The Postcard (8 page)

Rachel missed the spirit of her church. It was sadly absent here today, though she’d refused to insist on her opinion. Caleb and Mary Yoder had had their say as to the type of funeral service. Still, she would have been more inclined to have at least Aaron’s service at the familiar meetinghouse, where she and Jacob and the children attended Sunday school and church, packed out each week with Amish Mennonite friends and relatives. By the looks of things, the folk had turned out strong for the somber occasion, despite the traditional service. She would not have been so bold as to request a separate funeral anyhow.

What’s done is done
, she determined, paying close attention to the Scripture reading from John, chapter five.

“ ‘Verily, verily, I say unto you, the hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God: and they that hear shall live.’ ” The preacher read through the verses until he came to the thirty-fourth. Then he began to expound on the reading, saying that the text spoke of passing from death unto life.

When the People turned and knelt at their benches, Annie folded her hands in spite of the arm splint and leaned in close to Rachel. As the preacher prayed, Rachel realized for the first time since the accident that her knees were awful sore. She kept her eyes closed for the lengthy rote prayer, yet she reached down and pulled her dress away from her legs, touching curiously the blistered areas on her knees. She wondered how on earth the welts had gotten there, what had happened to cause them, having no recollection of ever scraping her knees . . . or burning them.

The People stood for the benediction. There had been no music, which seemed awful empty and even more sorrowful to Rachel. She loved the rich harmonies of a cappella singing. Another sigh slipped from her lips, and she hoped Jacob would forgive her for not having the sort of funeral service he would’ve preferred. When it came time for her to pass on to Glory, she would try to explain the sticky situation to him. Jacob would understand, she knew.

It was then, thinking of heaven again and the hope of seeing her husband someday, that her tears began to flow, unchecked. Try as she might, there was no stopping them, even as the preacher recited the ages of both Jacob and his son—the only formal obituary statement given at the end of the funeral.

“Jacob Yoder’s memory is a keepsake, as is his son’s. With that we cannot part. Their souls are in God’s keeping. We will have them in our hearts,” the preacher said finally.

We always miss what we don’t have. . . .

Rachel wept silently, accompanied later by uncontrollable sobs at the graveside service. Quickly, little Annie was surrounded by Rachel’s mother and sister Elizabeth as the pallbearers began to shovel gravel and soil, filling the graves.

The thumping sounds of the dirt hitting the coffins made Rachel quiver, and she was grateful for her mother-in-law and cousin Esther, who held on to her, standing with their arms linked through hers as the traditional hymn was read and the men removed their hats one last time.

That night Rachel slipped Aaron’s black shoes under the covers, on Jacob’s side. Then, when she got into bed, she reached over and held the shoes near her heart, thinking of the little barefoot boy with the bright, happy eyes . . . and his fun-loving father. She knew she would not speak of this deed to anyone. Not to Esther or to Mam.

It was her secret. Hers and God’s.

Five

I
n the days that followed, Rachel was beholden to Esther for her care and supervision. Overwhelmed with despair, she slept around the clock some days, only to become too dizzy to stand when awake. So Esther cooked and cleaned and sewed, doing the things Rachel would normally have done if she’d felt strong enough.

By the end of the week, Rachel got out of bed due to sheer willpower, helping with a few chores indoors. She was grateful, especially, for Esther’s loving attention to Annie and for her cousin’s fervent prayers for Rachel as well.

“Can Esther stay with us, Mamma?” Annie asked as Rachel tucked her in for the night.

“ ’Twould be nice.” She sat on the edge of the bed, touching her little one’s brow. “But Esther and Levi must return to Ohio soon to care for their own family.”

Annie was silent for a moment, her blue eyes the color of the summer sky. “Is God taking care of Dat and Aaron?”

“Jah, my
liew
—dear one, the Lord is taking gut care of them.” She kissed Annie’s cheek and held her in her arms long past the child’s bedtime.

“I miss Dat and Aaron,” Annie said, sniffling.

Sighing, Rachel fought the urge to weep. “I miss them, too, but we’ll see them again in heaven.”

After tucking Annie into bed, Rachel stood in the doorway, lingering there. Often, since the funeral, she’d questioned the wisdom of leaving her child to fall sleep alone. As hard as it was for
her
to sleep peacefully, she hoped Annie wasn’t struggling that way, too.

“Don’t think twice about bringing Annie into your room to sleep once in a while,” Esther said when Rachel mentioned it to her privately. “The dear girlie’s feeling awful alone in the world—and she’s still just a baby, really. She needs to know that her mamma doesn’t mind sharing that great big bed.”

“She’s blessed with many relatives who love her,” Rachel added quickly, knowing full well that Annie would never want for fellowship. She would grow up completely loved and looked after by the whole of their church community, Beachy Amish and Old Order alike.

“Annie is not to be pitied,” Esther commented. “And neither are you. Pity parties can only last so long, then one must put a hand to the plow, so to speak. Life goes on.”

For you it does
, Rachel thought, suppressing the idea as having been spiteful, then immediately asking the Lord to forgive her. She knew her cousin meant well. There was no doubt in her mind about Esther’s motives.

Once Esther and Levi had departed for Ohio, Rachel allowed herself to confront the extent of her loss, agonizing over the guilt that hung weighty in her mind. She sat up in bed each and every morning, greeting the dawn just as the sun was about to break over the horizon, though not without tears. Her outward mourning was her soul’s response to the pain in her heart—especially at night—though she purposely put on a smile for Annie during the daylight hours.

Mam seemed wise to what was happening, though, and one morning while helping Rachel with her gardening, Susanna broached the subject. “Your eyes are forever swollen and red. Are you crying for Jacob and Aaron or for yourself?”

Rachel felt her heart constrict, wondering how to explain the pain inside. The guilt was present with her always, along with such feelings of worthlessness. “I should’ve been the one to die,” Rachel replied, tears choking her voice.

Mam’s expression was filled with tender concern. “It is not for us to question God’s ways.”

“Jah” was the only answer she could give, though she thought of telling her mother the truth, that she wished she might die even now.

“We must trust the Lord to work His will among us,” continued her mother. “Each of us must come to accept it in due time.”

In due time . . .

Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. “It is not so hard to submit to the will of God.” She paused, having to breathe deeply before she could go on. “It’s knowing that things might’ve been—
should’ve
been—different, oh, so much different.” She could not attempt to describe the ongoing gnawing in her heart, that she felt responsible for the accident. Accepting the deaths of her beloved ones would have been far easier had it not been for that singular fact.

“Time to move on, Daughter, past your agony,” Mam said, though such a pat answer was nothing new. “For Annie’s sake, you must.”

In essence, her mother was saying the same things Esther had spoken to her before leaving—time’s up on the pity party! Say what they may, she wondered how either of them might be coping with the unexpected and violent deaths of their own husbands. Cautious not to brood, Rachel pushed the thought out of her mind and prayed for grace to bear the loss, as well as the correction of her elders.

She trudged up the back steps and into the kitchen, carrying a large plastic bowl filled with mounds of leaf lettuce and a fistful of new carrots from the garden. Her vision shifted and the room seemed to float about. Things cleared up again just as quickly, and she wouldn’t have thought much about it, except the English doctor had said all this would go away.
Less than a week
, he’d said. Well, now here it was two full weeks since the accident, and her eyes were still playing tricks on her.

She and Mam began to chop green peppers and cucumbers for a salad. But when the fuzziness returned, Rachel was hesitant to say anything, holding her knife silently. The blurring lasted much longer than usual, and she pushed the knife down hard into the butcher block, waiting. The longer the fog prevailed, the harder her heart pounded. Still, she attempted to stare down at a grayish-looking green pepper.

“What’s wrong, Rachel?” Mam said. “You all right?”

She blinked repeatedly, trying to shake off whatever was causing the frustrating distortion. Steadily, she directed her gaze downward at the knife she knew was in her hand and the pepper on the cutting block, willing herself to see clearly, to focus on the shapes. Hard as she tried, she was engulfed in a misty world of grays and whites.

“Rachel?” She felt Mam’s hand on her arm. “You’re pale. Come sit for a spell.”

She released the paring knife and followed Mam to the rocking chair—Jacob’s favorite. She thought if she did as Susanna suggested and sat there, relaxing and fanning herself for a bit, everything would be all right soon enough.

Sitting in the hickory rocker, she realized how very dismal things had been these past weeks, pining for Jacob’s jovial nature. Oh, how she missed his hearty laugh! She missed other things about him, too. But it was the thought of his good-natured chortle that brought more tears.

“Ach, Rachel, must ya go on so?” Mam was saying. Yet she stood behind the rocking chair, stroking Rachel’s back.

“I hafta tell you something, Mam,” she said softly, wishing she knew where Annie was just now. She felt the swish of her mother’s long dress against the chair.

Susanna seemed to understand, taking her hand and squeezing it. “If you’re thinking of your miscarriage . . . well, believe me, I
do
know how you’re feeling, Rachel.” And she began to explain the empty sadness associated with the loss of a baby born years ago.

Rachel listened, though she continued to weep. “What I want to tell you isn’t about the baby I lost,” she whispered. Then, pausing, she asked, “Is Annie anywhere about?”

“Why, no, she’s outside playing in the side yard—out diggin’ in the dirt. You know, the way she and Aaron always . . .” Susanna stopped. “What do you
mean
asking if Annie is near? Are ya still having trouble with your eyes?”

“Well, right now, I can’t see much of anything.”

“I think we oughta have Blue Johnny come and take a look at you. He’s been known to heal a wheal in the eye within twenty-four hours,” Mam was quick to reply.

Rachel flinched at the mention of the pipe-smoking hex doctor. “I don’t believe there’s anything growin’ in my eye, Mam. It’s just that my spirit’s awful troubled. . . . I can’t shake it off.”

“If I told your pop this, he’d say you’re crying your eyes out. Plain and simple. That’s just what he’d say.”

Rachel blinked again and again, holding her hands out in front of her now, turning them over, trying to see them clearly. Still, she could not make out even the contour of her own thin fingers. “What’s
really
causing this?” she pondered aloud. “Do you believe what the hospital doctor said?”

“You witnessed a
greislich
—terrible thing, Rachel. And if you ask me, I don’t think it’s something we oughta be foolin’ with. Why don’tcha let me contact Blue Johnny?”

“I’m sorry, Mam, but no.” She felt herself straighten a bit, determined not to let Susanna get the best of her, in spite of her distorted sight.

True, the powwow doctors were much cheaper—most of them worked for nothing—that was common knowledge, and most of the time they were quite effective. Still, she hadn’t made a practice of calling on them and wasn’t much keen on starting now.

Mam’s voice rose in response. “I wouldn’t be so quick to turn up my nose at the powwow doctors. ’Specially if you keep havin’ trouble.”

Rachel leaned her head against the rocking chair. “I think I’d rather go back to an English doctor, if I go to anyone. Besides, Jacob . . .” She paused. “Well, if my husband were here, he’d prob’ly tell me to stay far away from Blue Johnny.”

“But Jacob’s not here to see what you’re goin’ through, Daughter. He’d want what’s best for you, jah?”

What’s best for me . . .

She figured it was just as well she hadn’t told Mam about the sharp, penetrating pain that came sometimes at night, just after she lay down to sleep. It came most often with the sound of horses and carriages
clip-clop
ping up and down the road. And it came with the recurring noise of an automobile motor. She feared that one day the pain might come and stay put, with no relief ever again.