The Postcard (28 page)

“The dog’s here, at least,” he said as she joined him outside. “Any sign of Rachel or Annie?”

“I checked the footpath . . . nothing.”

Unwilling to entertain panic-ridden thoughts, she spun in circles as she stood on the flagstone patio. “Well, it looks like Rachel or
somebody
was rolling out a couple o’ pies, so where on earth could they be?”

“Gone for a walk maybe?” came Ben’s reply. “I wouldn’t be too worried.”

“With dough spread out all over the table? I don’t believe Rachel would do such a thing—leave the kitchen in such a mess.”

“Well, you know how Annie is. She’s been coaxin’ her mamma out in the sunshine these past few days.”

“But Rachel would’ve made her wait a bit—till the pies were filled and in the oven at least.” Susanna felt mighty uneasy and started to run back inside. That’s when she happened to notice that Philip Bradley’s car was no longer parked out front. “Himmel, he didn’t kidnap ’em, did he?” she muttered, knowing she best not tell Ben what she was thinking just now.

When the phone rang, Susanna was out of breath. “Zooks’ Orchard Guest House. Susanna Zook speaking.”

“Mamma! I’m ever so happy you’re home.”

“Rachel, where are you?”

“At the hospital. Annie had a horrid wasp sting, and Philip Bradley drove us to town.”

“Philip Brad—”

“It’s all right, Mam. Annie’s breathing is much, much better now. The color’s come back in her cheeks, too. . . . But we nearly lost her.”

Susanna put her hand to her forehead. “My, oh my, you gave us a fright, leavin’ the house thataway. We hardly knew what to think, Dat and I.”

“Annie’s gonna be all right—that’s what matters,” Rachel said. “We have so much to thank the Lord for.”

Gathering her wits, Susanna offered to have Benjamin call a Mennonite van driver. “We’ll come get you.”

“No . . . no, that’s all right, really. Mr. Bradley’s here with us. He’ll bring us home when it’s time.”

Mr. Bradley this, and Philip Bradley that. . . .
Thank goodness the man was checking out tomorrow!

Once Annie was stabilized and given the okay to leave, Philip guided Rachel to the accounting window. There, he learned of Rachel’s last name for the first time. Yoder. So— she was Rachel Yoder. He found himself wanting very much to remember.

She requested that the bill for treatment be mailed to Benjamin Zook. “Annie and I live with my father,” she said, explaining that she had rushed out the door without money—not even a purse. “We don’t carry medical insurance. It’s the Old Way of doing things.”

No insurance? Philip was stunned. How risky, especially raising an adventuresome child like Annie. Upon further investigation, he discovered that Amish folk didn’t buy insurance of most
any
kind. They took care of each other through individual donations and the Amish Aid Society, a fund set up primarily for the purpose of aiding their farmers in the case of losses due to lightning, storms, or fires.

In the frenzy of leaving the house to get Annie to the ER, Rachel had evidently forgotten to bring along her cane as well. Now both Annie and Philip walked on either side of her, guiding her safely out to the car. What an odd-looking trio they must appear to be to anyone observing—Philip wearing modern attire, Rachel in her mourning dress—black apron and white prayer veiling—and young Annie still wearing the smudged rose-colored dress.

“I think you best be thankin’ Mr. Bradley for savin’ your life,” Rachel said as they walked.

“
Philip
,” he reminded her. “Call me Philip.”

“Ach, I forgot already.”

He laughed softly, thinking about her obvious hesitation with his first name. “Does a guy named ‘Mr. Bradley’ sound like someone who goes around saving little girls from wasp stings?”

Annie peeked around her mother’s long dress at him, grinning. “You’re funny, Mr. Philip. I like you. I wish you would stay ’round longer.”

“Maybe I’ll have to come back and visit again. How’s that?”

She seemed satisfied with the idea, bobbing her little head up and down. Annie had a peachy glow about her now, probably from the adrenaline in the shot. Her hair had been neatly rebraided and wound around her head while in the emergency room. Rachel’s doing, he assumed.

After they were settled in the car and heading back toward Bird-in-Hand, he heard Rachel tell Annie, “Never since the accident have I been so frightened as today.”

“You mean since Dat and Aaron died?” Annie replied, next to Rachel in the backseat.

“Jah, since then.”

Philip was stunned and spoke up, “Someone in your family was killed?”

“A car hit our market wagon, and my father and brother died,” Annie said. “I was only four, so I don’t much remember. But I broke my arm.”

Unbelievable! To think that Rachel’s husband and child had died so horribly. No wonder the young woman continued to wear her drab mourning clothes. How had Rachel and Annie been spared such an accident? He’d seen an Amish buggy up close enough to touch on his early-morning walk. The thought of a car ramming into a fragile rig like that, why, there was no way a person could survive an impact involving three tons—

“If anything had happened to you today,” Rachel was saying to her little girl, “I could never have forgiven myself. Never.”

“But it wasn’t your fault I got stung by that mean old hornet,” Annie insisted. “And Dawdi Ben says it ain’t your fault about the accident at the Crossroad, neither.”

Now it was Rachel who was silent, and Philip drove for several minutes without glancing once in his rearview mirror.

The sun bore down on the hood of the car as Philip drove Rachel and Annie Yoder back to Bird-in-Hand, to their home at Orchard Guest House. He thought of another Orchard House, though not an inn open to overnight guests. It was the Massachusetts home of Louisa May Alcott, a favorite author of his niece. He had taken Kari, along with her parents, on a tour of the old place on the outskirts of Concord. Set back in the woods, off a narrow, tree-lined road, stood the big brown house where the classic novel
Little Women
had been penned in 1868.

The call from Stephen Flory to his cell phone came quite unexpectedly as Philip was approaching Smoketown. “I think you’re going to be very interested in something, Philip.”

“What’s up?”

“Believe it or not, a woman in Reading—residing in a nursing home—is willing to tell you what she knows of Gabe Esh and Adele Herr.”

“You’re kidding.”

“The ailing woman’s name is Lily, in case you wish to pursue the lead.”

“Do I ever!” He thought Rachel might be fascinated to hear this. “Sounds too good to be true.”

“The connection came from a very reliable source right there in the Bird-in-Hand community—a friend-of-a-friend sort of thing—so you can believe it.”

“Thanks, Stephen. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“By the way, I’m still checking on that obit for you,” Stephen added. “If Adele Herr died anywhere in Pennsylvania, I should be able to track down the death notice.”

“Maybe this Lily in Reading can fill me in. Thanks.”

“Give me a call when you can. I’ll have more details for you.”

Philip wondered how Susanna Zook would react when he asked to rebook his room. Again. As for juggling his flight schedule—that is
if
the Reading visit forced him to extend his stay—he might decide to take the Amtrak back to New York. At any rate, he’d have to give Bob Snell another call. Janice, too.

“I may have some interesting news for you about your mother’s uncle by this evening,” he told Rachel, glancing over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” she asked a bit hesitantly.

“A friend of mine put his feelers out and has a lead on someone who seems to know the woman Gabe wanted to marry. Looks like I’ll be heading back to Reading this afternoon, hopefully.”

Rachel was quiet. He wondered if she might have inquired more were it not for Annie seated next to her, looking wide-eyed. And now quite bushy-tailed.

“Sometime I’d like to tell you what I discovered in Reading . . . at a cemetery there,” he said discreetly, even though Annie was hardly paying attention to the conversation.

Back at the Amish inn, Philip phoned his editor and left a message on his office phone. Next, he called Janice, who offered to pray for him while he was having some much needed R and R. He didn’t feel rested at all at the moment. Janice had no idea what he had been through that day.

The next morning, he waited downstairs for three other guests to complete the check-out process, expedited efficiently by Susanna Zook.

“I don’t suppose it would be possible to lengthen my stay,” he said as he paid his bill in full.

Susanna shook her head stiffly. “We’re sold out up through the next full month.” She flipped through a black leather notebook. “Sorry.”

She offered not a word about his having befriended her daughter and granddaughter. No show of gratitude, though Philip wasn’t looking for it. Still, he thought she seemed rather pleased that her B&B was fully booked—that there was not even a square inch left for one Philip Bradley.

He returned to his upstairs quarters to pack his bag. Finished with that small chore, he closed his laptop and carried his personal belongings to the front door, not bothering to call a good-bye to either Rachel or Annie, though he would have liked to, providing Susanna hadn’t been hovering there, waiting for him to exit. She was so eager to see him out, in fact, she opened the door as if shooing out a nasty fly.

Outside, Benjamin was stooped over in the hot sun, weeding a long bed of low-growing cushion mums of red, yellow, and bronze. He looked up from his crouched position and nodded. “Didja enjoy your stay with us, Mr. Bradley?” the man asked, scratching his beard.

“Very much, sir. Have a nice day.”

“And the same to you” came the tentative reply.

Philip proceeded quickly to his car, eager to phone Stephen Flory for more details regarding Lily, the friend of Adele Herr. Before pulling out of the driveway, he chatted by cell phone with Stephen about the location of Fairview Nursing Home and whom to contact once he arrived there. Also the phone number. “Any suggestions on a place to stay around here? Or maybe even Reading, if need be. I’ve been booted out.”

“No kidding.” Stephen seemed amused.

“It seems Benjamin and Susanna Zook were more than eager to have me vacate the premises.”

“And why is that?”

He chuckled. “It’s a mystery, unless they were put out with me for saving their granddaughter’s life.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind. Not important.”

Stephen had a suggestion. “Why don’t you come stay with us? We have a spare room in our basement. Think it over and let me know.”

“Thanks, I appreciate the offer,” said Philip. “I’ll see what I can do about getting in to see Lily this afternoon.”

“Better call ahead . . . find out the visiting hours.”

“I’ll do that and get back with you about the invitation.

I just might take you up on it.”

“Very good.”

They hung up, and Philip immediately dialed the phone number for the Fairview Nursing Home in Reading. He had a good feeling about this visit.

Part Three

Love is intensity: it does not give us eternity but
life, that second in which the doors of time and
space open just a crack. . . .

Octavio Paz

And it shall come to pass, that before they call,
I will answer; and while they are yet speaking,
I will hear.

Isaiah 65:24,
KJV

Twenty

T
he middle-aged receptionist greeted him warmly, almost too enthusiastically, as if she encountered few opportunities to welcome visitors.

“I’ve come to see Lily,” he told the woman with shoulder-length red hair. “My name’s Philip Bradley.”

“Ah yes.” She pushed up her glasses. “And how is it you’re related to our Lily?”

“No relation. I’m a friend of a friend, you could say.” He thought about it, wanting to be absolutely truthful. “Actually, I have in my possession an old postcard that belonged to someone I understand Lily—your patient—knew well.” He reached into his sports coat pocket, displaying the pictureless card and the English translation stuck to the front with a Post-it note.