“What’s that?”
“For all the years I’ve worked here, except the last two, Gabriel’s burial plot was covered with flowers, dozens of them . . . every year on his birthday.”
“January seventh,” Philip said, remembering the birth date on the obit.
“That’s right, in the dead of winter. I tell you it was the strangest thing to be out here plowing snow off the walkways, and there’d be all those flowers, piled up on the grave—like the first crocus of spring when it pushes up through the ice and cold.” He was nodding his head. “The oddest thing you’d ever want to see, but it wasn’t my imagination. Those flowers kept coming every year like clockwork, and then, one year, they stopped.”
“Any idea who was sending them?”
“All I know is, it was the same florist bringing them. A person in my business doesn’t overlook something like that.”
The old gentleman seemed glad to tell the name of the florist, and Philip jotted it down, thanking the man for the information. He hurried back to the car and drove several miles, following the gardener’s specific directions.
The flower shop was tiny, crowded with white flowerfilled buckets. Philip made his way through the maze, heading for the woman behind the cash register.
Except for one shopper, the place was empty. The customer’s transaction took a few minutes and was done. When the florist offered to assist him, Philip found himself studying the woman, ticking off questions in his head. Could she have been the one taking flowers to Gabe’s grave? What could she tell him about the sender?
“How may I help you, sir?” the middle-aged woman asked.
“I’m here not to purchase flowers but to ask about someone who must have been one of your faithful customers. I’m interested in knowing the name of a particular sender of large amounts of flowers. Every year, for a number of years . . . always on January seventh.”
The woman pushed her long brown hair back away from her face. “Well, I’m the new owner here. I’ve only worked the shop about two and a half years, so I’m probably not the person to help you.”
“Are you saying you have no records for someone purchasing flowers every January? For a Gabriel Esh’s grave?”
Her face brightened with recognition. “You know, that name sounds very familiar to me. If I remember correctly, the sender was a woman. . . .”
Philip had to know. “Is there any way to check on that customer? Is the former owner of this shop in the area?”
“I’m really terribly sorry. If my memory serves me well, I believe the sender was ill . . . no, possibly deceased. Yes, I believe she passed away around the time the flowers stopped being ordered.”
He felt the air go out of his chest and could not speak for the blow. With a wave of his hand, he gestured his thanks and found his way out of the shop, back to his car.
So Adele Herr was dead after all. She must have passed away the year the flowers ceased coming, just as grouchy Miss Martha Stoltzfus had said. But he hadn’t paid attention. He’d pushed ahead, determined to find Adele Herr at all costs. And here, to think she’d died two years or so ago.
I should be the one to leave . . . my Amish ways behind. . . .
The poignant message, though safely tucked away, continued to trouble Philip. He would not have the pleasure of meeting Gabe’s beloved, would not experience the joy of returning the postcard to its rightful owner.
He drove through the outskirts of Reading and made the turn onto the southbound ramp, heading back to the interstate. It was then, as he settled in for the drive to Lancaster, that he was struck with a sorrowful thought. Was it possible, could it be that Adele had breathed her last without ever laying eyes on the postcard?
Seventeen
It had been coming on toward midafternoon, and the sky was beginning to cloud up like it might rain any minute. Susanna hoped they could get home before a gully-washer descended—them without umbrellas and all.
“Smells like rain’s comin’,” Annie said from the backseat of the carriage.
“Jah, and it’s a gut thing, too. It’s been almost too warm for this time of year, ain’t?” Rachel observed.
Susanna breathed in the damp smell a-stirrin’ in the air, thinking that now might be the right time to talk to Rachel about her God-given gifts. She’d had a chance to mention it briefly to Benjamin, getting his word on the situation, and he’d given her the go-ahead. “Tell her just to be open, if nothin’ else,” he’d said. “She oughta at least think on the idea of receivin’ the healing gift from Blue Johnny, if that’s what he’s got in mind.”
So she humored her daughter a bit. “I’d hafta agree with you on the weather these past few weeks. A body hates to see it frost too early in the season, but I’m ready for a little nip in the air myself.”
They rode along quietly after that, Susanna hoping Annie might nod off and give the women a chance to talk heart-to-heart. A number of years had passed since such a thing had happened between them—back before Rachel had married Jacob Yoder and joined up with the Beachy church. It wasn’t that she and her youngest daughter didn’t have much to say to each other; ’twasn’t that at all. There was far more to it, and she ’sposed it had a lot to do with Rachel having been so close to her husband, Jacob Yoder. ’Course, she wouldn’t be one to fault the couple for having had such a bond. But it did seem mighty unusual to have a relationship like that with a man.
As for her and Benjamin, their marriage was right suitable. Ben was a gut provider, no question about that, all the years of farming an’ all. But to share her heart and soul with him would seem unnatural somehow; the furthest thing from her mind. How much easier to confide in another woman— an aunt or close female cousin—someone who truly understood how you felt, how you thought.
A light rain began to fall, coming down like a mist and without a smidgen of wind. The moisture made the vegetation along the road look greener. The leaves on the maple trees, too.
Susanna glanced over her shoulder at Annie, who had fallen asleep, sure enough. It was high time to forge ahead, and she did, opened her mouth up and got the words said right out. “Rachel, I know you may be opposed to what I wanna say, but I feel I should say it anyhow.”
Rachel didn’t move or speak, so Susanna continued. “When you were just a girl, I recognized some real special things in you, Daughter. Gifts from the almighty God, I’d say. But I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Our bishop did, too, and so did the faith healers around here, ’specially after you held that water-witching stick and it came alive in your little hands. Remember that?”
Rachel winced. “Mamma, you’re gonna talk about Blue Johnny. I know that’s what you’re workin’ up to.”
Susanna wasn’t too surprised to hear Rachel speak up so; the young woman had been throwin’ out her opinion quite freely here lately. “Blue Johnny’s only the half of it,” Susanna went on. “There’s so much more for you to consider than whether or not you should go to him about your sight. To begin with, I’m a-thinkin’ Blue Johnny has his eye on you, Rachel. I think he has you in mind to pass his healing powers to.”
Rachel frowned. “Do ya really think so?”
“Jah . . . I do.”
Her daughter was quiet for a spell. Then, “I never told you this, but Cousin Esther says powwowing is wrong—black as sin. She and Levi believe the angel of the Lord is siftin’ through families, showing certain ones ’bout sins of their ancestors. They’re even willin’ to be the only ones in the family who repent and renounce those sins. And Esther says if they hafta stand alone in this, they will.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Susanna muttered, figuring now was as gut a time to shut her mouth as any. But she sure didn’t like hearing that Esther and Levi Glick, way out there in Ohio, were the ones filling her girl’s head with this nonsense. What was the matter with them? Maybe somebody from the church here oughta set ’em straight, and if no one was up to the task, she wouldn’t think twice about volunteering.
“Esther wants
to be pure and spotless before the Lord, wants to clean house in her heart, with God’s help.” Rachel seemed too talkative all of a sudden. “Clear back through the generations of her and Levi’s families, they wanna tidy up spiritually, so to speak.”
“Well, that’s their business, I’d hafta say. Just you remember that the gift transference from one healer to another is a sacred honor. You oughta know that by now. There’s nothin’ a bit sinful ’bout it, neither.”
“But Esther says—”
“Your cousin’s wrong,” Susanna cut in. Esther this and Esther that . . . What on earth would Leah think of all this! Honestly, she hadn’t heard any such blather since her preacher-uncle was alive and causin’ an uproar amongst the People. “Seems you oughta be takin’ a closer look at yourself, Daughter.”
“What’re you sayin’?”
She sighed. “If you ask me, it’s your inclination toward the powwow gift that’s makin’ you blind.”
Rachel gasped. “How can you say such a thing?”
“I’ve hit the nail on the head, and you know it.”
Looking as if she might cry, Rachel confessed, “I’m all mixed up ’bout bein’ tried for with Blue Johnny, really I am. Esther believes one thing; you say something else altogether. I just don’t know what to think anymore.”
Susanna felt her chest tighten, and she picked up the reins. Best they be gettin’ on home. She didn’t know how much more of this she could stand to hear.
Lord o’ mercy, she thought. It was downright uncanny the way Rachel was spoutin’ off Esther’s heretical quibble— sounded like Gabriel Esh all over again, back from the dead.
Benjamin sat all of them down in the upstairs sitting room, Annie included, and read from the Bible. “ ‘These six things doth the Lord hate; yea, seven are an abomination unto him: a proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations . . .’ ” He paused for emphasis, then continued on, “ ‘. . . feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren.’ ”
Rachel was perty sure Mam had filled Dat in on the comments Esther had made about powwowing and the evil thereof, thus the reason for the impromptu Bible-reading session. And the tone of reproof in Dat’s voice.
“Can we hear the story of Samuel, when God calls to him in the temple?” Annie piped up.
“Jah, gut idea,” Susanna said.
Rachel was silent, sitting next to Annie. “It’s your inclination toward the powwow gift that’s making you blind. . . .”
Mamma was wrong about what she’d said in the buggy, coming home from Lavina’s! The more Rachel thought about it, the more Mam’s statement upset her. She felt downright fatigued after spouting off so much in the buggy, defending her cousin thataway. Jah, she felt nearly as drained as she had after holding that dowsing fork in her little hands, twenty-one years ago.
And here Dat had just read a passage in Proverbs— nothin’ whatsoever pertaining to Esther’s and Levi’s desire to forsake and repent of the past sins of their family. She truly felt she had been wrongly reprimanded, treated as a child. A Sindhaft—sinful child.
An astonishing thought crossed her mind: Had Gabriel Esh felt the selfsame way back long before she was ever born? He’d been shunned . . . but for what reason? For speaking out against sin? She had no way of knowing for sure, except for the hints Philip Bradley had dropped this morning on his way out the door.
While Dat read the Bible, she pondered these things silently.
“The Reading trip turned out to be a waste of time,” Philip told Stephen Flory as the two men opened their supper menus. “Except for meeting an elderly gentleman in the graveyard.”
“What do you mean?'' Stephen blinked with anticipation.
“The groundskeeper had an interesting tidbit about Gabe Esh. Said flowers had been delivered and put on Gabe’s grave every year on the man's birthday by the same florist shop.”
“January seventh?”
Philip smiled his answer. “Too bad I didn’t come to Pennsylvania and find the postcard two years ago.”
“Why’s that?”
“The flowers stopped coming about then.”
Stephen leaned back in the booth, his arms crossed over his chest. “Let me guess—you traced the flowers to the florist and found nothing.”
“I found something, but not what I wanted to hear.” He inhaled deeply. “Adele Herr passed away a while back, it seems.” He explained that both Gabe’s sister and the florist had indicated they were aware of Miss Herr’s death. “It’s a closed door, I’m sorry to say. And I wonder if for some reason Adele never received the postcard in the first place.”
“I’ll see if I can find her obituary. Reading, right?”
Philip hadn’t thought of doing that. “Right. Then we would know when and where she died.” He took a drink of his water. “By the way, didn’t you say you had something, from someone at your work?”
Stephen nodded slowly. “I don’t know how it would be possible to track this down, knowing how tight-lipped the Amish are, but my colleague’s friend seems to think that Gabe Esh was disowned by his father.”
“For what reason?”
“Something to do with his resistance to a powerful bishop, though I don’t know who.”
“What kind of father would renounce his only son?” Philip asked, closing his menu.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Stephen said, his face solemn.
The waitress came to take their orders. Afterward, Philip was preoccupied with the unknown circumstances surrounding the postcard and its message. More than ever, he was determined to get to the root of the story.
Susanna brought the mail inside, eyeing a tape mailer from Ohio. She assumed the package was another one of those spoken “letters” her niece and Rachel had been sending back and forth. She thought of listening to the tape first, before giving it to her daughter, but didn’t dwell on that notion, knowing she wouldn’t be able to live with herself for doing such a thing.
“Here’s something for you.” She placed the small package in Rachel’s hand.
“From Esther?”
“Must be. The postmark’s Ohio.”
Rachel’s face burst into a rainbow of a smile, and Susanna knew something was up. Then again, maybe not. Maybe the two women were just eager to correspond. It was just the idea of Esther reading all those Bible passages to Rachel that got her goat. Certain sections of Scripture were sanctioned by their bishop for use in personal reading and meditation. Seemed to her Rachel and Esther—Levi, too— had launched off on their own private exploration of God’s Word. Didn’t seem right, really. Too much like the Mennonites’ way, but she wasn’t about to consider that just now. She had enough problems of her own to take on the world, the flesh, and the devil.
Rachel decided to wait till later to listen to Esther’s tape recording. She couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed Mam might be too interested in what it had to say. She’d had enough of a run-in with her mother and felt a bit hemmed in. So she decided to wait for sleep to fall over the house before listening to Esther’s tape-letter.
She had an idea that it was time to talk with Annie about some personal things. Other things besides the fact that the child was too friendly with strangers; it seemed to her that Annie hadn’t made any big mistake by talking to the New York City writer. No, Philip Bradley came across as right trustworthy. ’Course, you could never be too sure of that, ’specially with outsiders.
What she needed to bring herself to do was tell Annie the things Rachel remembered about Jacob and Aaron. About their life together before the accident, because evidently there was really nothing else she could add to what Dat had already told his little granddaughter. It appeared to be no secret that Dat and Mam had taken it upon themselves to bring up the subject of the accident with Annie.
So tonight, just as soon as the supper dishes were washed and cleared away, she would sit dow
n with her little daughter and share with her the recollections of the wonderful-gut days. Days marked with laughter and sunshine, sounds of woodworking comin’ from the barn, and smells of sawdust on the floor. Playful bickering between brother and sister, and the life-giving movement within Rachel’s womb.
Jah, the best days of her life . . . gone forever.
The drive to the Reading cemetery had been for the express purpose of locating Gabe Esh’s tombstone, and Philip had ignored it altogether, he realized as he drove the short distance back to the Orchard Guest House B&B. There he had stood just seven rows of markers away from the Amishman’s grave. Yet he’d turned on his heels to follow the interesting but dead-end lead to the florist shop.
Why he hadn’t taken time to stop and pay his respects at the cemetery was beyond him. Now as he thought about it, he concluded that he had made an error in judgment, though at the time, it seemed the right thing to do—chasing after the unknown person responsible for yearly outpourings of love.
He wouldn’t beat himself up over it, and he dismissed it as he pulled into the B&B driveway, noticing an abundance of cars. The place is booked solid, he thought, getting out of the car and wondering what he would do tomorrow to kill some time. Perhaps a bit of sightseeing was in order. No, what he really wanted to do was pitch hay with some Amish-men. Get a feel for more things Amish.
As for tonight, he would take a fresh look at his article before retiring. With the inclusion of Annie’s Christmas tablet and colored pencils, and the addition of a strong yet heartwarming wrap-up, he was actually finished with the piece. He would email it to Bob first thing in the morning.
Heading to his room, he greeted Susanna, who forced a smile and nodded. What a difference, he thought, remembering the uncommon cordiality at the outset, followed by the more frosty treatment just hours after his arrival.
He wouldn’t let it get the best of him. The thing he most wanted to do in the time remaining was to show continued kindness to Rachel—that is, if he should meet up with her again—and to be attentive to the little girl. He felt the child had been sorely cheated by fate. No father—at least no mention of one—a blind mother, and an overbearing grandmother. Annie’s grandfather seemed disconnected to the family, though he assumed well his patriarchal position. Philip couldn’t imagine the man going fishing with Annie— if Amish children even did such things with their elders. No, Benjamin Zook took more of a passive role with his exuberant grandchild, letting the women in Annie’s life have the say-so. Yet the child displayed a sense of security and happiness. It made no sense, but then, life was rather senseless most of the time, he conceded.
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