The Postcard (22 page)

Tentatively, he stepped into the large room, where a long pine farm table, stained ruby red, was surrounded by his favorite style of antique chair—the comb-back Windsor. On the wall opposite low, deep-silled windows, a tall, slantbacked cupboard, housing a set of white china, graced the space.

“Excuse me, Susanna,” he said, getting her attention. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I’m curious about a particular man, Gabe Esh, who wrote the postcard—the one I showed you yesterday. Would you happen to know if his fiancée is still alive?”

Her face went ashen at the mention of the card. “I . . . uh, I don’t have any idea what happened. . . .” She caught her breath and tried to continue. “His fiancée, you say?”

“Yes—Adele Herr. Do you know what may have become of her?”

Susanna shook her head repeatedly. “Honestly, I wish you’d never found that . . . that horrid thing,” she was saying, her face turning from white to pink. “I wish you’d just leave things be. It’s none of your business, really it ain’t.”

“Please forgive me. I didn’t intend to upset you this way.”

She pulled a chair out and had to sit down. “It’s not the kind of thing you wanna delve into, Mr. Bradley, and I’m sorry that I didn’t come across that postcard myself. Seems to me I oughta be askin’ you for it back.” Her final sentence had turned into a bit of muttering, but Philip had heard nevertheless.

“I’m just trying to put some pieces together, that’s all. I wouldn’t think of causing trouble,” he assured her.

There was a sudden commotion behind Susanna—young Annie, coming into the common area from the kitchen, carrying an armful of soiled cloth napkins, place mats, and dish towels. “Mammi Susanna, I think I need some help,” the child said, about to drop the load.

“Here, let
me
help you,” he said, taking the pile from her. “Just head me in the right direction.”

“That would be around the corner, down the hall, and down the cellar steps,” Susanna said rather tersely. “And I must say, since we bought this house, I’ve never, ever allowed a guest to help thisaway. ”

He heard the edginess in her voice and knew she was more upset over the postcard questions than his assistance with Annie’s load of dirty towels. Yet she followed him down the hall and on down the cellar steps, with little Annie close behind.

In the end it was Rachel’s daughter who saved the day, diverting Susanna’s attention away from Philip’s questions. “Mamma needs ya just now.”

Susanna responded by showing him where to put the laundry items. “Thanks for helpin’ my granddaughter out,” she said, heading for the stairs.

Philip knew the woman expected him to follow, and follow he did, up the stairs and into the hallway. When he came to the second flight of stairs, he turned and made his departure to the southeast guest room.

Susanna’s reaction to the boarder’s questions had flustered her no end. Even worse, Rachel must’ve overheard part of the conversation in the dining room, and now that Susanna was in the kitchen, Rachel wanted to know how Mr. Philip Bradley knew about her great-uncle.

“I couldn’t believe my ears—I honestly thought I heard him askin’ about your uncle, Gabriel Esh,” said Rachel, frowning.

“Jah, you heard right, but you also must’ve heard me say that it’s not nobody’s business what went on back forty years ago. That includes you, my dear. Besides, it ain’t right to be talkin’ so awful much about a dead man under the shun.”

“Why
was
your uncle shunned, Mam?” Rachel seemed to be looking right at her, and even though Susanna knew her daughter couldn’t make out her face or her frame, she almost wondered now as she stood there if the young woman’s sight had suddenly returned. Himmel, there was almost a bold look on her daughter’s face, and it got her thinking how to smooth this whole ridiculous dialogue over, bring it to a quick end.

“No need us wastin’ precious time talking ’bout what’s over and done with,” she said softly, hoping her tone might quell the matter. She surely didn’t want to open that can of worms.

Rachel stood near the sink, the breakfast silverware in her hand. Susanna fully expected her to turn back to the task of drying the knives, forks, and spoons, but Rachel shuffled past her, without reaching for her cane, sliding her bare feet along the floor, the utensils and dish towel still in her hands. “Where’re you going, Daughter?”

When there was no reply, she decided to let things drop. No way, nohow, did she ever want Rachel to inquire about Gabe Esh again. Not the way her daughter seemed so hesitant toward the area healers. Not the way she’d wavered about Blue Johnny these many years.

Rachel sat on the deacon’s bench in the entryway, waiting for the New York man to come downstairs. She didn’t rightly know how she would find her voice and ask the stranger what she wanted to know. It was a hard thing to cross the unspoken line the People had drawn between themselves and outsiders. Yet all her life she had wished for someone to talk to her about the mysterious great-uncle on her mother’s side. But just about the time she’d get up a speck of pluck to ask, the wind was knocked out of her courage.

The last time she’d almost stuck her neck out and asked about Gabe Esh was the day she’d ridden along to town with Dat, nearly a month ago. They’d been talking about this and that, most anything that came to mind; her father had spilled the beans and said he’d purchased a set of Bible tapes for her to listen to. “Don’t be tellin’ anyone ’bout it, though,” he’d said.

She’d come that close to blurting her question out. In all her days, she’d never known or heard of a person being shunned for no gut cause. Surely there must be some important reason why.

Another time she thought of asking someone like her cousin Esther to write a letter to Bishop Glick—Esther’s husband’s grandfather—since she figured the bishop would surely know about Gabe’s shunning, but she didn’t want to step on Esther’s toes, using her that way. If Bishop Glick was the sort of man her Jacob had been, she might’ve felt she could speak to him privately—in the presence of his wife, of course—but the bishop was rather reserved, not someone you could just walk up to after a preachin’ service and ask a question like that. Bishop Glick was as reticent, folks said, as she herself was. Still, Rachel wondered what things he might know—what others in the community knew but weren’t saying.

“Good morning, Rachel.” Hearing her name spoken by a man jolted her out of her musing.

“Oh, hullo,” she said, almost forgetting why she’d sat here so close to the front door.

“Have a nice day, and tell Annie I said good-bye.”

Philip’s kind voice encouraged her to reply. “Are you leaving?” she said, then realized what he meant, that he was saying good-bye just for the day.

“No . . . no.” He laughed, and she felt her cheeks heat at her blunder. “I’m paid through until Saturday. Can’t let a terrific room like that slip through my fingers.”

She didn’t quite know how to respond to that, but she was surprised that she was able to get any words out at all. Here she was talking to the sophisticated New York guest. “May I . . . I mean, would it be all right . . . if I ask you a question?”

“You certainly may. What is it, Rachel?”

She was taken a little by surprise, the way he said her name—kind and gentle-like. “I heard you talking to my mother about Gabe Esh a little while ago.”

“Yes?”

“How did you know him?”

“Well, I didn’t know him at all. I found an old postcard in the desk upstairs . . . in my room, which he wrote forty years ago.”

“A postcard . . . from Gabe Esh? Who was he writing to?”

“Here, let me show it to you. Maybe
you’ll
know more about this. It’s written in Pennsylvania Dutch, but I’ll read the translation to you.”

Slowly, he began. Rachel was silent, listening intently. “Oh my, what a mysterious and beautiful message,” she said when he finished.

“Do you know who Adele Herr was?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve never heard of her. But I, too, am curious . . . been wanting to know more about my great-uncle . . . for many years now.”

“Gabe was your great-uncle?”

“Jah, on Mam’s side of the family.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, what did my mother say about her?”

He was silent, and she wondered why. Then he said softly, “Your mother seemed quite troubled by this, so perhaps you should speak to
her
. I don’t want to cause problems.”

She was quite taken aback by his sincerity. “Thank you, Mr. Bradley. That is very kind.”

“Philip—remember? I don’t quite know how to react to anything more formal.”

He’d said precisely the same thing last evening, and she felt foolish about having forgotten. “I apologize, Philip,” she said, enjoying the sound of his name.

“That’s quite all right. And, if it should work out for me to relay to you any information I might uncover today— about your uncle—I will certainly do that.”

“Denki,” she said, almost without thinking. “Thank you very much.”

“Well, it’s another warm day. Maybe you and Annie will go for another walk.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. We’ll be makin’ applesauce and picklin’ beets today,” she said, aware that the silverware and dish towel were still in her hands. “There may not be much time for walkin’.”

“Well, then, good-bye,” he said and was out the door before she realized that she’d talked nearly a blue streak to a stranger. And an Englischer at that.

Rachel was standing at the back door, waiting for Annie to fill Copper’s water dish outside. She heard Mam scurrying about the kitchen, straightening things up before they headed off to Lavina’s.

“I don’t know what you were thinkin’, talking to Philip Bradley thataway, Rachel. It was like you were just tarryin’ there for him to come downstairs.”

She wondered how much her mother had overheard, though she didn’t think it was much to worry about. “He seems nice enough” was all she said.

“He’s a snoop, and he’s got his gall nosin’ into our family business.”

Rachel said nothing, knowing from past experience it was best not to egg Mamma on. Susanna hadn’t heard everything Philip had said, though now to think of it, Rachel could scarcely believe the conversation had taken place at all. What
had
come over her to speak to a stranger like that? She’d told him something she’d never told a soul on earth except Cousin Esther, for goodness’ sake! So now Mr. Philip Bradley knew just how curious she was about Gabe Esh, and that she had been all her life.

On the buggy ride to Lavina’s, she second-guessed herself, worrying that she’d made a mistake talking to a stranger. One thing was sure—he had the nicest-sounding voice she thought she’d ever heard. And wonder of wonders, he was on his way to dig up information about Gabriel Esh. And Adele Herr.

Adele Herr ain’t Amish
, she thought.

Could it be true that Gabriel Esh had had an English sweetheart, like the postcard seemed to indicate? Was
that
the reason for his shunning?

Philip took Interstate 176 to Reading, eager to get there as soon as possible. He wanted to have plenty of time to locate Gabe’s grave marker, if there was one, before heading back to Lancaster in order to meet Stephen Flory for supper at the Bird-in-Hand Family Restaurant. He also wanted to do some checking, see if anyone in the area might have known Adele or knew the date of her passing. Ultimately, if need be, he could search microfilms for a death notice, but he much preferred the human connection. The tenderness with which the postcard’s message had been written and the fact that the postcard itself had been entrusted to him were, perhaps, the driving forces behind his desire, spurring him on to locate both Gabe’s final resting place and Adele herself, though he feared the lady might also be deceased.

Between Plowville and Green Hills he wiled away the miles, talking to his sister on his cell phone. “Thought I’d check in and let you know your brother’s still alive and kicking.”

“How’s the article coming?” asked Janice.

“Nearly finished.”

“You’re always in a rush, aren’t you, looking ahead to the next project? Never take a minute to sigh.”

“Not this time. I’m actually thinking of joining up with the Amish.” He laughed. “So . . . how would you and Kari like to come help me run a bed-and-breakfast in Pennsylvania?”