The Postcard (5 page)

“Will we miss Lancaster, do you think?” she asked Jacob softly.

He reached over and patted her hand. “We always miss what we don’t have. ’Tis human nature, I’m sad to say.” His was a knowing smile, yet his words were not of ridicule.

“Living neighbors to Esther and Levi will be wonderful-gut,” she replied, thinking out loud. “We’ll be farmers again . . . after all these years.”

Her husband nodded slowly, his well-trimmed beard bumping his chest. “Jah, the soil tends to pull us back to it, I’d say. But I’m a-wonderin’ if you and Esther don’t have somethin’ cooked up.” Jacob looked almost too serious. “Maybe Levi and I oughta keep you and your cousin apart, for good measure.”

Rachel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Surely you don’t mean it.”

He looked at her and winked. “You know me better’n that.”

She had to laugh, the mere pressure of the moment bursting past her timid lips. “Jah, I know,” she said, leaning her head on his strong shoulder. “I know you, Jacob Yoder.”

They rode that way for a spell while the children twittered playfully behind them. She closed her eyes, absorbing the sounds of baby birds, newly hatched, and the rhythmic
clip-clop
of the horse. The familiar sound of a windmill told her they must be approaching her parents’ homestead. She felt close to the earth; the back roads made her feel this way—riding in the long, enclosed market wagon, pulled by a strong and reliable horse down provincial byways that wove the farm community together.

It was the intersection at Ronks Road and Route 340— the Crossroad—that put the fear of God in her. But the junction was a good twelve minutes away and the unfortunate accidents long since forgotten. Thankfully, a traffic light had been installed after the last tourist car accident, making the crossing safer.

She would simply enjoy the ride, let her husband humor her, and put up with Aaron’s increasing silliness in the back of the wagon. Then, once they settled in at market, she’d have the children run over to the post office and mail her letter to Esther.

Two

W
ith great expectancy, Susanna Zook watched through her front room window as an open spring wagon, drawn by a veteran horse, rumbled up the private lane to the Orchard Guest House.

Unable to restrain herself, she sailed out the screen door, letting it
slap-slap
behind her. She leaned on the porch post, catching her breath as her husband and his English friend climbed down from the wagon and tied the horse to the fence post, then proceeded to unload a large cherrywood desk.

Home at last!
she thought, reliving the recent weeks of haggling with the Mennonite dealer over the handcrafted piece. The minute she’d caught sight of the fine tambour desk on display at Emma’s Antique Shop she had coveted it, secretly claiming it for one of their newly refurbished guest quarters. She
had
thought of asking her son-in-law Jacob Yoder to make one, perhaps even suggest that he inspect the desk—see what he could do to replicate it. Something as old and quite nearly perfect didn’t often show up in shop windows. Such handsome items usually ended up at private estate sales and family auctions.

Rumor had it that the rolltop desk had been in old Bishop Seth’s family, unearthed and in disrepair in his wife’s English nephew’s shed up near Reading. Someone at the store let it slip that the 1890s desk had been restored in recent years, though when Susanna pushed for more background information, she was met with vague responses. She soon discovered that it was next to impossible following up on former antique owners.

Watching from the porch, Susanna held her breath as the men tilted, then lifted the enormous desk off the wagon. She could picture the space she’d set aside for its permanent new home. Upstairs in the southeast bedroom—newly painted and papered—ready for an overnight guest. All four of the other bedrooms had been completed in just a few short weeks after she and Benjamin had taken possession of the historic structure.

The architectural mix of colonial red brick, typical white porch, and country green shutters was both quaint and attractive, made even more fetching by the gentle backdrop of nature: the apple orchard and mill stream beyond the house to the north, a pine grove to the south, as well as expansive side and front lawns. Relatives and friends had come to help fix up the place, and in a few weeks, the rambling two-story house had been ready for tourists.

Sighing with sheer delight, she watched as Benjamin and his friend hauled the desk up the walkway lined with red and pink petunias. “It’s awful heavy, jah?” she called.

Ben grunted his reply. It was obvious just how burdensome the ancient thing was, weighing down her robust man—her husband of nearly forty-five years.

She hadn’t brought up the subject, but she figured Ben had encouraged her to purchase the desk as a sort of anniversary gift. “It’s not every day a find like this shows up at Emma’s—walks up the lane and into your house,” he’d said, with a twinkle in his eyes.

She knew then he honestly wanted her to have it, and she was tickled pink. But then, Benjamin was like that, at least about special occasions. He, like many farmers, didn’t mind parting with a billfold of money, so long as it made his wife happy. And Susanna had never been one to desire much more than she already had, which, for an Amish farmer’s wife, was usually plenty, especially when it came to food, clothing, and a roof over their heads. Just not the worldly extras like fast cars, fancy clothes, and jewelry, like the modern English folk.

She held the door open as the men hoisted their load past her and into the main entryway. Deciding not to observe the painstaking ascent to the upstairs bedroom, she made herself scarce, going into the kitchen to check on her dinner of roast chicken, pearl onions, carrots, and potatoes.

When she was satisfied that the meal was well under way, she went and stood at the back door. Their new puppy, a golden-haired cocker spaniel, was waiting rather impatiently outside—as close as he could get to the screen door without touching it with his wet nose.

“You’re just itchin’ to come in, ain’tcha?” she said, laughing as she pushed the screen door open just wide enough to let him scamper past. She shooed away the flies, thinking that she’d have to go around with her flyswatter now, hunting down the pesky, germ-ridden insects. How she hated them!

Still amazed that Benjamin hadn’t nixed her idea of having a house pet, she freshened the puppy’s water dish, chattering with pleasure as he lapped up the cool refreshment. She’d grown up believing that animals—wild animals and farm animals alike, as well as dogs and cats—were meant to live outside in a barn or some other such place. Never in the house. So when she’d spotted the beautiful pup at the pet store, she didn’t quite know why she changed her mind, wanting to raise an animal indoors. Maybe it was the dejected, yet adorable way the puppy had cocked his head to one side, as if to say, “Won’tcha please take me home?”

In the end, Benjamin was more than generous about purchasing the sad-eyed thing, giving Susanna full sway with the decision. Maybe he was softening in his old age, though he was just in his mid-sixties. Still, she assumed the purchase of a pet was somehow a joint retirement present to each other, possibly for optional companionship should one of them die in the next few years. How very strange such a house pet might seem to any of the People, especially when a host of cats and dogs were multiplying themselves monthly back on the farm they’d left to Noah and Joseph, their youngest sons, and their wives.

“Copper, baby, come here to Mamma,” she cooed down at the shining eyes and wagging tail. “You want a treat now, don’tcha?”

The dog seemed to agree that a midday snack was quite appropriate and followed her across the commodious kitchen, complete with all the modern conveniences, and stood near the refrigerator, wagging his bushy tail, eager for his treat.

She was secretly glad they’d bought a house with electricity already installed. And the modern kitchen—what would her sisters and cousins give to live like this! Thank goodness Bishop Seth had given special permission to conduct their B&B business this way. Only one requirement: She and Benjamin were not allowed the use of electricity in their private quarters, and, of course, there was to be no television or radio anywhere in the house, which was quite all right with Susanna. Such worldly gadgets made too much racket for overnight guests anyway.

She heard her husband and his friend chatting on the upstairs landing.
Gut
, she thought. They must be finished with the weighty chore.

“Here we are, pooch.” She handed Copper a pale green treat in the shape of a miniature bone. Leaving the kitchen and rounding the corner, she hurried through the breakfast room, situated in the center of a plant-filled conservatory, then through the formal dining room. There, she met up with the men.

“Your writing desk looks mighty nice,” Ben said, jerking his head toward the stairs. “I daresay, if I hadn’t seen it squeeze past the doorjambs, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.”

“
Denki
, Ben.” She included her husband’s friend in her thanks, offering him hot coffee and a sticky bun and inviting him to stay and sit a spell. But the man declined, shaking both his head and his hands, backing away toward the front door.

Ben stood there with a silly grin on his face. “Well, go on now, Susie. You know you’re just achin’ to have a looksee.”

She
was
eager. “Jah, I’ll get up for a peek at it.” And with that, she hastened up the stairs to the well-appointed guest room. Her eyes found the desk immediately, and she stood a moment, admiring the central placement on the long, papered wall. “It’s
lieblich
—lovely,” she whispered, heading for the linen closet in the hall where she kept cleaning supplies.

Before she set about dusting the desk, she pulled up a chair. After sitting down, she proceeded to roll back the rounded wooden covering, peering into every nook and cranny. Each little drawer and opening was just as she’d remembered, and she thrilled at the opportunity to own such a magnificent piece. “I will not be proud,” she said aloud. “I will be thankful instead.”

She dusted the organizer, complete with pigeonholes, and all the intricate woodwork where dust might’ve found lodging. Taking her time, she polished all the compartments except for one wide, thin drawer off to the left. She jiggled and pulled, but there was no budging the tiny niche, and she made a mental note to have Jacob take a look.

It was after she had finished polishing the desk, as she made her way down the hall to the stairs, that she heard the wail of a siren. The dismal sound came closer and closer, then swept past the turnoff to Beechdale Road, just south of them on Highway 340. Momentarily she cringed as she often did when she heard an ambulance or a fire truck in the area. But she dismissed the worrisome thought and went about the task at hand—preparing the noon meal for her husband.

Three

J
acob brought the horse and wagon to a complete stop, waiting first in line for the light to change at the Crossroad. “There’s much traffic today,” he mentioned, his eyes fixed on the highway.

“Public schools are out already,” Rachel said, seeing the cars whiz past them on Route 340. “Tourists are here from all over.”

“ ’Tis gut for business.” Jacob looked at her quickly, then back at the road just ahead.

“Jah, and for us movin’ to Ohio sooner,” she replied with a nervous titter, eyeing the busy intersection.

Aaron, behind them, pretended to be attracting tourists, laughing as he talked. “Come on, now, folks, have a look at these handmade toy trains and helicopters! You won’t find toys like this anywhere else in the whole wide world.”

Glancing around, Rachel saw her son holding up the wooden playthings, one in each hand. “Dat’s crafts won’t last long today,” she replied.

“If we ever get through this light, they won’t,” Jacob muttered.

Just then, an unexpected gust of wind snatched Esther’s letter out of Rachel’s hand, and it floated out the window and somersaulted—end over end—landing on the roadside to the right of the wagon.

“Aw, your letter,” Jacob said.

“I’ll run ’n get it right quick,” Rachel said and got out before Jacob could stop her. But the wind played chase, sending the envelope into the field, and she stumbled after it, glancing over her shoulder to see if the light was still red.
Gut
, she thought, seeing that it was, and hurried to catch the stray envelope.

Just as she rescued the letter, pushing it down into her apron pocket—just at that moment—she turned and saw the horse rear up, spooked by traffic.

“
Himmel
, no . . . no,” she whispered, running back toward the road, her heart in her throat.

Jacob was involved in a contest of wills, holding the reins firmly, pulling back hard. But the mare was up . . . up on her hind legs again, neighing loudly and shaking her long black mane.

“Hold steady, girl,” Rachel begged, clenching her fists at her sides, helpless to do a thing.

She could see that Jacob was trying his best to control the horse, but after moments of struggle, the frightened animal lunged forward, still snorting and stomping.

Rachel screamed, but her cries did not keep the mare from pulling the market wagon forward into the busy intersection. In a split second, a surge of terrifying sounds filled the air—brakes squealing, car horn blaring. The noises accompanied a speeding car as it crashed broadside—Jacob’s side—into the wagon.

Rachel stood gasping, frozen in place, as she witnessed the impact, seeing with her own eyes the market wagon splinter apart like so many toothpicks. Oh, dear Lord, her family . . . how could they possibly survive the crushing blow?

Moments passed. Everything around her fell silent.

Suddenly, strength returned to her legs. She began to stumble across the field to the accident scene, sobbing as she searched for her precious little children and dear, dear Jacob.

Rachel combed through the wreckage, calling frantically, “Aaron! Annie! Mamma’s here. Aaron . . . Annie! Can you hear me?”