The Postcard (13 page)

They stood in the window, enjoying the breeze as it sifted through the screen and caressed their faces. “Sometime I wanna sleep outside all night long. Beside the creek, maybe,” Annie said. “What do ya think of that?”

Rachel chuckled softly. “Well, I must admit that I had the same bee in my bonnet back when I was your age.”

“So then you might let me fall asleep under the sky so I can listen to the hoot owls and the crickets and—”

“Careful not to raise your voice,” she interrupted her daughter. “We have guests in the house tonight.”

“Sorry, Mamma. But we have guests in the house most
every
night, except come winter, ain’t so?”

“Jah, and it’s a wonderful-gut way for all of us to make a livin’ these days. Besides that, we can be a blessing to tourists.”

“Jah, the tourists,” the girl whispered.

Rachel hoped her little one didn’t resent the neverending flow of B&B guests. “We have much to offer our English friends.”

“ ’Tis what Dawdi Ben says, too.” Annie reached for Rachel’s hand and led her back to bed. “I’m gettin’ sleepy now.”

“
Gut Nacht
, dear. See you in the morning.”

Annie was silent for a moment, then she said, “Will ya, Mamma, really? Will ya honestly
see
me? There ain’t nothin’ wrong with your eyes, is there?”

“Well, where’d you get a silly idea like that?”

“Joshua says.”

She knew well and good young Joshua, Lizzy’s middle son, had probably overheard some adult talk here and there. The boy was too rambunctious for his britches. “What else is Joshua saying?” she asked, nearly in a whisper.

Annie was suddenly quiet.

Rachel felt awkward, pushing for answers from one so young. “Annie? You all right?”

“I surely don’t wanna tell a lie, Mamma.”

“Well, then, we best drop the whole thing right now,” she said, slipping into bed, leaving the sheet and coverlet off for now. ’Least till the breeze from the window cooled things off a bit.

But she was wide awake. Couldn’t sleep a wink, even long after Annie’s breathing became slow and even. Poor, dear child . . . what she’d had to suffer. All because of an unfortunate accident that might easily have been avoided if they hadn’t had to take the shortcut.
If only I hadn’t slept through the alarm
, she thought.

Lying there in the stillness, Rachel realized that she’d never forgiven herself. She felt sadly responsible for Jacob’s and Aaron’s deaths, and the truth of it bewildered her daily. As for her inability to see, she had rather adapted to her level of blindness these two years, feeling her way around the boundaries of her familiar world—the realm of her lonely existence. Truth be told, she felt right safe in the cocoon she’d spun for herself, but it broke her heart not to see her only child growing up. There were times when she missed roamin’ freely outdoors, taking long walks on deserted roads, strollin’ through orchards and meadows, seein’ the new baby lambs in the spring. On occasion, she actually questioned her resolve not to visit Blue Johnny or other sympathy healers, her desire to see springin’ up in her more and more these days.

A waft of cool air blew in the window, and as she listened to the sounds of the night, she noticed that the crickets’ chorus seemed noisier than usual. Had it not been for the fact that there were several roomers in the house, she might’ve sneaked downstairs and sat out on the back patio, inhaling the rich, spicy fragrance of the humid night. Recently, on two separate occasions—though Mam would’ve been downright surprised—Rachel had slipped out into the night, unable to sleep due to the warm temperatures. And missing Jacob. Tonight she might’ve risked doing so again, but Dat had warned that a New York reporter was snooping around—staying right here under their noses, of all things. Fact was, Dat had gotten wind that a well-respected tour guide in Lancaster had made plans to take the big-city fella to have a confidential chat with a local Amishman, come tomorrow afternoon.

“Best be watchin’ yourself . . . what you say, anyhow,” Dat had informed her before supper.

’Course she agreed to be cautious, though it wouldn’t require much of a change on her part. Occasionally she helped out in the Gift Nook, their gift shop, an addition on the north side of the house. She preferred her role as the silent helper, and Dat and Mam pretty much allowed her to live her life that way. Looking after Annie was her one and only aim.

Turning in bed, she faced the window and wished she might dream of Jacob holding her or whispering adoring words in her ear. Jah, she would like that right nice. But her dreams weren’t always romantic ones. Frequently, there were taunting nightmares in the middle of the night—dreadful visions of things that never, ever could be. Jumbled-up, hideous images that made no sense at all.

She knew that on the other side of those grisly pictures was her sight—her full and clear vision—but she was unwilling to allow herself to walk through the foggy maze to get to the sunlight.

Dozing off, she listened to the night sounds, and they mingled together with her thoughts till the crickets seemed to chirp in unison
Jacob . . . Jacob . . .

Ten

P
hilip rushed through his usual early-morning routine—shaving, showering, dressing—eager to chat with either Susanna or Benjamin before breakfast. He tucked the postcard into his shirt pocket and headed downstairs.

“Good morning,” he said, offering a broad smile as his hostess met him in the common room.

“Didja have a good night’s sleep?” Susanna inquired, not waiting for his reply. Instead, she turned her attention to arranging some croissants and doughnuts on a tray.

“I slept quite well, thanks.” He did not say that he’d lost several hours in the
middle
of his sleep, however.

She turned and glanced out the window. “Looks like it’ll be a right nice day today.”

“Yes.”
Right nice indeed
, he thought, wondering if now was a good time to show Susanna the postcard he’d found buried deep inside the old desk.

“Will you be needing anything besides coffee just now?” she asked, clearly in a hurry to get back to the kitchen and breakfast preparations.

“Coffee’s fine, thanks.”

“Would there be anything else, then? There’s sticky buns and things on the table.” She gestured toward the tray behind him.

Before she bolted, Philip decided to plunge in. “I, uh, found something stuck in the desk in my room.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the postcard. “This was caught behind one of the drawers.”

She took the card, glancing at it casually. “Well, for goodness’ sake.” She pushed her glasses up, tilting her head back, and began to read. “‘My dearest Adele . . .’ ” Her voice trailed off, and though her lips continued to move silently, her eyes began to blink. “Oh . . . uh, that’s all right. You’d better keep it.” She pushed the postcard back into Philip’s hand.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, concerned that her face had grown quite pale.

She shook her head back and forth, muttering something in what he guessed was Pennsylvania Dutch. Her voice had turned raspy. “You’ll hafta excuse me. I’ve got sausage in the oven.” And with that, she left the room.

He stood there, holding the innocuous postcard in his hand, and stared at the handwritten note.
My dearest Adele . . .
Why would a message that began so beautifully affect someone in such a strange manner? He really didn’t know what to do with the postcard now that she had rejected it. But his curiosity was definitely heightened, and he decided the missive legitimately belonged to him since she’d actually invited him to keep it.

Hurrying back upstairs to his room, he copied the message as best he could, in case Susanna might have second thoughts. He wanted to know more; wanted to know what had disturbed her enough to stop reading and toss the postcard back in his face.

His mind was whirling, and he made a quick call on his cell phone. “Stephen?” he said when his Mennonite contact answered. “Thought I’d let you know I’m in town.”

“When did you get in?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I’m in Bird-in-Hand, at the Orchard Guest House B&B. Do you know the place?”

“Oh yes. Great spot to get away from it all, I hear.”

His gaze dropped to the postcard. “Thought I’d check in, make sure we’re still on for this afternoon.”

Stephen chuckled. “I’ve got a live one for you. You’re going to like Abram Beiler. He’ll answer all your questions.”

“Sounds good. Let’s meet for lunch—on me.”

“I can get away by twelve-thirty or so. You’re not far from Plain and Fancy Farm, just down the road, east on Route 340. You’ll see it on the left side—can’t miss it—just before you get to Intercourse.”

“Good enough.” Then impatient to know, he said, “I was wondering if you happen to understand Pennsylvania Dutch?”

“Well, I don’t speak the language, but Abram does. What do you need?”

He mentioned the postcard briefly.

“Sure, Abram will help you out. And if he can’t, I work with several people who could translate it for you.”

“That’s good to know. See you soon.” Philip put the postcard and his own written copy of it in his briefcase, then went and stood in front of the window, looking out at the expanse of Amish farmland in the distant morning mist. Closer in, toward the area of the backyard, he noticed for the first time since he was a boy that there were water droplets shining atop the grass, some creating tiny rainbows in the early-morning light.

On a sudden impulse, he stooped down and got his nose up next to the screened-in open window, inhaling the pungent smells, a hint of spice in the air. His view encompassed the apple orchard, with a glimpse of the creek beyond. Mill Creek, it was called, according to his map. He would have to go exploring sometime before he checked out. His sister would be surprised to hear that he’d actually taken some time for himself on this trip.

Getting his fill, he left the room and stood out in the hallway, leaning his ear toward the stairway, listening for the other guests. It would be wise to wait until there were plenty of people gathering for breakfast before heading back downstairs.

He thought he probably looked quite peculiar standing there, eavesdropping that way, especially to the little Amish girl who came hurrying toward him.

“Hullo, mister.”

“Hello, Annie.”

Her eyes popped open wide. “How do you know my name?” she asked in an ecstatic whisper.

“Your grandmother told me, that’s how,” he whispered back, just as enthusiastically. “What do you think of that?” He had the urge to reach out and poke her arm playfully, but he resisted, lest he scare her off.

Her face was bright with a smile, and today she wore a tiny white head covering similar to Susanna’s adult-sized one. “I never heard nobody talk like you do.”

“Never met anyone from New York City, then, did you?”

She shook her head slowly, and just the way she did, Philip remembered her grandmother, Susanna, doing the same thing, the same way, after reading the postcard. “Are
you
from New York?” asked Annie, still grinning.

“Born and raised in the Big Apple. I’m what you call a city guy, but”—and here he squatted down, placing himself at eye level with the darling child—“I have to tell you a secret.”

“A secret? I like secrets.” Her light brown eyebrows rose higher.

“Then I’ll tell you.” He lowered his voice. “I’m not much for big cities. They’re noisy and busy and—”

“Why’d you come here?” she interrupted. “To find bigger apples?”

He couldn’t help himself—he laughed. Such an adorable child. He would have six or seven little girls just like this if ever he found the right woman to marry. “I came to meet
you
, Annie.”

“You did?”

“Yes.” He straightened now to his full height. “Would you like to go down to breakfast with me?”

“Okay, but I can’t eat with you. You’re a guest, and I live here all the time.” She turned and bounced toward the stairs. “Just follow me, mister.”

“My name is Philip,” he said, jumping at the chance to introduce himself. Might be beneficial later.

“Mr. Philip,” she replied. “Mamma would want me to call you
Mister
first.”

“That’s okay with me.” And he followed her down the steps, congratulating himself on having made a new friend. A special little friend indeed!

Rachel waited till after all the guests had cleared out of the breakfast area before asking Dat if she could talk to him. “It oughta be somewhere private,” she said.

“Well, then, we’ll walk outside. How’s that?” Benjamin said, finding Rachel’s walking cane.

She didn’t have the energy to resist his suggestion. After all, it had been weeks since she’d ventured farther than a few short walks with Annie.

Dat guided her to the back door, and once they were outside, she brought up the topic that had troubled her. “I don’t rightly know how to begin.”

“It’s not necessary to mince words with me, Rachel.”

Fresh smells of autumn filled the air, and she remembered her promise to Annie to help gather pumpkins. “I oughta make this short,” she continued. “But I’m thinkin’ that besides young Joshua, someone might be giving Annie an earful—about certain things, you know?”