The Postcard (16 page)

Silently, Philip reread the postcard’s translation as Stephen drove him back toward Bird-in-Hand.

My dearest Adele,

What a joy to receive your letter! Yes, my feelings remain the same, even stronger, but I should be the one to bridge the gap between us and leave my Amish ways behind—for you, my “fancy” dear girl.

God is ever so faithful. Pray for me as I continue to expose the kingdom of darkness.

Soon we’ll be together, my love.

Gabe (Philippians 1:4–6)

Philip wondered what the Scripture reference might be and asked Stephen if he knew offhand.

“Sure do. It’s one of my favorites. Would you like me to quote it?”

Oddly enough, he did. “Please do.”

“ ‘In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.’ ”

“Wow, what a mouthful,” Philip said, wishing now he hadn’t asked.

“Verses to base a life on,” Stephen said, nodding. “Gabe Esh must certainly have been a man of faith.”

Philip stared at the line that stirred his curiosity most. “What do you make of ‘the kingdom of darkness’?”

“Not so hard to say, really. Could be a reference to some local powwow practices.” Stephen made the turn into the parking lot where Philip’s car had been parked. “It’s not commonly known by outsiders, but we Mennonites know that there are hex doctors, even today, among the Amish and other conservative circles, too, though some criticize the practice.”

“Is that something pertaining to Native Americans?”

“Sympathy healing or the German term
Brauche
, as powwow doctoring is often called, has no direct association to Indian folk medicine. Its origins can be traced back to Swiss and Austrian Anabaptists who later immigrated to America. But Plain folk weren’t the only ones who got caught up in the healing arts. Pennsylvania Germans practiced it, too.”

“So . . . are you thinking that Gabe Esh considered powwowing as part of the kingdom of darkness?” Philip’s interest was piqued.

“It’s quite possible . . . but who’s to know for certain?”

Philip was reluctant to go on, unwilling to wear out his welcome. “I’ve kept you much too long, but getting back to the powwow issue—we’re not talking witchcraft here, are we? I mean, don’t Amish folk subscribe to the Christian way? Don’t they read the Bible, pray—the things most Protestants do?”

“Old Order Amish follow the
Ordnung
—a code of unwritten rules. That, I would say, is quite different from Protestant practices. I think powwow doctoring is considered a type of white witchcraft—conjuring—and I assure you the spirits invoked are not godly ones.” He paused, then continued. “One thing’s for sure—don’t expect to find an Amish-man willing to discuss any of this.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Philip said, extending his hand. “Again, thanks for everything.”

Stephen shook his hand cordially. “You know where to reach me if you have further questions.”

“I’ll see that you get a copy of the story when it runs.”

“Yes, do that.” And Stephen was gone.

Philip located his rental car and drove west toward the turnoff to Beechdale Road. He thought back to his interview with Abram Beiler. The old farmer hadn’t mentioned the Ordnung, hadn’t said a word about rules either. But overall, Philip was pleased with the favorable reception from both Stephen and Abram.

It was the postcard’s entire message that plagued his thoughts, not so much the mention of evil deeds—although that aspect was intriguing—but the endearing phrases. Gabe Esh must have loved Adele Herr beyond all reason to be willing to abandon his People for her. They must have been true soul mates, though he despised the term so overused in recent years. Heart mates . . . yes, that was better. The ill-fated lovers had apparently belonged together, culture clash or no, though Gabe’s untimely death had kept them apart forever.

One thought nagged at him.
How could such a declaration of love have been buried in an old desk?
Something as compelling as an Amishman pledging to leave his People for his beloved—why was such a message not found among Miss Herr’s most precious possessions—in a fragrant box with other love letters and notes? Surely Gabe’s sweetheart would have treasured the postcard for a lifetime, possibly the last correspondence between them.

Soon we’ll be together. . . .

The tender words haunted him as he drove back to Orchard Guest House and long into the night.

Thirteen

S
usanna poured out her heart to Benjamin before retiring. “I shoulda had you look at that stubborn drawer in the antique desk upstairs a long time ago,” she said, brushing her hair. “You know, the one we bought over to Emma’s?”

Her husband grunted his answer from under the sheets.

She knew better than to push the issue, late as it was. Benjamin’s brain perty near shut down around eight-thirty every night. No gettin’ around it. The man’s body clock was set to wind down with the chickens, from all those years of farming. “Never mind, then,” she whispered, about to outen the lantern light.

“What’s that?” Ben asked, lifting his head off the pillow to stare at her.

“Ach, that writer fella you warned us about found an old postcard written by my scoundrel uncle.”

“Gabriel Esh? You don’t say.”

“I saw the postcard with my own eyes.”

“Your uncle Gabe, your mother’s little brother?” Ben asked again, pulling himself up on his elbows. “Glad we had sense enough to disown him back when. It’s a real shame, a blight on the whole family . . . and the community, too, the way he carried on.”

“Lavina stuck up for him, remember?” Susanna sputtered. “The only one around these parts who did, that I know of.”

“Lavina’s a crazy one, she is,” said Benjamin. “
Nadierlich
—nai
ve as the day is long.”

Surprised that Ben was coherent enough to pay any mind to her ramblings, Susanna seized on the opportunity. “Cousin Lavina has a right gentle way about her, though. Folks seems to know better than to meddle with her opinion. They just leave her be, really.”

“Leave her be? The way most of our grown children have turned a deaf ear toward Rachel, you mean?”

Benjamin’s words pricked at her heart. “What’s important now is that postcard Gabe wrote—a love note to his English girlfriend. If that don’t beat all.”

“Well, what’d it say?”

“Don’t have it no more.”

“But you said you found it, didn’tcha?”

“Philip Bradley did,” she corrected. “He brought it down and showed me this morning before breakfast, but I was so flustered when I saw it, I didn’t wanna have nothin’ to do with it, so I gave it back to him.”

“You did
what
?” Ben’s face had turned redder than any beet she’d ever peeled.

“I told him I had no use for it.”

Ben shook his head. “Well, didja read any of it?”

“Mostly romantic prattle. I didn’t care to read it really.” She wasn’t sure she should say more—especially the part where Gabe had asked Adele, his English sweetheart, to pray that he might uncover more of the sin and darkness in the community.

“That’s all it was, then—just a love note?”

Ben knew her too well to let this drop. True, he wouldn’t go ’round tellin’ folk that he’d smelled a rat in his own bed-room, but if she didn’t come clean and confess everything, he’d probably know anyways. Insight from God was right strong in Ben. Everybody knew it was. One of the many old “family” gifts Benjamin believed in.

“Well, jah, there was more,” she said at last, a bit reluctant to own up. “Gabe wrote something about evil spirits at work among the People. ‘The kingdom of darkness,’ I think was how he put it.”

Ben motioned for her to come to bed. “Aw, that’s
alt
— old news, Susie. Long ago dealt with. Nothin’ to worry about now, I’d say.”

“S’posin’ you’re right.” She knew she’d sleep ever so much better now, just hearing her husband say that there was no need to be concerned, this wonderful-gut man who knew far more about the intangible things of life than most anybody. If Ben Zook said it, most likely it was true.

Philip stayed up late, writing the first draft of his Amish family article on his laptop computer. Every detail, each cultural nuance that Abram Beiler had mentioned fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, and when Philip was satisfied with the initial draft, long past midnight, he decided this assignment had been one of the easiest he’d ever undertaken. Quite possibly the most enjoyable in recent months.

But it was the message on the postcard that energized him. Tomorrow morning he would drive downtown to Duke Street, to the Lancaster County Library, and begin his research on Gabriel Esh’s death. Perhaps someone in Bird-in-Hand would know something of the man’s life as well. After all, the postmark had originated there.

Young Annie crossed his mind, but he rejected the idea of pursuing a small girl with such serious questions. Surely Susanna Zook’s young granddaughter would not have been told stories involving a preacher-man who’d planned to leave the Amish for a modern woman. Philip resolved to be more cautious around the Zooks, especially prudent with Annie— that is, if there was to be another encounter with the precocious child, though he had left some space in his article in case he was able to chat with her about Christmas gifts. Annie had an uncanny way about her, delightfully attractive. She was gifted in all the social graces, especially for one so young. And strikingly pretty, as beautiful as the woman whom he’d observed touching the child’s cheek. Annie’s mother, he was sure.

The more he pondered it, the more he realized he could not leave just yet. He would discuss with Susanna Zook the possibility of booking the room for a few more days. Yes, he would take care of that small matter tomorrow, immediately after breakfast.

Rachel crept downstairs to the parlor, her tape recorder in hand. She’d waited till the house was quiet, until Annie had fallen asleep. A taped letter to her dear cousin was long overdue. Already two weeks had passed since she’d received Esther’s ninety-minute cassette recording in the mail. How wonderful-gut it had been to hear from her. Working the land, sowing seed—and this with Esther side by side with Levi and their children. She could just picture all of them out in the field with the mules, the smell of manure and soil mixed together, the sun shining down on their heads.

The scene in her mind made her awful lonesome for Jacob. She figured if he were alive today, she, Aaron, Annie, and the child she’d miscarried would be doing the selfsame chores together as a family . . . out in Ohio.

Closing the door to the small room, she located the electric outlet under the lamp table and plugged in the recorder. Then she felt for the masking tape where Mam had marked the Record button. She pushed it and sat on the floor next to the recorder, pulling her long bathrobe around her.

“Hullo, again, Esther,” she began, holding the tiny microphone close to her lips. “It’s been ever so long since I talked to you this way. I can’t begin to tell you what a busy time we’ve had this fall, what with the steady stream of outof-town tourists. But, then, you must surely have the same thing there in Holmes County, right?