The Postcard

by Beverly Lewis

  On the other hand, there were folk in the community who seemed to enjoy prosperity and health, happy relationships with both their spouses and parents, and had their quiver full of many children. He was so intrigued by the lessons he was learning, he began to teach others, and not long after that, he discovered a column in the Budget, written by an Amish bishop in Virginia. The writer spoke out against the patterns of wickedness in the conservative communities, going so far as to say that the black deeds of sympathy healers and powwow doctors were from the bottomless pit itself. The writer’s ideas confirmed everything Gabe himself had come to believe.

  Week after week, Gabe devoured the columns by Jacob Hershberger and even wished he could go to Virginia and meet the Beachy Amish bishop. But an urgency gripped his spirit, and he began to share the liberating truth of the power of Jesus Christ to break generational bondages to all those who would listen.

  There were some in his community who wagged their tongues about the formerly shy and reticent son of John and Lydia Esh. What had happened to transform the frail boy into a self-appointed evangelist, driven and outspoken? Was it truly God’s power that had changed him?

  Bishop Seth seethed in anger at having been scorned these many years, more determined than ever to set Gabe straight on the path of his “true calling.” Now approaching his mid-fifties, Seth Fisher was more than eager to get the young man alone in a room, just the two of them. The community was ready for a young healer, someone who could carry on the gift into the next generation and beyond. John Esh’s only son was the bishop’s first choice, though he had his eye on a teenager outside the Amish community, a humble boy nicknamed Blue Johnny.

  Lavina Troyer was present, along with her mother and sisters, that warm April day the People had a barn raising at Preacher King’s place. The preacher’s barn had been destroyed by a lightning bolt six weeks before, and without the aid of telephones or email—though announcements were given in local church districts the Sunday before the scheduled event—word spread, and four hundred men from the county showed up to help build and raise a new barn in a single day.

  Gabe, too, was on hand to assist, though no longer living in his father’s house due to his unwillingness to join the church. One of his new friends, Paul Weaver, had taken him in, and together the two were working for Paul’s father in a carpenter apprenticeship.

  The women brought all kinds of food to eat, as was their custom. One church district of women brought meat loaf and white potatoes. Another group brought macaroni and cheese, bread pudding, and sweet potatoes. Other food included roast beef, chicken, ham, stewed prunes, pickled beets and eggs, doughnuts, raisins, applesauce, cake, and lemon pies. Theirs was a set dinner menu for a barn raising, and often the women had to plan ahead for up to seven hundred workers.

  So Lavina was there, along with all the women from the Bird-in-Hand Old Order district, including young Leah Stoltzfus and her sister, Susanna Zook, both women with toddlers and babes in arms.

  It was Bishop Fisher who took Gabe aside and ordered him to climb the beams and help fit the pieces together at the pinnacle of the wooden skeleton, high above the concrete foundation. Lavina pointed Gabe out to her sisters and cousins. “Watch him work,” she said of the lightweight and nimble-footed man who had confided his prayer secret to her years back. She kept her eyes focused on the young fellow dangling perilously in midair.

  Right before the nine-thirty snack break, she saw him slip and fall; watched in horror as he skimmed the long beam, breaking his downward course on something that slashed open his side. She cried out when she saw the gash give way to dark red blood. She sped across the yard to the place where he lay, now surrounded by the workers and Bishop Fisher.

  “He’s hurt awful bad!” she hollered, and one of the women held her back, though she fought them off, thin as she was.

  Gabe groaned, still conscious, holding his left side and feeling the sticky substance against his fingers. The bishop knelt beside him and placed his hand on the open wound, whispering something, though neither Gabe nor Lavina could make out what.

  “I want no powwowing done . . . on me,” Gabe managed to say.

  Bishop Fisher straightened, glaring down at him as he lay there in great agony. “Gabriel Esh, you will repeat after me: ‘Blessed wound, blessed holy hour, blessed be the virgin’s son, Jesus Christ.’ And you will repeat it three times.”

  Gabe refused. “I choose the healing power of . . . Jesus, my Lord and Savior over . . . your charms . . . and incantations.”

  This infuriated the bishop, who proceeded to place his thumb inside Gabe’s wound. “Christ’s wound was never—”

  “No! You will not pronounce . . . your witchcraft on me.” He paused to gather his strength, to breathe, though it was excruciating, every breath torturous. “In the name . . . of the Lord Jesus Christ, I command you, Bishop Fisher . . . to stop.” It was all he could do to raise his voice this way, knowing full well that he was dangerously close to death.

  The bishop bent low and whispered, “Choose to receive the blessed gift at this moment . . . or bleed to death.”

  Gabe could no longer speak, so weak was he from the loss of blood.

  “Call an ambulance!” someone shouted in the crowd. “For pity’s sake, call for help!”

  Gabe recognized Lavina’s voice and silently thanked God for his feeble-minded friend as he slipped into unconsciousness.

  Lavina was the one who ran and pulled an unsuspecting horse out of Preacher King’s barn and rode it bareback to the non-Amish neighbors’ to place the emergency call. No matter that she had done so poorly in school and didn’t have herself a beau—she could dial the operator. And she did just that, saving Gabe’s life.

  Lily stopped her story, her eyes bright with tears. “I’m sorry, I guess I got a bit emotional just now.”

  “No . . . no, that’s quite all right.” Philip was glad she’d paused from her story so he could check on his tape recorder. Sure enough, it was time to flip the tape over. Before pressing the Record button, he asked if she was feeling up to continuing.

  “If you hand me that glass of water, I think I’ll be able to go on, at least for a while.”

  Philip was glad to hear it, as he was eager for more, and promptly handed the glass to the woman. She drank slowly, taking several long sips. Then, returning the glass to Philip, she began once again.

  The Lancaster countryside was ablaze in sugar-maple reds and autumn-radiant oranges, golds, and yellow-greens the year Adele Herr filled in for Mary King, who had been the children’s Amish instructor for a little more than two years. Mary, Preacher King’s daughter, was getting married, which meant no more schoolteaching, and it was unfortunate because the students had grown attached to her.

  It didn’t take long, however, for them to switch loyalties and reattach themselves to a bright-eyed brunette woman with a jovial smile and good sense of humor. The children took it upon themselves to make Adele feel right at home, bringing jars of homemade applesauce, beans of all kinds, carrots, corn, beets, sauerkraut, and jellies. In no time, they taught their new teacher to read and speak their language, too.

  One day after school, there was a ruckus going on outside the boys’ outhouse. Thirteen-year-old Samuel Raber and his stocky younger brother, Thomas, had their fists up, ready to take each other on. Adele rushed outside to put a stop to it, but the boys were all fired up, hungry for a good scrap. “I’ll fight ya to the finish!” Samuel shouted, swinging the first blow.

  Thomas, who was about the same size, hollered back and swung, too. The two were having it out, right there near the boys’ outhouse and the tree swing.

  No amount of insistence or pleading on Adele’s part could diffuse the situation. She was ready to throw up her hands, not knowing what to do, when across the school yard a tall and slender young man came bounding toward the boys. His denim carpenter overalls exhibited a composite of sawdust and what appeared to be smudges of paint and possibly mustard. His yellow hair, cropped
around his head, peeked out from under a straw hat. “Sam . . . Tom . . . time to head on home!” the man called to them, breaking up the fight.

  Immediately, Samuel and Thomas ran toward the red schoolhouse, glancing over their shoulders as if they thought they’d better run for their lives.

  She didn’t quite know what to say to the handsome blond man, but she brushed her hands against her skirt and smiled her thanks. “That was truly amazing,” she said, finding her voice.

  He smiled back, and she noticed the apple green color of his eyes. “Those boys are my sister’s youngsters, and she asked me to come down and fetch ’em for her. They’re gut boys, really, just full of boundless energy, as you must surely know.”

  “I’ve never had any trouble with them until today,” she said, glancing at the sky. “Must be a change in weather coming. Sometimes a falling barometer does strange things to children.” She smiled back at him.

  “Well, weather or no, I’ll see to it that they don’t cause you any more bother.”

  “I’m glad you came, because I was about to have someone run and get the bishop.”

  “No . . . no, you don’t wanna do that,” he replied, his smile fading.

  She didn’t tell him that Bishop Fisher was her greatuncle— one of the reasons she was able to land the substitute teaching position. “Why not?” she asked.

  “It’s a long story.” He quickly removed his straw hat and introduced himself slowly and politely. “I’m Gabriel Esh, but my friends call me plain Gabe, and you can, too.” His gaze held hers.

  “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Gabe. My name is Adele Herr, and I’m filling in for Mary King until next spring.”

  “Ah yes, she’s to be married next month.”

  “Well, supposedly the wedding hasn’t been ‘published’ yet, but word has it she’s tying the knot with the bishop’s grandson real soon.”

  “That she is,” he said, still holding his hat in his hands. “Are you from around here?”

  “Reading’s my home, though I attended Millersville State Teachers’ College, so I’m familiar with this area.”

  Gabe nodded, smiling again. “We don’t often get outsiders to teach our children.”

  “Then I suppose I was in the right place at the right time, The Postcard though the parents and the board did scrutinize me, I must say.”

  “Warned you not to instill worldly wisdom in the minds of their offspring?”

  She was surprised. “Why yes. In fact, those were their exact words.”

  The boys emerged from the schoolhouse, carrying their lunch pails and looking as sheepish as they were besmirched. “We’re sorry, Miss Herr,” Samuel offered.

  “Jah, sorry,” said Thomas, his face beet red with embarrassment.

  Gabe said, “You boys run along now. Your pop needs your muscle power in the barn.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Herr,” called Samuel, running.

  “Good-bye, Miss Herr,” Thomas echoed.

  “You won’t be havin’ any more scuffling out of those two,” Gabe promised. He flashed a heartening smile again before excusing himself, then ran to catch up with his nephews.

  “Well, one never knows what a day will bring forth,” Adele muttered to herself, heading toward the schoolhouse steps.

  Adele had her first outing with Gabe two days later. She was twenty-six, and he one year older. Folks had said that Gabe would never settle down and marry till he found a girl who’d be willing to put up with his incessant preaching, his roaming all over the county proclaiming the Gospel. Adele was glad he was still single, because she had been waiting a long time for a man like Gabe Esh to come along and catch her fancy. Only trouble was, he had been raised on an Amish farm, and she was a refined and thoroughly modern Baptist.

  Love, they say, is blind, yet she wasn’t so sure she wanted to jump into such a peculiar relationship with both eyes closed. So she kept them wide open as they headed off north in Gabe’s open buggy, the only transportation he had, what with him still a carpenter’s apprentice, with little hope of owning a woodworking shop because of all the traveling he did.

  They spent an early evening together, that first date, walking along a wooded area. Ideal for a picnic. And what a picnic it was! Complete with every possible food a young man would enjoy; Adele had seen to that. She even asked Gabe’s sister, Nancy—the mother of Samuel and Thomas— to nose around a bit and find out what sandwiches he liked best. Turned out that beef tongue was his favorite, with plenty of Swiss cheese, mayonnaise, and lots of mustard.

  After the meal, they hiked farther into the woods, stopping to rest on a stone fence, about three feet high. The sun, sinking fast, shimmered over the rocky surface, providing a warm and cozy spot on that October eve.

  “I hope to have a place like this someday,” he said rather confidently. “It would be ideal for a spiritual retreat, where folks could come and get away from the humdrum of their lives and meet God.”

  “It’s real pretty here.” She held her breath though, hoping he wouldn’t rush things and say something about the two of them owning a place like this together. Instead, he reached for her hand and they sat in awkward silence. Several orioles flapped their wings and chirped down at them, but she paid them little heed. Her hand fit perfectly in Gabe’s, as if they were designed to fit together. Honestly, it was hard to think of anything else.

  When Gabriel stood up, she did too, and they walked hand in hand all the way into the deepest part of the forest, where red sugar maples were so high they had to crane their necks back to see the tip-tops. They laughed together, trying to catch a squirrel, though when Gabe cornered the furry gray creature and put his hand down into a tree hole, she worried that he might get bit. That was the first sign she knew she cared, possibly a little too much.

  A few days later, they went for another walk, and the day after that they drove Adele’s car to Honey Brook for hamburgers, where no one knew either of them, though folks gawked at the likes of him in his Amish getup and her in a best dress and pumps.

  After that, Gabe dropped by the schoolhouse several times a week, usually after school. He said it was to check up on the wood stove or help with anything that might need to be fixed, but, of course, there wasn’t anything needing his attention . . . except Adele herself. She struggled with her feelings toward him, wondering how such a relationship could possibly work in the long run. Yet her heart longed for his, Plain or no, and they spent joyous hours together, sharing each other’s dreams. They talked of everything under the sun, except that one painful thing, too caught up with each other to broach the chasm that kept them truly apart.

  Gabe accompanied her with the children on several snowy field trips in late November, and she observed him with the younger students, especially, noting how they seemed drawn to him. “I love the small ones,” he said later when she brought it up. “Maybe it’s ’cause I never had any little brothers or sisters—since I was the caboose.”

  It was early in December, a night when Gabe had borrowed his friend’s car for a hymn sing in Strasburg. They were listening to the radio, soft music in the background, enjoying the quietude of the moonlit evening, when Gabe said, “I don’t know if you know it, Adele, but I believe I must be fallin’ in love with you.”

  Her heart leaped at his words, yet she felt she could not return his ardent affection. Although she cared for him deeply, she could not offer him hope of more than friendship. She knew, as sure as she was a modern woman—“fancy,” as he called her—the two of them must remain merely good friends, lest they break each other’s hearts.

  Gabe was silent for the length of time it took to drive her home. When he pulled into the long, narrow lane of the Troyer farmhouse, where Adele was renting a room, Gabe stopped the car and turned to her, reaching for her hand. “I know we’ve managed to avoid talkin’ out our cultural differences, but perhaps with God’s help we could work through our future . . . together.”

  Her eyes clouded with tears. “As much as
I care for you, Gabe, as my dear, dear friend, I don’t see how we . . .” She paused, struggling with her choice of words. “Oh, Gabe, we’re worlds apart, you and I.”

  “Jah.” His eyes held her gaze. “Yet I believe the Lord surely must’ve brought us together for a purpose.”

  Adele didn’t know what to say to that. Gabe was especially sensitive to God and His ways; she knew it by observing his life and the way he truly relied on the Lord, walking wholly in tune with Him.

  “I’m glad for one thing,” she replied, fighting tears. “We’re brother and sister in the Lord, therefore we belong to each other in the family of God. You know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”

  “That if we can’t be together as husband and wife, at least our spirits are knit together in the Lord?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. It was a comfort of sorts. Still they struggled with their background differences in the weeks that preceded Christmas, never so much as exchanging an innocent hug or kiss on the cheek, though Adele secretly longed for his embrace.

  Adele did not anticipate her father’s severe reaction to her friendship with Gabe, during the Christmas holiday. Evidently, word had gotten back to Reverend Herr via Bishop Fisher that Adele was spending lots of time with one of the Amish fellows in the Bird-in-Hand area. This nearly spoiled their family celebration, especially hers and her ailing mother’s. “I suspect that you’re in love with this . . . this Plain farmer,” her father said one evening at supper.

  “Gabe and I are true friends” was all she would admit, though with each day of separation came an intense desire to see her Amish friend again.