The Crossroad

by Beverly Lewis

  “Your little boy knew you loved him. I’m sure he did.”

  “Oh jah, he most certainly knew,” she said, the strangest feeling comin’ over her now. “I can’t change a thing by talking ’bout it, but I just know it’s better for me not to hold all those memories inside any longer.”

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  “Most everything, jah, except after the car hit the wagon. I don’t remember much at all after that.” And she’d told no one ’cept Lavina the extent of the horrendous pain she’d endured this week—days of ceaseless headaches, stabbing pain through her skull. With the memories and the acceptance of them, though, the headaches had gone away completely. At last.

  Now she was anticipating the next step on the road to healing. Her sight must surely return. Oh, she was ever so hopeful!

  “I had wanted to be able to share some of the information I gathered … with the possibility that it might help you see again, Rachel.” Philip trod gently, trusting she would understand that his research was meant to be helpful, not pushy. “I prayed that the Lord would guide me to know what to do.” He went on to tell her he’d thought of contacting Lavina, sending the materials to her.

  “Well, it’s a gut thing you came, ’cause Lavina’s reading skills are a bit limited, I must say.”

  He smiled at her insight. “You’re right. I’m glad we could visit.” He sighed, thinking how relaxing it was to be in her company again. Rachel Yoder was a pure breath of fresh air. She had it all over the erudite women he worked with, and though they were articulate, witty, and climbing the success ladder, they lacked Rachel’s simple and refreshing common sense, her ability to perceive the world in an uncomplicated way. No wonder he’d thought of her off and on all these weeks.

  He wondered what Adele would say about his bringing Rachel along to visit her on Christmas night. She was a wise one, his seasoned friend. No doubt she would suspect there was something happening between him and this beautiful Plain woman. But more important than initiating a romantic situation—out of the question entirely—his true goal was to help Rachel accomplish her own objective: regaining her sight. But he wouldn’t interfere in her life while doing so. It was a fine line he must walk in his pursuit of Rachel’s wholeness and ultimate healing.

  So he would. But in the interim, he would continue to pray for God’s leading.

  Rachel waited in the car while Philip checked out of his room at the Reading inn. She found herself becoming giddy at the thought that they were to share the evening with Adele, enjoying a Christmas program, of all things. She’d always enjoyed music played on instruments but hadn’t been much exposed to it in church or ’round the community. Amishfolk relied more on human voices for their music of worship. But to think that she would be hearin’ a quartet of stringed instruments with Philip at her side, well, that thought made her as joyful as she’d been in two long years. Jah, she was perty sure this night would be most exciting.

  Opening the German family Bible, Susanna read the words she’d first heard on Esther’s tape: Our fathers have sinned, and are not; and we have borne their iniquities.

  Our fathers have sinned… .

  She paused, thinking ’bout such a Scripture. How could it be that the sins of the fathers were passed down through the family? Through the bloodline?

  We have borne their iniquities… .

  She closed the Bible, wondering. Yet here it was, stated ever so clearly in God’s Word. Right there in Lamentations—the Old Testament, of all things. She knew their preachers much preferred to admonish them from the Old Testament. Still, in all her days, she’d never heard a single sermon on any of the verses Esther had talked about on her tape to Rachel. Not one time. And why was that?

  ’Course, she’d be asking Benjamin ’bout this just as soon as possible. Right now the house was quiet and peaceful, what with Annie asleep and all of Leah’s grand-youngsters finally gone, too. Ben would be snorin’ up a storm here before long. The thought never crossed her mind to talk to Leah ’bout any of this. No, Leah was actin’ awful strange these days. My goodness, for her sister to question the validity of the powwow doctors. Why, it was beyond her what would make Leah say such a thing. She knew better. ’Least, she oughta by now. Leah had lived a gut long time here in Bird-in-Hand, for goodness’ sake—same as Susanna. Folks living ’round here had the sense to believe in what they’d been taught. Down through the years, comin’ straight from their fathers’ lips and their grandfathers before them.

  The sins of the fathers …

  The words stuck in her head as she outened the lantern and slipped into bed. Her silent rote prayers seemed awful heavy this night, like stones weighting her down. And she didn’t understand why, really, but she began to weep into her feather pillow, wishing she didn’t feel this way—not on the night of the celebration of Jesus’ birth.

  “I do believe the Lord has His guiding hand on that young Englischer, Philip Bradley,” Levi said as he and Esther prepared to retire for the night.

  “Jah, I feel the same way,” Esther replied. “That’s the reason I encouraged Rachel to go along with him to Reading.”

  “I thought so.” He paused, weighing his words. “I’m thinkin’ it’s a gut idea that Philip goes with us over to the Crossroad tomorrow … the four of us together.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Let’s just be prayerful as we take the horse and buggy down North Ronks Road. The Lord’s impressed on me that this trip is necessary for more than Rachel’s memory.”

  “Oh?”

  “I believe Philip, too, has a need to make such a journey.” He watched as Esther stood at the dresser, brushing her long flowing hair, without the prayer veiling. His wife’s hair, thick and dark, was her glory, meant to be shared only with him.

  Esther put down the brush and crossed the room to turn down the bed quilts. “I believe something else, too,” she said softly.

  “What’s that, dear?”

  “Rachel’s falling in love again.”

  Levi didn’t quite know what to make of that. Could be Esther was so in tune to her cousin, so close to her, that she could rightly make such a statement. As for himself, he could only pray that God would guide and direct his wife’s blind and widowed cousin. Surely the Lord had a plan for Rachel Yoder’s life, as well.

  Rosemary Fisher sent for her grown children and grandchildren. The great-grandchildren, too. Clear as anything, the bishop was dying, and on Christmas of all things. It was like a blessed sign, and she sat near the bed, whispering a prayer as Seth’s eyes fluttered.

  “There’s something I hafta say, Rosie” came her husband’s words. With great effort, he began to reveal the truth behind the many hexes he’d put on folk during his lifetime. But it was Gabe Esh’s death that troubled him most.

  “Gabriel was one of us… .” Her dear, dear Seth struggled to breathe. “Mighty cruel … I was.”

  “The Lord God’s forgiven you.” She touched his brow, beaded with perspiration. “No need to struggle anymore.”

  He shook his head, making a futile effort to sit up. “I was bent on seeing Gabe dead … full up with loathing, I was. Wanted revenge … he turned his back on me.” Weeping, he continued. “Don’tcha see, Rosie? Gabe never would’ve died that day, but I … I called up the spirits of darkness … enchantments against an innocent man.”

  His tears fell freely as he told, for the first time, how he’d seen a dusky vision of Gabe and a Mennonite friend, riding in a car toward Gordonville. How the accident took place just before the preaching service. “Just as I conjured it up to be.”

  “Ach, dear, must ya go on so?”

  His voice was but a whisper now. “It wasn’t God showin’ me them things that night. No, I sold out to the devil.”

  She listened, gripped by his sorrowful confession.

  “And all because of a grudge,” he murmured, his eyes pleading pools, searching hers. “Will you forgive me, Rosie, for my wicked ways?”

  B
rushing tears from her eyes, she nodded. “‘Course I forgive you, and … so will the People.”

  He gripped her hand. “Tell them for me, will ya?”

  Kissing his cheek, she felt his hand go limp in hers. “Jah, they’ll hear the truth. I promise ya that.”

  Then, closing his eyes for the last time, her Seth—the People’s bishop—passed through Glory’s gate with a smile on his lips.

  Seventeen

  Adele Herr seemed pleasantly surprised to see Rachel again, and Rachel, too, was delighted to spend time with the woman who might’ve become her great-aunt had Gabe Esh lived … and had Adele agreed to marry the young Amishman.

  The nursing home Christmas program was highly enjoyable, and as she sat with Philip and Adele, Rachel found herself wishing the evening might stay young, that it might not end. She was having such a wonderful-gut time here with her friends, listening to all the different musical groups, even though neither of her friends was Plain. Yet it didn’t seem to matter. She felt right at home with Philip and Adele because they belonged to the Lord.

  After the program came refreshments. Philip offered to get her some punch and cake, but she had not become accustomed to being waited on, in spite of her disability. So she went with him to the table, accepting his arm to guide her.

  Walking slowly together, she recalled his cologne, that subtle scent that had first caught her senses off guard the day they’d strolled together in the cemetery, searching for Gabe Esh’s gravestone. She felt now, as she had then, that Philip’s coming had given her great courage. The pluck she’d always sought for—her whole life—and had never quite found. It wasn’t something as frivolous as the smell of nice cologne on a considerate man—oh no, it was far more than that!

  “Would you care for white or chocolate cake?” Philip asked.

  She had to smile. He would have no way of knowing that she could smell the different choices from where she stood. “Chocolate, please,” she said, allowing him to serve her, at least for the moment.

  “Mints?”

  “Thank you.”

  They made their way back to Adele, through the crowded room, together. Rachel carried her cake plate in one hand, the other tucked under Philip’s strong arm. She’d had oh so many lovely dreams of walking with Philip this way, yet she’d never allowed herself to think twice ’bout ever spending more time with him.

  Philip got her situated in a comfortable chair, then excused himself, leaving her alone with Adele, preparing to fill the older woman’s order for white cake. “No punch, please,” Adele insisted.

  He chuckled at the comment. “Surely you’d like something to drink.”

  “Oh, I’ll have my hot tea if there is any—”

  “I’ll locate some if I have to brew it myself.” And Philip was off.

  One bite of the chocolate cake, and Rachel recognized it as store bought. What a difference between her own German sweet chocolate cake and the artificial taste of this dessert. ’Course, it should not be so surprising, as she sensed that not a stitch of butter had been put in the mixture. In all likelihood, this cake was straight out of a box. Still, she wouldn’t think of saying so out loud. She could only imagine Mam’s sentiments after biting into such a flat and disappointing pastry. She listened to the chatter of the patients in attendance, glad that Adele had, indeed, shared the homemade cookies both Rachel and Lavina had lovingly baked and brought days before.

  Adele was content to sit quietly, and Rachel assumed that the older woman was tired from the long day, prob’ly. So she allowed her thoughts to drift back to the days when she was first learnin’ to bake alongside her mamma. Amish mothers were bound and determined to pass on domestic skills to their young daughters just as soon as a little girl could hold a measuring spoon right steady. Being close to four years old, often she had to be called in from outside, where she loved to feed the ducks down by the pond. Oh, the happy, noisy creatures were always eager for day-old bread crumbs. They would come right up close to where she and Dawdi David crouched in the tall grass.

  “Lookee there at how hungry they are,” her grandfather would say nearly in a whisper.

  “What do they eat when we ain’t here?” she had asked, peering down at the smallest ducklings.

  “Ah, the Lord God heavenly Father watches out for ’em. You don’t hafta worry ’bout that.”

  “But what do they eat?” she’d insisted.

  “Bugs.”

  “Where from?”

  “Floatin’ on the surface of the water.” And he’d pointed, sayin’, “You’ll see ’um if ya look hard enough.”

  Rachel scanned the pond, tryin’ ever so hard to see the dead flies, mosquitoes, and whatnot. Ach, she hated the thought of the perty little downy ducks havin’ to eat such awful-tastin’ things as bugs. And she knew just how nasty they were, too, ’cause one of her big brothers had tricked her into eating an ant once. He’d rolled it in sugar, sprinkled cinnamon in his hand, and told her it was candy. But once the sweetness melted away in her mouth, she knew it wasn’t no candy.

  When she tried to bapple—tattle—on her brother, Mamma just shooed her off, back outside to Dawdi, who was always waitin’ patiently for her to come and tell him all her troubles.

  Dawdi David Zook was the quietest man she’d ever known, and she figured that’s why she liked to feed the ducks with him. He was so silent the ducks came right up close, as if they weren’t afraid of them—Dawdi or Rachel—neither one.

  Till the summer she was ten, Dawdi lived in the Dawdi Haus, built on to the main house, after Rachel’s grandmother passed on to glory. And every single day, if it wasn’t rainin’, he’d gladly hike down to the pond with Rachel. Fact is, they went every day till the day he died.

  Every so often he’d come out with what young Rachel decided then and there were wonderful-gut, important words ’bout life. She figured he wouldn’t be ’round forever, and he prepared her for his passing by talkin’ ever so softly—and joyfully—’bout heaven, “where Jesus is.” He once told her that he “sneak-read” his Bible—from cover to cover in less than a year. “But that’s my secret,” he’d said with a serious look on his old, wrinkled-up face.

  She had wondered then why such a thing had to be kept quiet, but she grew up to find out later. The Old Order preachers used select Scripture passages repeatedly, Sunday after Sunday. “Old favorites,” Dawdi would say sometimes as he sat in the high grass, a stone’s throw from the pond. Seems they didn’t want the People reading the whole Bible on their own and tryin’ to interpret the passages the way the Mennonites liked to do.

  “Jah” was all Rachel would say whenever Dawdi whispered things like that, just enjoying her oldest living relative and the sounds of nature all ’round them.

  So the outdoors was the place to be for her when she was but a young girl. Still was, ’cept now she wasn’t free to run through the meadowland or the woods as she had when she was sighted. But, Lord willin’, that was all ’bout to change. Come tomorrow.

  When Philip returned with cake and tea for Adele, he asked Rachel if she’d enjoyed the music.

  “It was wonderful-gut, jah.”

  “The string quartet reminded me of the kind of music there will surely be in heaven,” Adele remarked.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Philip said. “But please don’t plan on going anytime soon, all right?”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” Adele said, making a high-pitched clucking sound.

  “You’re feeling much better, ain’t?” Rachel said, knowing it sure as anything.

  “Why, yes, I believe I am, dear.”

  Rachel couldn’t be sure, of course, but she thought Philip’s eyes were on her just now. She wondered if he would talk more to her ’bout her sight problems on the drive home. Or would they talk of other things, maybe?

  As much as she enjoyed visiting here with Adele Herr, she was actually anticipating the drive home, having Philip’s attention all to herself. And even though she’d always
been taught not to crave such attention, she did not think it displeasing to God—the way she felt just now.

  Philip was reluctant to leave Rachel in the waiting area, but he wanted to assist the nurse in taking Adele back to her room. And he wished to have a few minutes alone with his dear friend.

  “I believe you’re fond of Rachel Yoder,” Adele said when she was settled into her chair. “I see it in your eyes.”

  He didn’t quite know how to respond. The truth was, Philip didn’t know how he felt about Rachel, how he should feel. “I think you must be seeing things,” he said at last, laughing off her comment.

  “Well, I see what I see.”

  “If I can help Rachel regain her sight, that would be my greatest joy.” He didn’t reveal to Adele that he had invited himself to ride along in a horse and buggy to the Crossroad tomorrow afternoon. Adele might read too much into it. He was content to say nothing about his plans for the Lord’s Day. Second Christmas, as Rachel had called it.

  “You can say what you like, Philip, but I wonder if the same thing is happening between you and Rachel as happened with Gabe and me.” She paused a moment, then continued. “I don’t mean to sound bold, but do pray about Rachel. See what God has in store. Don’t make my mistake and miss out on the love of a lifetime.”

  Adele’s words took him by surprise. How she would have perceived any sort of emotional attachment between him and Rachel was puzzling, at best. But then, his own sister had questioned him on various occasions in her curious, off-the-cuff style.

  So what was it that people sensed in him? His joyful countenance? His increased energy? A spring in his step? All of the above?

  Philip had thought he was in love before, years ago, but things were completely different with him at that time. Surely, his feelings for Rachel Yoder were purely friendship, admiration. Nothing more. Certainly nothing on which to build a home.