The Crossroad

by Beverly Lewis

  But what was he to do about it? Call Rachel when he arrived back in New York? Perhaps have a cordial chat on New Year’s Eve? Start a letter-writing relationship? What?

  All of us, at one time or another, must make a choice. The words Adele had written to him nipped his memory.

  Turning on the radio, he was grateful for a Christian music station, hoping to drown out speculation. Wasn’t it enough that he’d gone out of his way to demonstrate his caring—his keen interest in her well-being, wanting to help her see again? How many modern men would offer to take an Amishwoman to New York City, of all places? He’d stuck his neck out in making a ridiculous overture. The fact that she’d turned him down flat was probably a very good thing. And sensible.

  Sure, he could admit that he cared for Rachel. This far removed from the Orchard Guest House B&B, he could. Safely en route to rent a trailer and journey home, he could. Philip knew, too, that she just assumed she’d never see him again, most likely. And rightly so. After all, he had refrained from declaring his love. Had not even made an attempt. Yet he had thought of her—missed her—nearly every waking minute from their first encounter until the present visit.

  So … what significant things had kept him from proclaiming his love? His writing career, his parents, his sister and family—all these had definitely played a part in holding him back. Yet as he contemplated his mental list, he knew big city life was not consequential to him; rather, the contrary. His parents and Janice, Ken, and Kari would expect him to marry at some point. Possibly move away, as well. So they were not a hindrance.

  New York had always been home. It represented all that he really knew. Haggling over who would snag the next cover story or feature piece. Flying in and out of foreign countries to interview ambassadors and political leaders. Frantically sketching out rough drafts, rewriting, revising—all to meet some crucial deadline. Climbing the corporate ladder to yet another level of stress and strain. Never having time to stop and breathe in the sweet fragrance of life. Worst of all, regularly lamenting the time spent in jockeying to achieve what society deemed success.

  Sighing, he thought again of Adele and Gabe, how they had belonged together, yet sadly missed each other. Due to what? Adele’s reluctance? Perhaps. But there was more to it, and he knew precisely what that was. Adele had been unwilling to face her need of Gabe, that he was the only man who could occupy that cherished place in her life. The only one. And she had been too reluctant to make the leap.

  “Fear is the opposite of faith,” Levi Glick had said on more than one occasion.

  Philip turned up the volume on the dash radio, listening to a choral rendition of the old hymn “I Surrender All.” He had always enjoyed the pure, uncomplicated melody, even as a boy, but today the lyrics caught his attention most of all.

  By song’s end, he found himself humming … then singing, even after the music had ended. “All to Jesus I surrender, humbly at His feet I bow. Worldly pleasures all forsaken …”

  In the quietude, hearing his lone baritone voice fill the car, he sang out the words of joyous inspiration and surrender. And as he sang, he knew that he was in love with—dearly loved—Rachel Yoder. Without a shred of doubt. She was the woman in his life, the one woman who could complete him, fill his heart with the kind of simple joy he longed for. She was his heart mate, and he longed to tell her so.

  Slowing the car at Anderson’s Bakery, he turned around and headed east again, past the sleepy hamlets of Witmer and Smoketown, away from Lancaster City to Bird-in-Hand. And he felt truly happy. Never so blessed with a realization in all his life.

  The bishop’s funeral wasn’t such a sorrowful thing, really. Not for Rachel and her family. Many of the Plain folk in attendance had known Seth Fisher for well over fifty years—from the time he’d begun his leadership work in the area. Many, too, had already heard of his so-called transformation … at life’s end, of all things.

  Because she was so jubilant about her healing, Rachel had gone along with her parents to the funeral to pay her respects to the man whose death, in all likelihood, would bring change to the Amish church. On the way, they passed the intersection of the Crossroad, and she took in all the sights without a single qualm or jitter. In the future, they would save much time on buggy trips to Intercourse, Gordonville, and farther east to see friends and distant relatives. She had much to be thankful for.

  Well over five hundred Amish mourners attended the funeral, held at the bishop’s old farmhouse. Lasting three hours, the service was steeped in tradition and form. But it was the talk afterward among the People that encouraged Rachel most, just knowin’ how fast the word was spreading ’bout Seth’s salvation experience, as well as her sight regained!

  Rachel spied Blue Johnny in the throng and was somewhat startled to see him. Still, he had every right to be here, and it made sense that he would come, really. After all, Seth Fisher had chosen him when Gabe rejected the status of powwow doctor more than forty years ago.

  She excused herself from Mam and Annie, as they stood outside bundled up in layers against the elements, waiting for the coffin to be moved from the front room of the bishop’s farmhouse to the long white porch—for viewing purposes. Dat and Levi stood nearby, giving her even more confidence.

  Working her way through the crowd of mourners, she soon found herself standing near enough to whisper to the man who’d repeatedly pursued her to pass on his healin’ gifts. “Excuse me.”

  Blue Johnny turned and looked at her, his face not recording surprise, but rather glee. “Well, if it’s not Rachel Yoder. Now … didn’t I say you’d come lookin’ for me someday?”

  “You may have said it, but that ain’t why I’m here.” Rachel looked him straight in the face, praying silently for wisdom. “I’ve been healed by the power of God. I don’t need evil powers to make me see. And I believe you, too, must surely be searchin’ deep down in your heart for the truth … just like most everybody else I know ’round here.” She inhaled, holding her breath for a second, then pressing on. “Seth Fisher got delivered of the devil’s gift before he died. And if you don’t believe it, you can talk to Rosemary, his widow.” She stopped and pointed toward the house, to Seth’s frail wife just now coming out onto the porch. “Just ask Rosie what God told the bishop on his deathbed.”

  His dark eyes grew more serious. “I’ve heard tell—bits and pieces—of what went on. Hard to believe a simpleton could influence a mighty man like that, I daresay.”

  “Well, the Lord says in His Word, ‘A little child shall lead them.’ So I s’pose then you hafta have that kind of childlike faith to enter the kingdom of heaven.”

  His head tilted a bit to one side, and by the somber look on his haggard face, she wondered if he might be paying some heed to what she was sayin’. “Jesus can set you free of powwowing, too. You don’t hafta die in your sins, Blue Johnny. You can turn your back on what the devil’s been after you to do all these years.”

  He blinked his eyes like he was right nervous now. “Been hearin’ this all my life from one Bible thumper or another. Thing is, most folk look on me and my black box as a powerful-good miracle worker.” He lifted his hand to scratch under his hat. “But never has an Amishwoman talked to me the way you are.”

  Rachel shook her head. “I’m not a preacher, if that’s what you’re thinkin’, but I’m servin’ the Lord in whatever way I can. If talking to you ’bout God and His Word is part of that callin’, well, then, I’m ever so glad to do it.”

  Blue Johnny grimaced, saying nothing.

  The bishop’s body was being brought out in a long poplar coffin, wider at the shoulders and tapered toward the feet. Time for the final viewing.

  “I’ll be prayin’ for you, Blue Johnny.”

  “Praying … for me?” His eyes were pools of wonder.

  Rachel nodded. “Jah, I will.”

  He didn’t offer a smile but gave yet another dip of his bushy-haired head.

  No one was home when Philip returned to the Amish B&
B. And though he tried the door and found it to be open, he nevertheless chose to remain outside until the Zooks and Rachel returned. He sat on the front porch for nearly thirty minutes, his feet and hands growing numb with cold, so he returned to his car, waiting with great anticipation.

  Glancing at the digital dash clock, he decided to give Rachel and her family another half hour. If they didn’t arrive home by then, he would leave a note for Rachel. I must talk to you, my dearest, it might say. He would post it in plain sight on the storm door—so either Benjamin or Susanna would be sure to notice it as they entered. He would be taking a risk of such a note ever finding its way into Rachel’s hands, though. She might not be told of his message at all.

  Sitting in the luxury of his warm car, he thought back to various conversations with Rachel, especially their last dinner together, when they’d discussed their differences at length. He considered his life as a future Amishman. Would he miss the many technological conveniences he was accustomed to? Would the Plain life be stimulating enough for his active mind? And what if he tired of the simple ways—would he long to return to the big city, regretting his decision to join the Anabaptist community?

  But no, there was only Rachel for him—she was the answer to his heart’s cry. Plain or not, she was his sweetheart. And whatever it took, he would leap the chasm that had separated them.

  Don’t make my mistake, Adele had warned, referring to herself and Gabe Esh. So Philip had benefited greatly from Adele’s story—not to err and miss out on his heart mate. He was ready to take the plunge to simplicity, tranquility, and devotion—the biblical aspects of a life “set apart,” the very things that had called to him since coming to Lancaster County, where his heart had turned back to God in total abandon.

  Philip breathed a prayer, all the while picturing himself settled in the Bird-in-Hand area, working the land, possibly; helping his neighbors harvest crops, assisting his beloved in her blindness, witnessing of God’s grace and love, writing on assignment—a Christian publication would be a welcome change—and growing old gracefully and happily with Rachel by his side. And, the Lord willing, he would father many children and lead each of them to the foot of Calvary’s cross.

  Yes, there was no longer any mistake about it. He had come home.

  Tables had been laid with plates and utensils for the shared meal—cold cuts of beef, hot mashed potatoes and gravy, various kinds of fruit, and coffee—following the burial service. After they served the men and teenage boys first, as was their custom, Rachel made sure there was room for Lavina to sit next to her. Women and children ate last, while the men stood ’round outside in the barn and outbuildings, comparin’ notes on mules and upcoming auctions and whatnot.

  “Looks to me like God answered your prayer,” Lavina said, clasping Rachel’s hand.

  “Jah, He truly did.”

  Lavina’s head was bobbin’ up and down. “He’s ever faithful, as Adele would say.”

  Leaning over, Rachel hugged Annie and noticed her missing front tooth. “Ach, when’s the new tooth comin’ in, do ya think?” She pointed to the tiny gap.

  Annie’s tongue did a gut job of feelin’ for the new tooth. Suddenly, her eyes grew big as can be. “I feel it, Mamma! My big-girl tooth is on its way down.”

  Lavina and two of Rachel’s sisters, Lizzy and Mary, laughed out loud at Annie’s cute comment about the “big-girl tooth.” Her sisters’ tittering, especially, encouraged Rachel and gave her hope that a mended relationship might be forthcoming. Now that her sight had returned, maybe her siblings and their families wouldn’t stay so far away. Maybe they’d understand, too, that she wasn’t narrisch—crazy—or under the sway of some spell. She had faith—jah, even confidence!—that in time, her companionship with all her siblings would steadily improve. All eleven of them!

  Meanwhile, she would pray and ask the Lord how to minister to dear Lizzy, first of all. Trust the Lord to show her older sister His grace and forgiveness, how He had brought Rachel to a clear understanding of the powwow “gifting” and its false belief system. In turn, Lizzy might pass on the knowledge to her youngest, the rambunctious and often impulsive Joshua. For now, Rachel would believe the Lord for divine wisdom to know what to say—and when.

  “Did your New York guest leave already?” Lavina whispered during dessert.

  “Right away this mornin’.”

  “Before your sight returned to you?”

  “No … after.”

  Lavina’s mouth dropped open. “Then … he knows ’bout your healing?”

  She shook her head slowly, glancing ’round the table, hoping no one was paying them any mind. “I just couldn’t tell him, Lavina.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “‘Cause I thought I was doin’ the right thing not to let on. I … oh, Lavina, I wanted him to care for me whether I was blind or not.”

  “So you didn’t learn nothin’ from Adele and Gabe, I guess.”

  Heart aching, Rachel felt her confidence dwindling. When did Lavina come to be so outspoken? She just didn’t know if she could abide this sad, lost feelin’ that had come upon her at the older woman’s reproach.

  “You love him, I know ya do, Rachel. It’s all over your face.”

  “But it’s best this way” was all she could bring herself to say.

  Twenty-Five

  The sky was beginning to streak bright golds and reds due to a myriad of clouds. Rachel watched from her vantage point in the buggy, enjoying the ride home. Never again would she allow herself to take her eyesight for granted. God did a wonderful-gut thing, giving it back. She couldn’t keep from looking—no, starin’—at clouds, trees, farmland, neighbors’ houses, even colorless plank fences.

  Winter had always had a feeling of silence to it, the cold seemin’ to gobble up near all the sounds, ’cept for boots gnawin’ away at crusty blankets of snow and horse hooves clapping against hardened roads. And there were the occasional shouts of glee from children playin’ Crack the Whip on the pond. All of it, Rachel felt she was seeing and hearing for the very first time.

  “We had a right gut turnout for the bishop’s services,” Dat spoke up in the front seat.

  Mam nodded. “I think lotsa folk came out of curiosity, in a way.”

  “What do ya mean?” Dat sounded awful serious.

  “Well, you know, all the talk of Seth’s salvation going ’round. Some might’ve thought one of the preachers would stand up and give an account of the bishop’s final words or suchlike.”

  “Seems to me they should’ve.”

  Mam sighed and Rachel could hear it from the backseat. “Word’s travelin’ faster than ever these days.”

  “Jah, and a few had heard of my news,” Rachel chimed in. “I have a feelin’ somebody must’ve gotten on the phone and called around.”

  Mam craned her neck and smiled real big at her. “Couldn’t keep such a thing as my daughter’s recovery to myself, now, could I?”

  She hoped Mam felt the same ’bout the bishop’s change of heart, wantin’ to spread the word. ’Cause far as she was concerned, that was the best miracle of all.

  “Well, what the world!” Dat said as they came down Olde Mill Road toward the house.

  Rachel had been taking in the view on the opposite side of the carriage, gazing at just ’bout anything she laid eyes on, while Annie kept a-huggin’ her. But when she turned, she was shocked to see Philip’s car parked in the designated guest area, with Philip himself inside! She remained silent, though her heart beat so hard, she was perty sure Mam would hear it up front.

  Annie jumped out of the carriage as soon as the horse stopped. “It’s Mister Philip!” she said, running through the snow. “He’s back … again!”

  “Looks like we might be gettin’ ourselves an Englischer son-in-law, Mam,” Dat joked.

  “Now, Benjamin, don’t jump to conclusions.” Mam turned ’round again, but this time she reached for Rachel’s hand. “Your pop and I wouldn’t be opposed to such a thing … in case
you wondered. We’ll help him turn ’round right … Plain and all.”

  Still, Rachel remained speechless, motionless. Philip had said good-bye already. Why on earth had he come back?

  Walking hand in hand with Annie, he hurried over to the buggy. “I’ve been waiting for you, Rachel,” he said, the biggest smile on his handsome face.

  “Mamma … look who’s here!” Annie said, grinning and showing her missing tooth.

  Rachel set her gaze on his countenance, the first time she’d seen him up close. Her eyes followed his hairline, took in the rich hues of his thick dark hair, his cheekbones and fine nose, his mouth. Philip was a treat for the eyes, all right, but it was his spirit that had attracted her first of all. She would never forget that.

  “We’ll be goin’ inside now,” Mam said loud enough for all to hear, ’specially Annie, who didn’t take too kindly to the idea. But she went anyway.

  Dat dallied a few seconds longer, tying up the horse. Then he skedaddled off, without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

  “Rachel?” Philip’s eyes searched hers, narrowing as in disbelief. “Can it be … that you can see?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t know if it was wise to tell you before.”

  Not waiting a second longer, he climbed into the buggy and found his way to her seat. “When did your sight return?” he asked, sitting next to her.

  “While you were saying good-bye. It took me by surprise, I must say … that’s why I kept my back to you … didn’t tell you.”

  His smile was warm and earnest. “I wondered why, but I understand now.”

  “Why did you come back?”

  “Because … I love you, Rachel. I couldn’t leave without telling you.” He reached for her mittened hands. “I’ve loved you ever since our first day together … in Reading.”