The Crossroad

by Beverly Lewis

  She gazed on him, beginning to tremble, not with fear but emotion. “But how can this ever be?”

  “I want to be Amish, Rachel. I want to live the simple life … with you and Annie.”

  She knew if she tried to speak, the words would come out too squeaky … too high. She fought back the tears—swallowing hard over the lump in her throat—her heart overjoyed.

  “All my life,” Philip continued, “I’ve felt something was missing, Rachel. It was your lifestyle—your Lord—I was searching for.” His smile said more than a thousand words. “And I was looking for you.”

  “Oh, Philip …” Rachel’s heart knew the answer before he ever posed the question, here under the covering of the winter sky and the carriage top. “Ich liebe dich, Philip—I love you, too!” She fell into his warm embrace, tears of happiness clouding her sight.

  “I want to do things properly, according to your ways…. Should I ask your father for your hand?” Philip asked, all serious-like, as they gazed on each other’s faces.

  She smiled at the notion. “The People don’t do that sort of thing, but if you want to, that’s just right fine.” And the more she thought on it, the more she realized Dat might honestly like the idea.

  So Philip did just that, and Dat took to it with ever such delight, followed by Mam’s jovial well-wishing. Her father explained the rules of courtship, and when they told Annie the news, she jumped up and down for the longest time. But nobody seemed much annoyed by it, least of all Rachel and Philip.

  Twenty-Six

  Philip could hardly keep up with Adele’s many questions when he called her on his cell phone. She wanted to know when all this “excitement” had taken place, when he and Rachel were to be married, where they would live, and had he told his family yet. Most of all, she was delighted “beyond words.”

  “I have money stashed away for a down payment on a farmhouse,” he told her. “Rachel and I haven’t set a wedding date yet, but you’ll be one of the first to know when we do. As for my family, I’ll tell them on New Year’s Eve. We plan to ‘pray in’ the year together at our—their—church.”

  “Now … how on earth will you make the transition to Plain life?”

  She was being the Adele he’d come to know and love, asking pointed questions, sounding like an interviewer! Yet the dear lady had his best interests at heart, he knew that.

  “I believe I’ve weighed every possible aspect of Amish life over the past three months. How hard can it be for a man who despises big-city life? Besides, I won’t have to give up my car, Rachel says.” He paused, more sober now. “I’ve longed for this sort of change since my first visit to Grandpap’s cottage in Vermont. And Rachel, well … you know how very precious she is!”

  Adele’s laughter was warm and reassuring. “You’re going to have a wonderful life, Philip. May the Lord bless you both.”

  They chatted a little longer. Then he said he would keep in touch. “You’ll hear from me again soon. About the wedding, especially.”

  “You call when you can, and please tell Rachel I send all my best. May God give you lots of little Bradleys. Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind, tell Rachel to pass on the word to Lavina that I received her color copies of Gabe’s artwork.”

  “Gabe was an artist?”

  “Evidently. The drawings Lavina sent are from his childhood,” she told him. “Remember, his name means ‘God is my strength,’ so we should have expected him to be multitalented, right?”

  Philip liked that. Adele had a terrific perspective on life these days. So much had changed for the dear woman who had lost so much, only to help Philip and Rachel find their way. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Happy New Year, Philip. Remember, God is ever faithful.”

  Ever faithful …

  Rachel went to the kitchen phone and dialed up Uncle Amos—his business phone in the woodworking shed. ’Course, he’d hafta run into the house and get Esther on the line. But it was worth the inconvenience, for sure and for certain.

  At long last, she heard Esther’s voice. “Can you and Levi come over tonight?” she asked.

  “For goodness’ sake, Rachel. You sound nearly breathless. Are ya all right?”

  She took a slow, deep breath so she could get out the words without faltering. “Philip Bradley came back. He loves me, Esther. And I love him. Ach, I’m ever so happy!”

  “Well, what do you know ’bout that!” There was no hesitation. “We’ll be right over.”

  Rachel hung up, gettin’ that awful giddy feeling. But mixed in with the giddiness was a prevailing peace. She thought of a favorite verse in Philippians: And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

  Rachel returned to the front room and stood near the fireplace, rubbing her hands together, thankful that Dat had a blazing fire goin’. When she was warmer, she moved to the windows and looked out at the gathering dusk, rising amidst snow-powdered pines, truly thankful for God’s goodness and grace.

  Philip went to stand with her at the window. “Our friend Adele approves.”

  “I had a feelin’ she might.”

  “And she sends her blessing.” He reached for Rachel’s delicate hand, looking deep into her beautiful brown eyes. “Do you remember how Gabe signed his illustrious postcard?”

  Rachel nodded cheerfully. “‘Soon we’ll be together, my love.’ That’s how he signed off.”

  “You remembered.”

  “How could I forget?”

  Happily, they embraced, then turned to peer out at the sky, now dotted with stars and a near-full silver moon. Winter’s wind had blown away the imposing buildup of clouds, making way for a clear and radiant twilight. The future was just as bright.

  Epilogue

  I’ve begun to think our life theme must surely be God’s faithfulness. My dear Philip refers to Adele’s words often, even ’round the farm, in the seemingly incidental things. Jah, God’s hand is ever so evident in our lives.

  Of all things, just days before our wedding, Lavina offered to rent us her big farmhouse. She said she never needed such a large place. Well, it’s three times bigger than we really needed. But that’s just fine, ’cause not too long after we were settled in, Adele’s doctor said she didn’t need to be in a nursing home anymore. “Come make a home with us,” we told her. So Philip, Dat, and I went up to Reading and moved her and her few belongings to our place.

  We’re one happy family, and Adele and Lavina live in the Dawdi Haus, built onto the southeast side of the main house. They look after each other like cheerful older sisters, and they tend to us like two doting Grossmutters. Lavina’s decided she wants to will over her house and part of the land to us before she dies. ’Course, we ain’t lookin’ forward to it anytime soon, but till that day comes, Philip’s workin’ the soil with Lavina’s older brother and cousin. And he seems to love every minute of it.

  Our baby’s due in a few weeks, and Philip’s first choice in a name for a boy is Gabriel. Adele thinks that would be “just lovely.” Lavina, too. Annie’s counting the days till she’s no longer an “only-lonely” child, as she puts it. I keep myself busy cooking, canning, and crocheting infant clothes and cradle afghans for our first little Bradley.

  My sight is just as clear as ever, and the nightmares are less frequent now. I am grateful for the dark valley the Lord allowed me to walk through. Now I can truly empathize with other hurting souls. Believe me, I’ve had a gut many opportunities to talk to folk ’bout the Lord. It just seems one door after another keeps opening up for me.

  For Philip, too. He’s writing a short story collection, set in Amish country—puttin’ all his new experiences as a Plain farmer into it. Honestly, he sold his computer, printer, and whatnot and seems ever so content to write longhand on the antique rolltop desk he bought at Emma’s. The desk reminds us all of Gabe’s postcard to Adele, which she still happily displays in her room.

  Philip’s parents and sister have already come
to visit. They’re always welcome here, and his young niece, Kari, is so attentive to Annie. There’s just too many bedrooms in this great big house. One day, I believe, we’ll have them all full up with children, though. Lord willin’.

  Thou shalt see thy children’s children… . Ach, Jacob surely must be smilin’ down on us.

  Last I heard, Smithy Lapp’s courting a widow lady over in his own township. Seems to me that makes better sense. ’Course, who am I to be talking ’bout staying in home territory for a life mate! Thing is, Philip and I know God put us together. Plain and simple.

  At day’s end, no matter the weather, we take long walks and watch the sunset, or at least the sky and the farmland stretching out on either side of us. Philip calls it the “best relaxation therapy” he’s ever known.

  We’ve had gut fellowship with several young couples at our Beachy church. A group of the men have come alongside Philip and taken him under their wing. Hardest thing for me to get used to, at first, was Philip’s coarse whiskers. Now his beard’s nearly as soft as goose down. He fits right in ’round here, too. Perty soon, no one’ll ever know he was “fancy” at all.

  The Crossroad will forever serve as a reminder of God’s grace and mercy in our lives. Every time we pass through, we think of how God has blessed us.

  Esther and I have joyfully returned to writing letters the old-fashioned way. It’s a nice change, even though I did enjoy hearing her voice on the tapes. When we get really homesick for each other, we just pick up the telephone. She, too, is expecting again—possibly twins this time!

  As for the new bishop, Mam says he’s much more open to the People reading their Bibles, even encourages them to buy the newly translated Pennsylvania Dutch New Testament. I rejoice daily at the things we see God doing here.

  Another wonderful-gut thing is happening. Not only do Lizzy’s and Mary’s families come to visit—even show some interest in having a Bible study—my brothers, Noah, Joseph, and Matthew, are beginning to warm up to us, too. Still, I’m hoping for the day when all us Zooks can have a big get-together. Maybe Philip and I will have it here at Lavina’s place… .

  Annie’s a busy bee at school her first year, and she’s lookin’ ahead to helping Philip—she calls him Pop—gather pumpkins here right soon. We’ll hafta show him how to make apple cider, too, while we’re at it.

  Powwow doctoring continues in the area, though people are beginning to associate it with voodoo and black magic. So the word’s getting out, thanks to our pastors, as well. And, of course, Gabe Esh, who got all this started so long ago. It seems that God has allowed us to stand on the shoulders of those who’ve gone before us—those who’ve been godly examples.

  A few months back, Blue Johnny moved away, we heard, and so far no one’s stepped forward to take his place. We pray daily for our community, that the People will be willing to walk the road to Calvary’s cross and find healing for body, mind, and spirit.

  Yesterday, Mam dropped by with some patterns for crib quilts. I liked the Lone Star best. So she and I, along with Lavina and Adele, are gonna have us a little quiltin’ bee next week. Annie will sew her very first stitches in this coverlet for her new brother or sister.

  After years of enduring darkness and pain in a cocoon of my own making, it’s ever so gut to gnaw out of the protective covering—through the scars—and open my new wings. Some days they’re a bit fragile, even doddering, but one thing I know for sure and for certain, the Lord has daily granted me a “speckle of pluck.” Not a full measure of confidence just yet, but I’m trusting for that as I take one flitter of my new wings, a day at a time.

  Author’s Note

  Divine protection—“underneath are the everlasting arms”—and Spirit-directed intercessors, who prayed even in the wee hours, made it possible for me to complete this, my most recent journey of faith.

  I am also grateful to the Lancaster County residents who assisted me with research for this book and its prequel, The Postcard. Graciously, they reject any acknowledgment, as is their Plain custom, yet I appreciate their willingness to share.

  My study of the life of Helen Keller ignited the inspiration for my character Rachel Yoder and her reaction to suffering a conversion disorder, causing blindness. In addition, I owe a debt of gratitude to the research assistance of Amy Watson, manager of Library Information Resources for the Helen Keller Archival Collection.

  On some small scale, I was able to understand the world of the visually impaired due to my study, as well as incorporating information from the American Foundation for the Blind.

  As always, my husband, Dave, shared equally in the joys and sorrows of this venture into Amish tradition, and I am delighted to call him “first editor.”

  Much appreciation to Gary and Carol Johnson of Bethany House Publishers, as well as my faithful editors, Barb Lilland, Anne Severance, and the entire BHP team. Special thanks to Jane Jones and Barbara Birch, who read the manuscript for accuracy. I also wish to thank two of Jacob J. Hershberger’s former students who shared their recollections of the late Amish Mennonite bishop, whose devotional columns in The Sugarcreek Budget of Ohio (“Lynnhaven Gleanings”) inspired the subplot for this book, as well as The Postcard.

  Big thank-yous to Auntie Em’s Antiques & Gifts of Monument, Colorado!

  The book Gifts of Darkness is purely fictitious, though based on actual writings by Amish church members and clergy.

  Many blessings to my readers, who inspire me daily with letters and cards. I pray your hearts have been made receptive to God’s redemptive love—lives set free—by the message of this book.

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