzzing of bees and the intermittent chirping of birds, some close in trees, others farther away. “Tell me what you see, Annie.”

  “Well, there’s hardly any clouds . . . except for one tiny little one at two o’clock.”

  Rachel chuckled at her daughter’s use of the traditional time positioning to describe the cloud’s location. “Tell me what it looks like. Is it a double dip of ice cream or puffs of cotton batting?”

  Annie was laughing now. “It’s none of those things, Mamma. It’s like an upside-down tooth. Just like the tiny little tooth I lost last month. Remember?”

  “Jah, I remember.” She thought about Annie’s tooth, how easily it had come out while Annie bit into a Macintosh apple—their very own. “Now, what else do you see?”

  “Birds. There’s a robin over near the creek. Oh, we hafta be quiet . . . I think he’s taking an air bath.” She was silent, then—“Jah, that’s what he’s doing, picking away at his feathers.”

  “That’s how they clean themselves,” Rachel said, recalling her own fascination with birds, especially baby birds in the spring.

  “Hold my hand tight now, Mamma. We’re gonna cross the footbridge.”

  “Is the bridge very plain?” she asked.

  “Not so plain, really. There’s a nice wide place to walk. It’s all wooden, not painted any color—just the wood color, you know. But the best part of all is two people can walk side-by-side on this little bridge.”

  Rachel’s heart sang as she tapped her cane with one hand and gripped Annie’s hand with the other. “Can we stop in the middle?”

  “Two more steps to go . . . there.” Annie led her to the wooden railing.

  “Tell me about the creek. What’s it look like today? What color is it?” Rachel leaned on the railing, then placed her hand on her daughter’s back, feeling the restless muscles between the child’s shoulder blades.

  “It’s blue from the sky and brown from the dead leaves on either side—and it’s purple, too, all mixed up together. And there’s dancing pennies on the water, just a-floatin’ downstream. Oh, Mamma, we’d have lotsa money if I could take a bucket down there and dip it up.”

  “The pennies are really the sunshine twinkling on the creek, ain’t so?” Rachel said.

  “No . . . no. You mustn’t spoil the picture.” Annie threw her arms around her mother. “There’s pennies in there, Mamma. You should see ’em.”

  “Jah, pennies . . .” Rachel smiled. “I don’t know ’bout you today.” They stood there silently, listening to all the sounds around them.

  “Think of the prettiest place you ever saw before you couldn’t see anymore,” Annie whispered.

  “I’ve got a right gut place in mind.” Rachel thought of the time she and Esther had gone wading in the Atlantic Ocean.

  “Tell me about it,” Annie said, giggling. “I wanna know.”

  Rachel described the cold sting of the water on her bare feet, the foamy white edges of the tide as it rolled up toward her and Esther, splashing over their ankles. “It was prob’ly the pertiest place in the whole world.”

  “I wanna go to the shore someday. Do you think we could?”

  “Maybe . . .” She had no idea when that might be—if ever again—but she didn’t want to discourage her little one. The girl was filled up with a love for God’s creation.

  “Now it’s your turn. Tell me about the pertiest place you’ve ever seen.” She tickled Annie’s neck.

  But Annie stiffened just then. “Ach, there’s someone sittin’ over yonder,” she said softly. “Oh, never mind, it’s just that tall Mr. Philip. He’s over there near the creek bank, throwing twigs into the water.” Before Rachel could tell her daughter not to call to him, Annie did just that. “Hullo, there, Mr. Philip!”

  “Hi again, Annie. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  The man’s voice sounded altogether kind—not what Rachel had expected from a fancy reporter-writer. And snoop. Still, she felt terribly unsettled being out here, so far from the house, w
ith Annie calling attention to them like this.

  “It’s a right nice day, all right,” Annie replied.

  Rachel held her breath, hoping the man wouldn’t answer her this time. “Let’s head back to the house,” she whispered to Annie.

  “Take my hand, Mamma.”

  All the way back, on the dirt path through the orchard, Rachel felt uneasy. She wanted to be left alone with Annie on this, her first visit to Mill Creek and the footbridge.

  Left alone . . .

  The motto of the past two years.

  To get her mind off herself, she thought of the blue and purple creek with its dancing pennies. Annie was cute that way, describing things in such a fresh, interesting manner.

  “Denki, Annie,” she said, almost without thinking.

  “For what?”

  “For going with me on our beautiful walk. I enjoyed the creek pennies, especially.”

  “Me too, Mamma. Maybe I’ll go back and dip up some of them. Then you’ll believe they’re for real.”

  “Promise me you won’t go back there alone,” Rachel blurted.

  “I won’t go by myself. I’ll take Copper with me, if Mammi Susanna says it’s all right.”

  Rachel guessed they’d be puttin’ lunch together here before long. That would keep the girl from running back to the footbridge . . . and to Mr. Philip. Why on earth did she have to be so downright gabby with strangers? Rachel bit her lip but didn’t say a word. She figured she’d said enough already.

  All the way back through the apple trees, Rachel heard the clear song of the brook. She felt the warm, dry dirt under her feet and was ever so thankful for the day.

  He was crouched along the bank of the creek, tossing pieces of sticks into the stream, when he first noticed Annie with the young woman. They were leaning on the footbridge railing, peering into the water below. The girl was talking about the brook, it seemed, pointing and laughing.

  The woman, whom he was increasingly sure was Annie’s mother, placed her hand gently on the child’s back, eyes closed as she faced the sky. The sun on the water made tiny round jewels of light, and he noticed it especially because Annie was gesturing toward it.

  Yet his eyes were drawn back to the beautiful woman, her face still raised to the heavens. In spite of her gray dress and black apron, he found her breathtaking, and he might’ve continued to stare if it hadn’t been for Annie’s enthusiastic greeting.

  Only after he had called back to her did Philip begin to understand why the child seemed to stand so close to the woman, why Annie took the hesitant woman’s hand and guided her safely, step by step, away from the bridge and back to the orchard path.

  Annie’s mother was blind. The realization struck him hard, and he shrank from it, thinking he must be mistaken, wanting to be wrong for Annie’s sake. For her mother’s.

  Long after they’d gone, he sat beside Mill Creek, beholding brown clumps of earth as they curled around the mossy banks. He watched with pleasure the delicate shadows made by lofty maples, their yellow-green leaves trembling in a soft flurry of air, and he gazed at silver sunbeams falling atop a riffle of water on smooth gray rocks—seeing with new eyes.

  Susanna picked up the reins and called, “Hott rum!” instructing the horse to move out to the right. The path that led home was a straight strip ahead with a yellow do-not-pass line running down the middle. Stretching out flat and narrow, the road skirted the edge of the white fence that ran along Gibbons Road, where a red Amish schoolhouse stood, facing east. She relived bygone memories of having dropped off two or three of their sons at a similar one-room school on raw, wintry days while riding along with Benjamin and the boys in their horse-drawn sleigh. Oh, so many years ago.

  Roadside flower beds of orange, yellow, and red blossomed as edging along rows of cabbage or sweet corn, the typical Amish way to fancy up property borders. The bishops had no say in how a farmer’s wife “dressed” her flower gardens— couldn’t keep nature from shouting with color. Susanna smiled to herself, privy to the unspoken reason why many of her Amish neighbors chose such a profuse variety of hues. Some of the crimsons, yellows, and oranges clashed— colors they were forbidden to wear, all of them.

  Her thoughts roamed back to her conversation with Leah, then back to Rachel. How could she get her timid daughter to see the light about Blue Johnny? She could smooth the way and talk to Bishop Seth Fisher or one of their preachers about it maybe. But, no, it’d be best coming from Benjamin, though she knew he wouldn’t be one for taking sides. The man was easily persuaded when it came to his blind daughter, though he wouldn’t think of letting his partiality show, ’specially in front of his other adult children. Susanna suspected he’d had a favorite these many years. As for Annie, well, there was no getting ’round it, the child was a favorite of them both, even though Susanna wished she could do something about Rachel’s unwise, forbearing approach with the little girl.

  Making the turn onto Olde Mill Road, she waved and called a greeting to Rebekah Zook, both her neighbor and cousin by marriage, on her husband’s side. “Another nice day, ain’t so?”

  Rebekah looked up from her yellow spider mums and waved. “We could use some rain one of these days.”

  “Jah, rain,” Susanna agreed, craning her neck to peer at the blue sky out of the buggy.

  The mare bobbed her head, pulling the carriage toward home. Susanna settled back in the carriage, thinking more about Rachel, ever so glad she’d taken the time to stop by and see Leah.

  For better or worse.

  Fifteen

  The Quilt Barn was filled with handmade goods. King and queen-sized bed quilts hung from the rafters, smaller wall-hangings and samplers hung on wooden stands, and table runners of every color and shade were displayed on a number of tables, along with place mats, napkins, and potholders.

  One wall hanging especially caught Philip’s eye. It was the King James Version of one of the Scripture verses from Gabe’s postcard: He which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.

  Philip didn’t give it a second thought and went in search of something authentically Amish to take back to his sister and niece. He was playing tourist, hoping to ease his way into a chat with the owner. A bright-colored quilted apron seemed to have Janice’s name on it, and he carried it over his arm, heading for the next section of goods. He had to look longer to find something he thought Kari might like, finally settling on a faceless Amish doll, though he couldn’t be sure that Kari, knowing how she liked to embroider, might not end up making cross-stitched eyes, nose, and mouth on the doll dressed in the traditional cape dress and apron.

  When he went to pay for the items, he introduced himself to the elderly woman behind the counter. “I’m the man Bertha Denlinger sent over . . . from the hardware store,” he said, offering the woman a hearty smile.

  “She called me not long ago.”

  He waited for her to say that she was indeed Martha Stoltzfus, but she leaned hard on her cane while adding up the amounts on a small calculator. “That’ll be forty-two dollars and fifty-five cents.”

  He pulled out his wallet and paid with a fifty-dollar bill, hoping to buy some time with the woman while she made change. “Bertha Denlinger said you might be able to help me locate someone—” he paused—“if you’re Martha Esh Stoltzfus, that is.”

  She didn’t blink an eye, just looked him straight in the face and said, “Bertha should learn to speak for herself.”

  “I see,” he said, not sure how to proceed. “Well, if it’s not a good time, I can certainly come back.”

  “Come . . . go, do as you please, but I’m tellin’ ya right now, there’s nothing more to be said about my dead brother and that wicked woman of his.”

  He chose to ignore her terse remark. “How can I get in touch with Adele Herr? I have something important that belongs to her.”

  She snorted. “That woman dropped out of the picture a long time ago. Last I heard, she’s dead.”

  “Are yo
u sure about that?” He wished the question hadn’t come out sounding so brash.

  “She hasn’t been heard of since her father died of a heart attack.”

  “Her father?”

  “Jah, a Baptist minister up in Reading.”

  “Would you happen to know when Adele passed away?” he asked, softening his approach.

  “Couldn’t say.” She clammed up after that, sitting down behind the counter, still leaning on her cane, her long blue dress nearly touching the floor.

  “Uh, this may be a strange question, but why wasn’t your brother buried in Lancaster? Why Reading?” It was an assertive question, no getting around it, but he felt it might be his last stab.

  “Now, you listen here.” She’d lowered her voice, teetering forward on her chair. “We don’t make a habit of speakin’ much ’bout shunned folk—dead or alive—around here, so it’d be best now for you to be goin’.”

  “She doesn’t take too well to non-Amish men. . . .”

  “I’m sorry to have upset you, Mrs. Stoltzfus.” His attempt was met with utter silence, and for the old woman’s sake, he was glad the other customers were not within earshot.

  Rachel helped Mam clear away the lunch dishes. “I can look after the Gift Nook tonight, if you want,” she offered.

  “You sure?”

  Rachel heard the surprise in her mother’s voice. “Jah, and Annie can help me with prices and things. We’ll do that for you; give you some rest for a change.”

  “That’s right nice of you, Rachel. I think I could use a bit of peace and quiet tonight. S’been quite a morning.”

  “We had a busy morning, too,” Annie piped up.

  “Well, what’re ya waitin’ for? Let’s hear all about it,” Mam said across the table.

  “To start with, Mamma and me stripped down all the beds upstairs. We dusted and mopped and cleaned the bathrooms. Then we went walkin’ . . . clean out to the end of the footpath, to the mill bridge.”