“Well’s … why not? Your father could hear the witness same time as the bishop does.” Lavina hadn’t thought of that before, but it was an idea worth thinkin’ through.
“When wouldja wanna go?” Rachel took another sip of the tea, eyes squinted shut as if in terrible pain.
“Soon as you’re able.”
“Then I don’t know if I can, really. The pain in my head’s gonna hafta taper off a whole lot before I can think of goin’ anywhere.”
Lavina sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Have ya tried a home remedy?”
“I rubbed oil of rosemary at my temples, but the pain seems to be comin’ from deep inside my head … not like just any headache.”
“You be fearful ’bout something, Rachel?” She suspected as much.
“Well … maybe I am.” Rachel went on to tell her how she’d been praying, beseeching the Lord for her healing.
“Tryin’ too hard, maybe.”
Rachel cocked her head thoughtfully. “How could that be?”
“Rest in the Lord. Wait patiently for Him.” It was the best advice Lavina could give.
“So I shouldn’t keep remindin’ God of His promises to heal?”
“Far as I understand, you don’t hafta to remind your heavenly Father ’bout things He’s said He’d do. The same way you don’t hafta remind your dat when he says he’ll take you somewheres. Just rest, Rachel. Your healin’ will come in due time.”
If she hadn’t been in such pain, Rachel would’ve pressed the older woman. Lavina was sounding ever so much like a wise old sage of a lady, and far as she knew, there was only one woman like that ’round Lancaster County. She’d heard tell of Ella Mae Zook—one of her father’s second or third cousins once removed—who lived down in Hickory Hollow a piece. Folk in that church district often called Ella Mae the Wise Woman ’cause she seemed to have answers to life’s grittiest questions.
“Your healin’ will come in due time….”
Whoever heard? And how could Lavina know that for sure? Rachel thought long and hard ’bout it even after the kind and gentle woman took the empty teacup, with a promise to refill it, leaving Rachel alone in her room once again. But the more she thought, the more she just figured you had to be a bit slow in some areas to be as quick as Lavina Troyer was in others. Now, didn’t that beat all?
Still, she didn’t know how she could keep from reciting the biblical promises, those wonderful-gut Scriptures her cousin had sent her. How could she not pray the way Esther’s pastor had taught on the sermon tapes Rachel loved to hear?
Ach, she was ever so puzzled now. Didn’t quite know what to do, really.
Philip spied a vacant, overstuffed chair in the corner of the diminutive bookstore. He set down an armload of children’s books on the table in front of him—children’s poetry, a humorous takeoff on Noah and the Ark, a story about two Amish children who make Christmas preparations, several editions of Nancy Drew mysteries, and a collection of C. S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia. He also wanted to purchase something for Adele Herr. So many choices, so little time …
Glancing at his watch, he began to peruse the picture books and the other books he wanted to buy for Kari. He made his selections rather quickly, deciding on the set of the Lewis books for Kari and the book with the Amish setting for Annie Yoder, though he couldn’t be certain of the accuracy of dialogue and information, or how Rachel’s little girl might perceive the characters. Regardless, he would take the risk. The illustrations, after all, were quite eye-catching, and from what he remembered of Lancaster County, the artistic renderings seemed authentic enough.
He located a beautifully illustrated gift book, featuring American rural scenes, as well as a blank book for journaling—both for Adele.
On his way out of the store, purchases in hand, he spotted a pocket-size book on the bargain table with a most interesting title, Gifts of Darkness. Compelled to pick it up, he noticed that the author had been a Pennsylvania Amish preacher at one time. He was intrigued and decided, upon reading a portion of the first chapter, that he must have it for his growing collection of Plain books.
Not until he arrived home from work later in the evening did he discover the actual theme of the book. One of the chapters was entitled “White Witchcraft,” and once again Philip was reminded that there were certain dark and secret rituals occurring under the guise of faith or “sympathy” healing in many Plain communities. Other than Adele Herr’s story of Gabe Esh, he had not heard of occult practices associated with the Anabaptist people, so he read from cover to cover, not stopping until he had completed the entire book.
Most surprising was the seemingly honest approach the former Amish minister had taken in writing the book, revealing the grip of Satan in his own life, how he had been forced as a youth to “receive giftings passed down from an older female relative,” as well as his path to spiritual freedom. The author recounted the steps the Holy Spirit had led him to take in order to be released from the enemy’s stronghold.
After reading certain chapters a second time, Philip began to rethink the timing and his purchase of the book. No longer a believer in happenstance, he had recently entrusted his very life and future to the Lord. He began to pray on behalf of people everywhere who might indeed be under the “deceitful spell of the devil,” as the Amish writer had stated. Philip had no one in mind, though he wondered later, while reheating leftovers in the microwave, if what he knew of Gabe Esh’s story might have subconsciously triggered his encounter with the book.
After a light supper, he began to pack for his trip. He was eager to share his find with Adele; even wondered if Rachel Yoder had ever encountered such practices in her present-day Amish community these many years since Gabe’s death. Most remarkable were the steps to deliverance from generational curses and what the author called “familiar spirits” in families, and how to become free of bondage through the power of Jesus’ name.
He was anxious to head for Pennsylvania, now more so than ever, praying that what he had just read might be something he could share with a needy heart. He recalled the unique sermon at the Mennonite church, back in September, where his historical society contact, Stephen Flory, and wife attended. It had been the first message on spiritual warfare he’d ever heard—how to make a rock-solid covenant to truth. “The very arrows intended for God’s people shall enter into the evildoers’ own hearts, ‘and their bows shall be broken,’” the pastor had preached with reference to Psalm 37 from his unadorned pulpit in the meetinghouse.
At the time, Philip hadn’t known what to make of such a sermon. Now, since renewing his faith and studying the Bible daily, his “eyes of faith” had been opened to redemptive truths. He could see the Lord’s hand in his life so clearly these past few months and could hardly wait to share this teaching.
Closing his suitcase, he knelt beside his bed, the way he had often prayed as a boy. “Dear Lord, it has occurred to me that you have placed in my heart an urgency to minister. I cast myself on your mercy, thanking you for bringing me back to the fold. It is my desire to commit my life, one hundred percent, to your work and to your kingdom.
“As for Rachel Yoder, if it is your will, allow me to present to her the information on conversion disorder. I entrust her sight to you, as well as her future. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.”
Rachel didn’t wait till Annie was asleep to kneel at her bedside. She prayed with her daughter, her arm around her dear one. “Lord Jesus, I have never asked you for my healing in front of my little girl. But Annie knows now how much I want to see again … how badly I want to be whole, too—healed from the memory of what happened the day of the accident. She and I come before you just now, prayin’ that you’ll hear and answer our prayer.”
Annie continued, quite unexpectedly. “I don’t know how you’re gonna do it, Lord, but Mamma really wants to see what I look like now. So could you do that for her? And could you do somethin’ else, too, Lord? Could you please take away her awful headache? Amen.”<
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Rachel nodded in agreement. Jah, it would be ever so wonderful to be free of the throbbing pain, especially that intense and thorny penetrating sensation that filled her entire day. The acute, raw pain that accompanied the return of terrifying visions.
Long after Annie was tucked in, the memories continued to present themselves. A horse rearing up on its hind legs … her dear husband struggling to control the mare. Screams of children … a car horn wailing … the hideous, grating sound of the crash.
She did not reject the visions as she had in the past, but made a futile attempt to shield herself from the persistent pain that seemed to accompany them. She was willing to walk through the nightmare, through the memory. Jesus had promised to be with her—even through the valley of the shadow of death.
Wrapping her arms about herself, Rachel rose and reached out to feel the wall, locating the windows across the room. “Oh, Lord Jesus, I want to remember what happened that day,” she whispered. “Because I want to be healed … no matter what.”
But she could speak no more, for the tears threatened to fall. Determinedly, Rachel waited with open eyes, hoping to regain her sight, to witness the moon’s rise over the neighbor’s barn, to see her beautiful child who lay sleeping.
Sometime later, Rachel groped her way back to bed and crawled in, curling up under the layers of quilts. She placed both hands next to her face, as if in prayer, her knees nearly touching her chin. Then she wept softly.
Much later, Rachel thought she heard voices, possibly Mam and Dat arguing. She wished to fall asleep without pain, either emotional or physical, yet she experienced great stress at the thought of her parents’ fussing.
Getting up, she made her way down the long hallway, her hand on the wall as she counted her steps to the top of the staircase. Then, turning away from the stairs, she followed the voices and stopped well within earshot of their bedroom.
“I daresay our Rachel was the one who invited Esther and Levi home for Christmas. She wants to talk ’em into takin’ her and Annie back to Ohio with them, prob’ly,” Mam was saying.
“Well, now, how could that be?” Dat replied.
“You just see if I ain’t right.”
Dat was quiet now, and Rachel wondered if he had been talkin’ in his sleep. After all, it was much too late for her father to be carryin’ on any sort of intelligent conversation. Mam oughta know that!
“There’s more,” Susanna continued.
Rachel thought she heard something of a grunt, but she couldn’t be sure. Still, Mam persisted.
“Annie’s talkin’ like she and Rachel must’ve discussed farmin’ someday, so I’ll betcha I’m right ’bout this.”
Dat was beginning to snore. So much for a two-sided conversation. Poor Mam. She never knew when to quit!
“And … you listen here to me! Our granddaughter’s showin’ some interesting signs, I tell you, Benjamin. She might just be the next powwow doctor ’round these parts. If’n I can ever sneak her out of the house to see Blue Johnny. Or maybe Bishop Seth’s the one to see before he passes on… .”
Rachel cringed, turning on her heels. She hurried down the hall as quickly as possible, though she didn’t want to go fallin’ headlong down the stairs. That would never do!
Back in her room, she knelt at her bedside again. “Oh, Lord Jesus, I need your help tonight! I don’t even know how to pray ’bout much of what’s on my heart just now, but I believe you know and you care. And protect Annie from what Mam might be planning to do. Mam needs you ever so much, Lord. She really does… .”
Susanna waited long into the night, past her usual bedtime, to slip into Rachel’s bedroom and snatch up one of the tape recordings from Esther Glick. She’d promised herself months ago she’d never do such a thing, listening in on her daughter’s and her niece’s personal “letters” to each other. Still, she figured the Lord God heavenly Father would understand and forgive her just this once. After all, it was high time she had an inklin’ why on earth Rachel would ask Esther and Levi to return to Bird-in-Hand for Christmas.
Twelve
Lavina sat on her big feather bed—her grandmother’s ancient bed—with artwork strewn around her. Gabe’s … when he was a young boy, back when he had shown occasional signs of actually caring about his friend, who just so happened to be a girl one year older and a mite skinnier.
Studying each picture closely—one, a pencil sketch of a two-story bank barn and silo in early summer; another, a rusty water pump with a lone daisy growin’ to one side, nearest the handle. The third was her favorite—a watercolor picture of his father’s meadow in full spring, with purple and pink wild flowers and sunny yellow dandelions, too, all colorful and eye pleasin’. She’d decided she wanted to take them—or at least color copies of them—along to show Adele the next time she and Rachel paid a visit.
Next time? Well, she was hopin’ she could get Rachel to go again real soon. Maybe even for the nursing home’s Christmas program. After all, sounded to her like Adele was going to invite Philip Bradley—the man whose name had caused Rachel to blush red as a ripe tomato. Jah, he was prob’ly coming down from New York for the special program. Sure as anything, made sense to get Rachel back there, too. That is, if she could bring up the idea without Rachel ’specting something was up.
For sure, she didn’t much wanna be playin’ matchmaker. She’d come mighty close to urgin’ young Adele to return to Bird-in-Hand one summer forty-some years ago, just weeks before Gabe was killed in a car accident. Still, she knew without question that the English school-teacher had dearly loved Gabe, without a smidgen of help or matchmakin’ from an old maid, let alone a woman with only half her wits.
Carefully she gathered up Gabe’s drawings, setting aside her three favorites. She wouldn’t risk losing them; couldn’t part with ’em, either. She would drive horse and buggy over to her married brother’s place—he had a copy machine in back of his woodworking shop. Color copies would make a right nice Christmas gift for her friend. And ’twould be a gut excuse to return to the Reading nursing home … with Rachel Yoder.
She couldn’t help but snicker as she headed to the hall closet to put on her warmest coat, artwork in hand.
The next day, Lavina made a point of goin’ to see Rachel. Mainly it was to show little Annie the perty drawings Gabe had made so long ago. There was another purpose in her visit, though. She wanted to chat with Ben Zook ’bout accompanying her to see Bishop Seth Fisher, who folks were sayin’ here lately was real bad sick with flu and other complications.
“High time he hears from me ’bout my shunning,” she said as she sat in the Zooks’ parlor, with both Susanna and Ben sharing a couch across from her. “‘Least ’fore he dies, I believe I oughta go.”
Ben put down his paper, looking over his glasses at her. “Well, now, I wouldn’t be opposed to such a thing. That is, if you’re goin’ there to repent.” He paused, his frown growing deeper by the second.
Susanna spoke up. “That is what you had in mind, ain’t?”
Lavina felt flustered all of a sudden. She’d come to ask a favor, and Benjamin and his wife were puttin’ her on the spot. “There’s somethin’ else I best be doing, too.” She didn’t go on to say that Rachel had agreed to go with her—to witness to the old bishop—but now that seemed out of the question, what with Rachel sufferin’ so with crippling headaches.
Ben’s face seemed even more ruddy than she’d remembered, but she figured it was due to the fact that he was vexed. She could be wrong, but she thought the color creepin’ up in his neck and face prob’ly was just that.
His fingers worked up and down his tan suspenders, makin’ her even more nervous. “Well, Cousin, what is it?” he pressed for her answer. “What’s it ya wanna do?”
Avoiding his serious gaze, Lavina was wishin’ she’d left well enough alone. Still, she believed God wanted her to speak to Bishop Seth. “Has the Lord God heavenly Father ever put somethin’ strong in your heart, so powerful-strong you knew you best d
o something ’bout it?” Lavina managed to say as she sat there on Susanna’s brown tufted settee.
Ben’s face broke into a most pleasant smile, and for a moment she was relieved. “Why, sure He has, and I can tell you ’bout one of them times, too. It was back when Seth Fisher was one of our preachers and had just been chosen by lot to be our bishop.” He stopped, inhaling slow and easy, as though he was enjoying the recollection. “I was no more than ten years old, seems to me.”
Lavina wondered how old the bishop had been at the time, but she didn’t have to wait more than a second to find out.
Ben continued. “Seth Fisher was close to forty years old, and one of our ordained preachers, when I felt led of God to help out the church’s new leader … or soon to be.”
Susanna’s eyes were fixed on her man, prob’ly having heard this tale many a time. She nodded her head, listenin’ like Lavina had never witnessed before, ’specially since Susanna Zook was known to be frisky at times, and quite a talker, on top o’ that.
“Jah, I was just a boy when I assisted the man of God by hangin’ a small bag of ingredients ’round a sick horse’s neck. I watched Seth Fisher cure my uncle’s best drivin’ horse thataway.”
Lavina wasn’t too surprised to hear this. Plenty of youngsters had been eager to help the bishop—or anyone who had “magical powers”—down through the years.
“You can imagine my surprise when I thought he wasn’t lookin’, and I peeked into that there little burlap bag.” Ben’s smile was contagious, and Susanna was grinning, too. “I found nothin’ but a handful of sawdust mixed with oats, of all things!”
“Still, the horse was cured,” Susanna pointed out.
Lavina didn’t think Ben’s boyhood tale had much to do with being led of God, but she sure wasn’t going to argue. Just listened, waiting for the man to agree or disagree about going with her to talk to the respected bishop. One of the two.
It was after Annie came into the parlor, telling Susanna that her mamma wanted to “talk to Lavina,” that she remembered the drawings. “I’ve got something right nice to show you,” Lavina said, getting up and heading for the stairs.
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