Susanna wondered how things had gone for Rachel, going in a buggy to the Crossroad, of all things. First time in well over two years. Well, her girl was in right gut company, so to speak. ’Least there were plenty of them, seein’ as how Philip Bradley had gone, too, along with Esther and Levi.
She thought it best not to bring up the matter to Ben just yet. He’d been right quiet the past few days. Still, she’d been itchin’ to talk to him ’bout Rosemary’s account of the “deliverance” that had supposedly occurred at Seth Fisher’s.
Susanna knew she oughta pick her conflicts carefully, this one weighin’ mighty heavy on her mind. So she tilled the soil for discussion, hoping Ben wouldn’t put up too much of a fuss. “Rosemary told me ’bout the bishop’s change of heart before he died,” she said, opening the subject. “Thought maybe you and I oughta be talkin’ ’bout it, too.”
“That’s all well and gut, but I have nothin’ to add.”
“But you saw what she saw, didn’tcha?”
“‘Twasn’t a perty sight, Susie, I’m tellin’ you.”
“Well, the bishop told Rosemary that the Lord had been preparin’ him for Lavina’s visit. Now … what do ya think of that?”
Ben’s eyebrows arched high and long over his eyes. “You don’t mean it.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Well, I’ll be …”
Not permitting a delay in their conversation, she pushed onward. “Rosemary truly believes the bishop got salvation that day—and she did, too, she says … all thanks to Lavina’s prayin’ over them.”
“Could be,” Ben said.
“She’s a true and brave soul, Lavina.”
Ben nodded, his eyes beginning to glisten. “Maybe more than us all.”
Whatever that meant, Susanna didn’t much know. But she had a feelin’ that her husband had made up his mind—had formed an opinion—of what went on at the Fishers’ place. She was almost sure of it.
Benjamin looked weary, so she needed to leave off bein’ overbearing. Quickly, Susanna dropped the matter with nary another word. Later, when her husband was well rested after his nap, she’d fish some more.
Philip was right about his hunch. Rachel was discouraged, and it was a wise move to invite her on a short walk to Mill Creek beyond the house. The same location where he had first realized that Rachel could not see. He’d gone that day to soak up some sun. In the midst of flaming autumn colors, he had crouched near the stream that ran across the Zooks’ property, tossing twigs into the water. He hadn’t forgotten how beautiful the young woman was, standing there on the footbridge that spanned the banks, with little Annie guiding her mother’s every step.
Now it was his turn to lead the gentle lady whose cheeks were already pink from the cold, even though she was wrapped in a long black shawl and wearing her winter bonnet. “We won’t be gone too long,” he said, his eyes on the snowy path ahead. “I thought a short walk would do us both good.” He didn’t go on to say, “After your ordeal today.” Instead, he added, “Actually, it’s a nice excuse for us to have some time alone.”
Philip noticed that she smiled at his comment, and it gave him the nerve to continue. The weather also served to brighten things a bit, though he knew Rachel could not see the brilliance of the sun as they walked, her arm in his.
“I’ve been thinking … I want to offer to make arrangements for you to see a doctor. There are several I know in New York, and with some help from my brother-in-law, I think we could pull some strings and get you in quickly.”
She didn’t respond or react to his gesture.
“I’m willing to do anything to help you. I could even take you back to New York with me, but you’ll want to think about it, no doubt. And pray.”
“I don’t hafta think or pray,” she said softly as they made the turn toward the footbridge. “New York City is your world. I have no desire to leave here.”
He had assumed that she might turn him down, and no wonder. How would an Amishwoman—blind at that—manage in the middle of bustling Manhattan? He could hardly imagine her there.
“It was just a thought” was all he said.
“I appreciate the offer, Philip. It’s awful kind of you.”
Awful kind …
Was he? If he were truly kind, he might tell her how wonderful he thought she was. How very lovely. That her sweet and joyful spirit shone through her every action, word, and deed.
Yet if he said those things, he was unsure as to where they might lead. The truth of the matter was he did not know how to make the leap “back in time,” so to speak, from modern life to the Plain. Even if he knew that he loved Rachel enough to marry her, even then he did not know if her feelings for him were the same.
They came to the highest point of the small bridge, and turning, they leaned on the railing. He peered down at the frozen layers of ice, though he could hear the current continuing its flow far beneath the surface.
“Tell me what you see,” Rachel whispered near him.
“Sunlight and snow. And stark black tree trunks intermingled with tall evergreens.”
“Are there birds?”
“A few crows here and there.”
She sighed. “Come spring, this area is filled with birds, making nests and raisin’ their young… .”
He allowed that thought to linger in the stillness between them, not daring to spoil the moment with a reply.
But Rachel had asked him to paint word pictures for her now. And so he continued. “The sky is as blue as a still clear pond. And the clouds are like cotton balls looming in the distance, which means it might be partly cloudy tomorrow.”
She snickered. “You ain’t a weather forecaster, are you?”
“That’s one thing I’m not. Ask me about deadlines, political interviews, assigned columns, and revisions, but don’t ask me about the weather.”
“Funniest thing.”
He glanced at her and saw that she was grinning. Rachel Yoder had a subtle sense of humor, and he laughed right out loud. “I’m going to miss this place,” he declared, thinking that he could’ve gone one step further and said that he would miss her, too.
Everything had been going along just fine—even the weather was holdin’ out—until Philip said what he did ’bout missing “this place.” Once again, she wondered if he was trying to dodge the strong undercurrent between them. After all, if she felt it, surely he did, too. Yet, she couldn’t be sure how such things worked between a man and woman, really. She’d been courted by only one man in her life. And that man was now with Jesus.
She wouldn’t allow Philip’s aloof comment to get her down. Fact was, he’d invited her to go walking. Just the two of them. And sometime here soon, it was up to her to give him an answer ’bout whether or not they should have dinner together. Uncertain how she should go about bringing the subject up, she let him keep describing the sky, the fields, and the neighbor’s barn.
“You know, Rachel,” he was saying, “I believe it was Esther’s letter that spared your life the day of the accident … by blowing out of the wagon.”
“I guess you’re right, though I’ve never quite thought of it that way.”
“God kept you alive for a reason, I believe.”
She smiled. “Esther’s always said that. So has Mam. But back then, it was much easier for me to wish the Lord had seen fit to take me to heaven, too.”
“I understand why you might’ve felt that way,” Philip replied. “But now that you’ve come this far, I pray that you’ll accept the fact that God continues to be at work in your life.”
That was the dearest thing he might’ve said to her. ’Specially today. “I fully intend to see again,” she told him.
“I believe you will, too, and I won’t stop praying for your healing till you do.”
She thought it was interesting—him sayin’ such a thing. Did he mean to keep in touch with her?
“Regaining your sight is very important to me.”
There, he’d s
aid it again. So … his interest in her as a person, sighted or not, had not brought him back to Bird-in-Hand. For sure and for certain, he had come out of sympathy. Pure and simple.
“I gave my heart to Jesus a long time ago,” she said, feeling the need to say so. “It was right before Jacob and I married, and since then I’ve been learnin’ that we can’t always understand God’s timing. So when you say that my sight is important, well, I know it’s ever so much more important to God.”
It was one of the most courageous statements she’d ever made. In fact, she actually believed she was becoming a mighty confident woman, the way she’d always wanted to be.
Susanna was fully aware that her daughter had gone out for a walk with Philip, but she wondered what on earth was taking them so long. Goodness’ sake, they’d been gone twenty minutes or more. Still, the idea of the two of them together didn’t get her goat near like it might’ve when Philip had first come here.
No, she was thinkin’ more and more that she just might be able to turn him till he came ’round right, smack dab into their Plain community. ’Course, she had no idea what Benjamin would think of such a thing, havin’ a fancy-turned-Plain son-in-law and all. But it wouldn’t hurt none to ask him. Then again, she guessed she’d best wait to find out from Rachel if there was any hint of romance in the air.
Besides, she wanted to hear more from Ben ’bout the bishop’s soul-savin’ experience. Seemed to her if it was gut enough for the old bishop, maybe she—they—oughta consider it, too. She could hardly wait for her husband to wake up from his afternoon nap.
Their walk to the creek was coming to an end. Rachel could hear the sounds of the house—Copper yippin’ in the yard, people moving ’round inside.
“Have you given any thought to having dinner with me?” Philip asked.
“When must you leave?” she asked, holding tight to his arm as they walked back toward the house.
“Tomorrow morning. I have several assignments due for the magazine, and some aren’t even under way.” He paused, and they strolled in silence for a moment. “I was thinking we could go somewhere quiet this evening, if you’d like.”
She didn’t really want to prolong the agony of parting, yet how on earth could she turn this wonderful man away? “That would be real nice, havin’ dinner with you,” she said at last.
“I’ll call for reservations.” There was genuine relief in his voice.
Still, she wished he didn’t have to leave tomorrow. Or at all.
Twenty-Two
Their dinner was a quiet affair at the historic Strasburg Inn in the colonial-style Washington House Restaurant. Elegantly appointed, the dining room was warm and inviting, resplendent in soft candlelight. Philip had requested a private table upon calling in the reservation and was pleased when he and Rachel were shown to a table in front of a draped window, made even more intimate by the crackling flames in the fireplace across the room.
“It’s perfect,” he told the hostess. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy your evening,” she said with a professional air and a smile. No impolite sidelong glances here.
“Lancaster County is one of the friendliest places I’ve visited,” Philip said as they were seated.
Rachel smiled and nodded across the starched white tablecloth. “I’m not surprised. Lots of us here are Godfearin’ folk. Maybe that’s the reason. Pennsylvania got its start with people lookin’ for a place to settle and worship God in their own way.”
He hadn’t thought of that. “I remember studying about William Penn in school. He was a devout Quaker who founded this state and made a colony for his fellow church members.”
“And anyone else who wanted to join. You have a gut memory, I must say.”
“Well, you know how it is. Certain things seem to stand out.” Looking into her innocent face, sweetly aglow with candlelight, he realized anew that coming to Lancaster County and meeting Rachel would always be high on his list of “certain things.”
Rachel was ever so curious. Halfway through dinner, Philip began asking repeated questions ’bout the Plain life. Was he actually thinkin’ of joining conservative circles? Oh, she couldn’t permit herself to think such thoughts, even if they were true. Couldn’t let herself be hurt by hopin’ for a future with Philip.
Still, she listened intently, then answered to the best of her ability, all the while enjoying the wonderful-gut dinner, as delicious as any she’d ever eaten in any restaurant. Her only regret was that she wasn’t able to see the lovely surroundings, which Philip described so carefully, or … Philip himself.
What if she could see his face, smiling at her across the table? What then? Would she see God’s Spirit shinin’ out through his eyes?
Just then, he reached for her hand. “I really do want to keep in touch with you, Rachel.”
Philip’s voice and the caress of his hand made her heart leap up, and she knew she cared far too much. Oh my, ever so much! Tomorrow Philip would be leaving for New York. His home. She daresn’t let on how she felt. Wouldn’t be wise.
Rachel knew well the feeling of apprehension, and she was experiencing it now. “Wouldja mind orderin’ me some coffee?” she said in a wisp of a voice, gently pulling her hand away.
Susanna stood outside the door to her daughter’s room, deciding if she should knock or not. It was nearly too late to bother Rachel. She might even wake up Annie. Still, she had to talk to Rachel before she retired for the night.
“I hafta confess somethin’ to ya,” she whispered when Rachel opened the door a crack.
“What is it, Mam?”
“Please, will ya come downstairs?” Susanna stood in the hallway, waiting for Rachel to put on her slippers. Then she shone the lantern on the stairs as they made their way to the parlor.
“Is everything all right?” Rachel asked, frowning as she sat on the sofa.
“Oh, jah, everything’s just fine … now ’tis.” She wanted to cry and laugh all at once. But first she had to tell her daughter what had happened. “Your pop and I had ourselves a long, long talk tonight—with Esther and Levi. Right after you and Philip left, Dat opened up and told ’bout Bishop Seth’s salvation. How he’d seen God’s power reach down and deliver our leader on the bishop’s sick bed.”
“Dat said all that?”
Susanna put her hand on her chest, taking a deep breath before going on. “Seth was one of the main reasons the powwow doctoring has been goin’ so strong in the community all these years. But I ain’t telling you nothin’ new.”
“Mam, you sound awful excited,” Rachel blurted. “How can this be?”
“I’ll tell ya how.” Susanna stopped to catch her breath again, so caught up with emotion was she. “Ach, I feel so wonderful-gut just now—washed clean through. I’ve been waitin’ for you to come home so I could tell you what Dat said.”
Rachel seemed eager to hear, sitting quietly with her hands folded in her lap.
“You know how you’ve been tellin’ me, off and on, that the sins of the fathers are passed down to the third and fourth generation?”
“The Bible says so … wasn’t me, so much.”
“No … no, and that’s all right. Dat and I talked things out right gut, and I hafta say that several days ago, I listened to one of them tapes Esther sent you. Borrowed it from your room and played it … several times over.” She didn’t wait for Rachel to reply, just kept a-goin’ forward with what she had to get out before she might burst. “I wanna be ready for heaven like Bishop Seth. I wanna know my sins are forgiven, too … here on earth.”
“Mamma?”
“Jah, you heard me right. I wanna be ready when Jesus comes back to catch His bride away. Want my heart pure and clean, without any spot of sin.”
“Oh, Mam, what are ya tellin’ me?”
“That Dat said, ‘We’ve been hearing ’bout salvation full and free our whole life long—from either Gabriel Esh or some Mennonite somewheres. So we ain’t gettin’ any younger, Susie. We should’ve turned
our lives ’round back when we shunned young Gabe.’”
“Dat said that?”
“Every word. Then we prayed with Esther and Levi, followin’ all the things they said to do—repenting of the known sins of powwowing and enchantment amongst our ancestors on both sides. Our own sins, too. Then we renounced the sins, and ach, what rejoicing came over us both.”
“Oh, thank the good Lord,” Rachel whispered, leaning toward her, reaching for her hand. “Mamma, this is one of the happiest days of my life.”
Susanna scooted over next to her daughter, and they fell into each other’s arms, weeping for joy.
Rachel wanted to let the beautiful reality of the moment sink in. She certainly didn’t want to think ’bout what lay ahead for her parents. They’d be shunned, sure as anything, if they spoke out, revealing to the People the things that had happened this night. ’Course, it would depend on the new bishop and the church membership, too. But the fact that Rosemary—the bishop’s widow—had also received the gift of salvation, along with her husband, stood for quite a lot.
Here Rachel had hoped to be able to have her sight back by day’s end. Instead, she was hearin’ of the Light of God’s truth shining into the very lives of her Old Order parents. This healing miracle, in the light of eternity, was far more important than her longed-for sight.
Many thoughts whirled through her mind as she stood near her bed. Too wide awake to sleep, she relived the evening with Philip, how he’d held her hand across the table, offered to “keep in touch,” asked almost too many questions ’bout life in Amish country, and reminded her that “faith takes courage.”
She realized anew how Philip’s coming—Esther’s, too—had shown her just how much God must love her in spite of her blind state, that He invites each and every person to “see” through salvation by grace.
She pondered the divine work begun in her life, and her family’s, because of both Esther’s tapes and Adele Herr’s story of Gabe Esh. And her thoughts flew back to the very moment this afternoon when she had recalled dear Jacob dying in her arms. How full of God’s love he had been. How very precious the death of God’s children …
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