Beverly Lewis The postcard The postcard The PostcardCopyright 1999 Beverly Lewis Cover by Dan Thornberg Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania, is a village located in central Lancaster County; however, with the exception of Bishop Jacob J. Hershberger, the characters in this novel are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Scripture quotations identified NIV are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION . Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved. The NIV and New International Version trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark . Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society. Scripture quotations identified KJV are from the King James Version of the Bible. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means- electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise-without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. Published by Bethany House Publishers A Ministry of Bethany Fellowship International 11400 Hampshire Avenue South Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438 www.bethanyhouse.com Printed in the United States of America by Bethany Press International, Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438 ISBN 0-7642-2211-2 (Trade Paper) ISBN 0-7642-2224-4 (Hardcover) ISBN 0-7642-2225-2 (Large print) ISBN 0-7642-2223-6 (Audiobook) Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lewis, Beverly, 1949- The postcard / by Beverly Lewis. p. cm. ISBN 0-7642-2224-4 ISBN 0-7642-2211-2 (pbk.) 1. Amish-Pennsylvania-Lancaster County Fiction. I. Title. PS3562.E9383 P67 1999 813'.54-dc21 99-6378 CIP6 To Dave, my beloved helpmate and husband. To the memory of my dear aunt, Gladys Buchwalter, who, along with her co-worker in the Lord, Dorothy Brosey, led many souls-young and old- to Calvary's Cross. I if7 Beverly Lewis was born in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country. She fondly recalls her growing-up years, and due to a keen interest in her mother's Plain family heritage, many of Beverly's books are set in Lancaster County. A former schoolteacher, Bev is a member of The National League of American Pen Women-the Pikes Peak branch-and the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators. Her bestselling books are among the C. S. Lewis Noteworthy List Books. Bev and her husband have three children and make their home in Colorado. 8 v>7 cloud, unforeseen, skidded across the ivory moon and darkened his room, if only for a moment. He lit the kerosene lantern and set about rummaging through his bureau drawers, searching for something-anything-on which to write, so eager was he to pen a prompt reply to his beloved's astonishing letter. Amish words poured from his joyous heart as he wrote on the back of a plain white postcard. ... 9It's All I Have To Bring Today It's all I have to bring to-day, This, and my heart beside, This, and my heart, and all the fields, And all the meadows wide. Emily Dickinson (circa 1858) I used to dream of possessing a full measure of confidence. Used to wonder what it would be like to have at least a speckle of pluck, as Mamma often said when I was a girl. Growing up Plain, I come from a long line of hearty women. Women like my grandmothers and great-grandmothers, who believed in themselves and in working hard, living out the old proverb The Lord helps those who help themselves. Yet, in spite of all that hereditary determination and spunk, I was just the opposite-overly timid and shy. Nearly afraid of my own voice at times. A far cry from the stories told me of my ancestors. Elizabeth, my next oldest sister, seemed awful worried about me when, upon my sixteenth birthday, I was too bashful to attend my first Singing. Turning sixteen was an important milestone in the Amish community. The wonderful 10 j coming of age offered long'awaited privileges, such as so cializing with boys, being courted. Lizzy was so concerned, she confided in one of Bishop Fisher's granddaughters, explaining in a whisper so I wouldn't hear. Rachel was born shy came her tender excuse. I had overheard, though the reason my sister gave for my perpetual red face didn't make me feel any much better. 'Least back then it didn't. And it didn't help that all my life one relative or another felt obliged to point out to me that my name means lamb. Rachel puts herself out, she does. Never mind that it costs her plenty, Lavina Troyer had declared at a quilting years ago. So my course was set early on. I began to live up to my father's distant cousin's declaration-working hard to keep the house spotless from top to bottom, tending charity gardens as well as my own, eating fresh in the summer months, putting up more than sufficient canned goods for the winter months, and attending work frolics. Now that I've been married for over six years-a mother of two with another baby on the way-I've come out of my shell just a bit, thanks to my husband, Jacob, and his constant encouragement. Still, I wonder what it would take to be truly brave, to develop the kind of admirable traits I see so clearly in my eleven siblings, most of them older. As for church, Jacob and I left the strict Old Order behind when we married, joining the ranks of the Amish Mennonites, which broke Mamma's heart-and she never forgot it! I 'spect she's still hoping we'll come to our senses and return someday. Beachy Amish, that's what the non-Amish community ( English folk) call us now-after Moses Beachy, who 10 11 founded the original group in 1927. Our church does not shun church members who leave and join other Plain ^groups, and we hold public worship in a common meetingjhouse. Often our bishop, Isaac Glick, allows the preachers Sto read from the newly translated Pennsylvania Dutch version of the New Testament instead of High German, which the young people don't understand anyhow. We embrace the assurance of salvation, and we use electricity and other modern conveniences like telephones, but a few church members rely on horse-drawn carriages for transportation. Still, we dress Plain and hold fast to our Anabaptist lifestyle. Besides my husband, I am most grateful that the Lord has seen fit to give me a confidante in my cousin Esther Glick. Confiding my deepest thoughts to my Pennsylvaniaturned-Ohio cousin is always a joy. It seems easier to pour out my heart in a letter than face-to-face with any of my sisters. Esther and I had often shared our deepest secrets as youngsters-we go back as far as I can remember. Maybe further. I've heard it told that Esther's mother-Aunt Leah-and my mother experienced the first twinges of labor at the exact hour. So my cousin and I are a faithful reflection of our mothersrsisterly love. Every Friday, without fail, I stop whatever I'm doing and write her a letter. Friday, June 17 Dearest Esther, It has been ever so busy here, what with the summer season in full swing. Jacob says we will soon have enough money saved to move to Holmes County. Oh,Imiss you so! Just think-if we do live neighbors to you, we'll quilt and can and raise our children together once more! 12 Tomorrow's a busy day at Farmers Market. Jacob has handcrafted lots of fine oak and pine furniture for our market stand. He's worked especially hard at restocking the little wooden rocking chairs and toy trucks. Lancaster touristssnatchthem right up-hardly think twice about opening their pocketbooks. We cater too much to outsiders,Ifear. But then, tourism is our main industry these days. Not like it used to be when Lancaster farmland was plenty and not so dear. Things are changing rapidly here. Remember the times I hid under the market tables at Roots and the Green Dragon? Remember how Mamma would scold? Every now and then,I bolein the mirror and still see a young girl. Running alongside Mill Creek at breakneck speed, through glimmering shadows of willows and maple, 1 used to pretendIwas the wind. Imagine that! Idid enjoy my childhood so, growing up here in the country, away from the noise and bedlam of Lancaster. Speaking of childhood, I see signs offriskiness in young Aaron. So much like Mamma he is, and only five! Annie, on the other hand, is more like Jacob-agreeable and companionable.Myhusband laughs when 1 tell him so, though deep downI'speche's awful pleased. As for our next little Yoder, I do believe he or she will be a mighty active one. The way this baby wrestles inside me is a new experience altogether.Idaresay the baby is a boy, probably another mischief in the making! Not a single one of my children shows any signs of shyness, like their mamma, and 1 'spose I'm glad 'bout that. Ach, forgive me for going on so. Stopping, I adjusted the waistline of my choring dress, letting my eyes roam over the letter.Jah,I was downright uncomfortable these days. Oughta finish hemming the maternity dress I started yesterday. But first things first... 13 Jacob's itching to get his fingers back in the soil. Won't be long and he'll have his twenty-sixth birthday. I'm close behind at twenty-four, still young enough to hold on to certain dreams, you know, trusting the Lord to help make them come true. Even though we married young, we've worked mighty hard for a chance to buy some land, like you and Levi. We're both eager for that day-farming'sim blud-in the blood. Jacob's a good provider and a kind and loving husband. We're good friends, too, which isn't too often the case among some husbands and wives. (I have you to thank for setting us up. If it hadn't been for you, I might never have gone to my first Singing back when!) 'Course, Yd never want to return to my single days-achlM31face was always that befuddled pink. Remember? When I look into Aaron's bright eyes, I can't help but see the hope of the future. Such a spirited disposition he has, and I am indeed grateful. When Annie points out the colors of a dewy rose garden at early morning or the changing sky at sunset (she really does have a keen eye for nature at just four)-it makes me stop and count my blessings. So very many! SometimesIthink the dear Lord has showered too many wonderful'gutHhings down on me. But you know my reticent heart, Esther, that I do have much to be thankful for. Mam and Dat are finally settled one hundred percent in their new place. Just didn't seem right, them moving out of the old farmhouse. But they're happy about the new business-Zooks' Orchard Guest House B<5?B-not far off Beechdale Road, on Okie Mill Road. I'm amazed, at their age(Mam'salready sixty-three!), yet they want to do something completely different now that Dat thinks he's too old to farm.Atleast the homestead didn't change hands to strangers. It stayed in the family the way Dat always wanted.Mytwo older brothers and their wives are keeping 14 the place going. The dairy farm, too. I think my parents really do have a ministry to the weary traveler. Offering a retreat in the midst of Amish country is something more ofus ought to consider. Well, this is getting long, and news is scarce. Please write soon. I remain your loving cousin, Rachel Yoder Ohio and Esther were both on my mind as I folded the letter, then placed the envelope on the buffet at the far end of the kitchen. Time for evening prayers, Jacob said, looking up from the Budget. He'd spread the weekly Amish newspaper out all over the kitchen table, open to the ads for carpentry tools. I'll go call the children. I watched from the back door as Aaron and Annie came running, their hands and faces smudged from digging in the dirt. Pop's gonna read the Bible, I said, hurrying them to the sink to be washed up. Jacob took the Bible down from its usual place in the corner cupboard and sat in his grandfather's old hickory rocker-his favorite chair. Listen carefully, children, he said, his face tanned and smiling. Aaron and Annie sat cross-legged at their father's knee. What Bible story will it be tonight? asked Aaron. Then, not content to wait for an answer, Can we hear about David and Goliath again? Jacob grinned and ruffled the boy's head. Something friedlich-peaceable-will do. I pulled up a chair next to Jacob, grateful for our special time together. But the house was so warm, nearly too hot and humid to expect our little ones to sit still. Both the back and front doors stood wide open, the screen doors allowing 16 circulation through the house, yet keeping out flies and other pesky insects. There had been an abundance of mosquitoes, my least favorite of the summer pests. We listened as Jacob read from Psalm 128-a hymn of celebration, possibly sung by King David himself. Yet I found my thoughts drifting off to the move to Ohio. Probably wouldn't happen till the dead of winter. Still, the realization of our dream was fast approaching. Jacob's soothing voice brought me out of my reverie. 'The Lord shall bless thee out of Zion: and thou shalt see the good of Jerusalem all the days of thy life.' He paused, his eyes bright with affection as he looked over the heads of the children ... at me. I felt a little giddy as our eyes met and locked. Dearest Jacob, I thought, smiling back at him. He began to read again. Thou shalt see thy children's children, and peace upon Israel. I was delighted with the Scripture Jacob had chosen for this summer night. This balmy evening, brimful of peace and contentment, before the chaos and stress of market day.... Once Aaron and Annie were safely tucked into bed, I scurried down the hall to Jacob's waiting arms. I recalled the words of the psalm, still clear in my memory. Thou shalt seethy children's children. . . . Sighing, I smiled into the darkness. Ohio was just around the corner. At long last, we would see the desire of our hearts. The Lord willing, we would. We talked into the wee hours, yet it seemed the night was young. We have much to look forward to, Jacob whispered. 15 17 I felt a twinge of confidence. A new beginning, ain't so? He gave a chuckle, and we sealed our love with a tender kiss before settling down to sleep. There was no way I could've known then, but that night-that precious, sweet night-was to be our very last. Nor could I have foreseen that my sensitive, shy nature-a persistent hound throughout my life-would change my course and, in due time, plunge me into darkness and despair. 16 18 The best mirror is an old friend. German proverb19a One Something as insignificant as sleeping past the alarm- getting a late start-always set things spinning out of kilter. The hurrier I go, the behinderl get, Rachel thought, feeling awful frustrated about having to rush around. Quickly, she washed her face, glancing in the oval mirror above the sink. That done, she brushed her longer-than-waist-length hair, parting it down the middle and working it into the plain, low bun at the back of her neck, the way she arranged it each and every morning. She had lived all her life in rural Bird-in-Hand, in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country. Her parents and siblings had found great fulfillment in working the land, all of them. But, as was Their custom, only the youngest married brothers had been given acreage, divvying up sections of the original family farm. There was only so much soil to go around, what with commercialism creeping in, choking out precious land-the very reason Levi and Esther Glick had packed up and bid farewell to their close-knit families. All for the sake of owning a parcel of their own. Still, the historic village and outlying area had offered everything she and her now-grown brothers and sisters ever wanted, and more. There was the grace of swaying willows, the tranquillity of clear, chirping brooks, the honesty of 19 20 wide-open skies, and the blessing and abundant love of the People. Our Father God, thy name we praise, she whispered, starting the day-late as it was-with a prayer of thanksgiving. Reverently, she placed the white prayer veiling on her head and turned to see her husband standing near the window, his tall, stocky frame blocking the path of the sun. We best hurry, she said, moving to his side. Can't be late for market. We'll take the shortcut, then we won't hafta rush so, he said, drawing her close. The shortcut? Rachel was cautious about the roads that led to the Crossroad-a dangerous intersection-where a number of fatal accidents had occurred in the past. Jacob reassured her. It'll be all right. Just this once. When she relaxed in his arms, he whispered, What if we moved to Ohio a bit sooner? How soon? Her heart beat hard with excitement. Say late December ... after Christmas maybe. Delighted, she reminded him of her cousin's many letters. Esther says there's still ample farmland where they are. She thought ahead, counting the months. And the new baby'll be two months old by then, if I carry full term. Jacob nodded thoughtfully. A right gut time then, prob'ly. Rachel couldn't deny that Esther's persistent letters had caused a stirring in her, and now to hear Jacob talk so! There's plenty time left to discuss the details. He looked down at her, his eyes serious. The woodworking shop brings in nearly more business than I can handle, so we'll have enough money to make the move by December. 21 The Lord willing, she whispered. God's will was always uppermost in their minds, yet she longed for the cutting sweet smell of newly mown hay and the earthy scent of cows herded into the barn, ready for milking. Rachel's parents and both sets of grandparents, clear back to the sturdiest aging branches of the family tree, had been dairy farmers. Some of them had raised chickens and pigs, too, spending grueling hours in the field while they spread manure to insure bountiful crops. According to snippets of stories she'd overheard growing up, there was only one of her ancestors who'd forsaken his upbringing. Considering the two hundred or so conservative folk connected to her through blood ties or marriage, losing a single member was ever so slight compared to some farri' ilies. Age'old gossip had it that Great'uncle Gabriel, her mother's uncle, had turned his back on the Plain community sometime during his twenty-seventh year, long past the time a young man should've joined church, making his commitment before God and the People. There were various spins on the story. Some said Gabe Esh was a self-appointed evangelist. Others had it that he'd been given a so-Tailed divine revelation -only to die weeks later. As far as Rachel was concerned, no one seemed to know exactly what happened, though she wasn't the sort of person to solicit questions. Truth was, most everyone closely acquainted with Gabe had long since passed through the gates of Glory. Except, of course, Old Order Bishop Seth Fisher and his wife, and Jacob's and Rachel's parents, though none of them seemed inclined to waste time discussing a rabblerouser, which was just what one of the preachers had said of Gabe in a sermon some years back. And there was Martha 21 22 Stoltzfus-Gabe's only living sister. But the brusque and bitter woman refused to speak of him, upholding die Meinding-the shunning that must've been placed on him, for what reason Rachel did not know. Lavina Troyer was rumored to have been a schoolmate of Gabe Esh, though none of that was talked about anymore. So there was a broken bough on Rachel's family tree, and not a single Esh, Yoder, or Zook cared to recall the reason for the fracture. She headed downstairs to cook the usual breakfast for her dear ones. Abandoning thoughts of the past, she turned her attention to the future as she scrambled up nine large eggs, made cornmeal mush and fried potatoes, and set out plenty of toast, butter, grape jelly, and apple butter. Just knowing that she and Jacob and the children could move so far from home, that a Bible-based conservative group was expecting their arrival-or so Esther had said-filled her heart with gladness. The future was ever so brightRachel and Jacob sat down with the children to eat, but the minute Jacob was finished, he dashed outside to load the market wagon. Rachel gently encouraged the children not to dawdle as she washed and dried the dishes. Soon, Jacob was calling to them from the yard. Time to load up the family. Kumme-come now! Rachel dried her hands and gathered up her basket of needlework. It was always a good thing to keep busy at market, especially if there was a lull, though that would hardly be the case on a summer Saturday. Tourists generally flocked to the well-known Farmers Market this time of year. Spying the letter to Cousin Esther on the buffet, she snatched it up just as Jacob came indoors. I think we're all 23O'Jie [ready, she said, shooing the children in the direction of the [puck door. The Yoders settled in for a twenty-minute ride, by way mbi the shortcut. An occasional breeze took the edge off the sunn's warm rays as Jacob hurried the horse. Still, they were breed to reflect on the day, allowing the primitive mode of Brsinsportation to slow them down, calm them, too. Truth be told, Rachel was glad they still drove horse and buggy instead of a car, like a few of her young Beachy relatives. The Bhn light of buzzing highways and wide thoroughfares made Bum- shiver with fright. She hoped and prayed Holmes County might be far less bustling. Plenty of time left, Jacob had said about scheduling plicir moving day. More than anything, she wanted to bring up the topic as they rode along. But she thought better of [ft ;ind kept her peace. It was Aaron who did most of the talking. Jabbering was more like it. After several minutes of the boy's idle babbling, Jacob reprimanded him. That'll be enough, son. Instantly, Aaron fell silent, but Rachel heard Annie giggle softly, the two of them still jostling each other as young- Itcrs will. Children are a gift from God, she thought, glancing back (SI the darling twosome. How very happy they all were in this life they'd chosen. And her husband's quiver was surely on its way to being full of offspring. She allowed her thoughts to wander back to each of her children's home births. Seemed like just yesterday that Matitie Beiler, Hickory Hollow's most prominent midwife, had come at dawn to help deliver Aaron. Rachel kindly rejected |her mother's suggestion to have a hex doctor come to as- liist-even after twenty hours of excruciating labor. Her first- 24 born would make his appearance when he was good and ready, she'd decided, in spite of Susanna's pleadings. For once, Rachel had spoken up and was glad of it. One year and two months later, Annie, all sweet-like, had arrived with the mildest, shortest labor on record in the area-around midnight. No sympathy healer was hinted at for Annie's birth. And no midwife. Rachel cherished the memories, yet tried to lay aside her ongoing concern over the powwow doctors. Especially one die bio Yonie-Blue Johnny. Dokder was the name the children called him, though she knew he was not a real doctor at all. Not Amish either. The tall man with bushy brown hair came a-knocking on one door or another nearly every Tuesday afternoon. Last month, he'd come to the Yoder house quite unexpectedly. He'd reeked of the musty scent of pipe tobacco as he rubbed his little black box up and down her son's spine and over his shoulders, never waiting for Rachel's consent whatsoever. Yet in no time, he knew about a tiny wart, hardly visible, growing on Aaron's left hand. To get rid of it, just roast the feet of a chicken and rub the wart with them, then bury the chicken feet under the \ eaves of your house, and the wart will disappear, the man had said, eyeing her curiously. Because of her wariness, Rachel never roasted any such chicken feet. She honestly wished she hadn't opened the ; door to Blue Johnny that day, what with Jacob working clear : across the barnyard in his woodshop. Even so, she was too -: timid to speak up. Such folk, calling themselves faith healers-with charms for this and herbal potions for that-had ; frequently called on Plain folk for as long as she could remember. Some of them were Amish themselves, though the J 25 powwow doctors among her own family had died out years ago. She herself had been looked upon as a possible choice because of certain giftings manifest in her as a young child. But due to her extreme shyness, she had been passed over. As for Blue Johnny, she felt uneasy around him and others who claimed healing gifts, even though he'd graciously cured Lizzy of rheumatism years ago. He'd come to the Zook farmhouse and taken the disease away by tying a blue woolen yarn around her sister's painful limbs, repeating a charm three times. In the process, the man had taken the disease on himself. And she knew that he had, because he limped out of the house and down the back steps, while Lizzy was free of pain in the space of five minutes! Most of the Plain folk in the area never gave powwow practices a second thought. Sympathy healers and folk medicine came with the territory, brought to Central Pennsylvania by early Dutch settlers. Such healers were believed to have been imparted gifts by the Holy Spirit and the holy angels, but there were others-a small minority-who believed the healing gifts were anything but divinely spiritual, that they were occultic in nature. Rachel knew precisely where her own uncertainties concerning powwow doctors had come from-an old column in the Budget, the popular Ohio-based newspaper for Amish readers. There had been an article written by one Jacob J. Hershberger, a Beachy Amish bishop living in Norfolk, Virginia, back in 1961. Esther had stumbled onto it when she cleaned out the attic before their Ohio move. For some reason, her cousin had thought the article important enough to save, so she'd passed it along to Rachel and Jacob. The writer had spoken out strongly against enchantment and powwowing, describing such as the work of 25 26 evil spirits. Jacob Hershberger had also admonished Amish communities everywhere to abandon their superstitious beliefs handed down by godless heathen. He instructed them to lay on hands, anoint with oil, call the elders of the church, and pray for the sick as God's Word teaches, instead of turning to witchcraft-powwow doctoring. After reading the column, Rachel initially wondered if there might be some truth to the notion that powwow doctors received their abilities from the devil rather than God. Could that be the reason she'd always had such a peculiar feeling around them? Yet if that was so, why didn't others in the community feel uneasy-the way she did? Since Rachel didn't have the courage to speak up and share her apprehension with either her bishop or the preachers, she was glad she could confide in at least one other person besides Jacob. Esther was always kind enough to say, Jah, I understand, or gently beg to differ with her. Esther was either black or white on any issue, and Rachel had come to trust that forthright approach. It was that kind of thoughtful and compassionate friendship they'd enjoyed throughout the years. Rachel gazed lovingly at her husband's strong hands as he held the reins, urging the horse onward. She looked ahead to the narrow two-lane road, taking in the barley and wheat fields on either side. Bishop Glick's place, with its myriad rose arbors bedecking the side yards, would soon be coming up on the left-hand side. Then another two miles or so and they'd pass the stone mill and the homestead 27 where she'd grown up amidst a houseful of people. She marveled at the beauty around her-the sun playing off trees abundant with broad green leaves and the wild morning glory vines entwined along the roadside. Ambrosial fragrances of honeysuckle and roses stirred in the summer air. 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 wonderfulgut, 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 28 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. 29Uc With great expectancy, Susanna Zook watched through Ilicr front room window as an open spring wagon, drawn by l;i veteran horse, rumbled up the private lane to the Orchard l( inest 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 inIspect 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 29 30 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 was ready for tourists. Sighing with sheer delight, she watched as Benjamin and his friend hauled the desk up the red-and-pink petunia-lined walkway. 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. 31 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 fjmuch more than she already had, which, for an Amish farm''er'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 justjitchin' 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 31 32 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 33In with Susanna. Such worldly gadgets made too much i,h kct for overnight guests anyway. She heard her husband and his friend chatting on the upstairs landing.Gut,she thought. They must be finished vviih the weighty chore. Here we are, pooch. She handed Copper a pale green 11 cat in the shape of a miniature bone. Leaving the kitchen mill 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, jerkinghis head toward the stairs. I daresay, if I hadn't seen it si|nceze past the doorjambs, I wouldn't have believed it myself. uDenki,Ben. She included her husband's friend in her 11 uuiks, offering him hot coffee and a sticky bun and inviting him to stay and sit a spell. But the man declined, shaking horh his head and his hands, backing away toward the front door. Ben stood there with a silly grin on his face. Well, go 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 rilled the air-brakes squealing, car horn blaring. The noises accompanied a speeding car as it crashed broadsideJacob's side-into the wagon- Rachel stood gasping, frozen in place, as shewitnessed the impact, seeing ff -tn her own eyes the m;uk< i wn^on splinter apart like so many toothpicks. Oh, dr.u I ..i.l, her family ... how could they possibly survive 11 < nisi ting blow? 36 37 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 ? Unable to find her children, she wrung her hands, running here and there, nearly insane with dread. Continuing her search, she winced at the sight of her husband lying in the highway, surrounded by dozens of damaged toys and mangled wood and metal from the shattered market wagon. She knelt on the road, its blacktop blistering her knees as she lifted her husband's battered face to hers. Lovingly, she cradled him as if he were a small child. Oh, Jacob... He moaned pitifully as she held him, though she dared not rock or move him the slightest, so badly hurt he was. Lord, please let my husband live, she prayed with trembling lips, all the while looking about her for signs of her little ones. J* Jacob was breathing; she could feel the slow and labored movement of his chest. Still, she was frightened, alarmed by the gashes in his head, the torn shirt and suspenders. She hesitated for a moment, then touched the wound in his left shoulder, allowing her hand to linger there as if her touch might bring comfort. That shoulder had supported her weary head on countless nights as they lay talking into the wee hours, whispering in the darkness of their Ohio dream as they planned their lives together with God's help. Jacob's shoulder had soothed her when, at nineteen, she'd experienced the first unfamiliar pangs of childbirth. 38 N ow . . . she heard voices as if there were people near, though she couldn't tell for sure, so murky and muddled things seemed, like a dream that she was actually living, unable to sort out the real from the illusory. She thought she might be dying, too, so dizzy and sick she was. A distant siren sang out, moving toward her with a peculiar throbbing motion. The rhythm of its lament seemed to pulse up through the highway, into her body as she held Jacob close. Compassionate hands were touching her husband, lifting his eyelids, putting pressure on his wrist. Then he was being carried away from her on a long stretcher. She felt faint just then and lay down in the road. Where are my children? she managed to say. I must find my little ones. Several paramedics are with them. This, the voice of a man she did not know. What are your children's names? Aaron and Annie Yoder, she said softly, the life withering within her. And your husband? She attempted to speak his name, but pain-deep and wrenching-tore at her, taking her breath away. Then everything went black. When she came to, she felt a cool hand on her pulse, followed by a sharp, brief prick in her arm. Though she had no sense of time, she knew she was being lifted onto something smooth and flat, the sun blinding her momentarily. The movement caused her great pain, and when she heard pitiful moaning, she realized that it was she herself. You're suffering from shock came a voice in her ear. We're going to take good care of you . . . and your unborn child. 39 The overwhelming emotion was that of helplessness as she was transported through the air, though she had no idea where she was being taken or who was taking her. Mamma! a child cried out. : In her disoriented state she could not identify the source \ of the utterance, though something inside her wrestled to know. Aaron? she mumbled, beginning to shake uncontrollably. Oh, Lord Jesus... help us, please. A warm covering embraced her body, and for a fleeting moment, she thought her husband's strong arms were consoling her. Then came stark flashes of bewildering images. Two roads meeting, a horse lurching, children screaming ... No ... no, she said, fighting off the visions. Yet they persisted against her ability to stop them. . The sound of rushing feet startled her back to the here and now. Where was she? Struggling to raise her head even the slightest, Rachel tried to take in her surroundings, feeling horribly and completely alone. The noises about her ceased and outward awareness faded with the deep, prevailing pain in her womb. The wail of a siren jolted her nerves, and gradually she gave in to the attentive urgings of those around her. Relax . . . rest . , . please rest. . . . She sensed that she was weakening, letting go-surrendering to the tremendous pain. And fear so black and ferocious, such as she had never known. In the hours following the accident, Rachel was unable to divide reality from haunting impressions. She knew only 39 40 one thing: Her parents were near, along with several of her brothers and sisters and their spouses. Her semiprivate room at Community Hospital was lovingly cushioned with Plain folk, close relatives with concern stamped on each face. Suffering the ill effects of her miscarriage, Rachel was finally able to speak the burning question in her mind. Where are Jacob .. . and Aaron and Annie? Her parents stood on either side of the bed, their faces grim. Annie's doin' fine, her father said. Her right arm is broken and there are bruises, but she will be all right. What about Jacob and Aaron? came her frightened reply. Such a look passed between Mam and Dat that panic seized her, and she thought she might faint. I must know about my family! When neither parent responded immediately, she felt something rise up in her. Something strong and defensive. Please tell me what happened. I must know everything, she pleaded. Their pallid faces told the dreadful truth. I'm sorry, my precious daughter, Dat said at last. You don't mean... She paused, trying to breathe enough to speak. Jacob isn't.. . She simply could not voice the impossible word. Is Aaron... ? Mamma nodded slowly, eyes glistening. Jacob and Aaron died in the accident. It's a miracle of God that Annie is alive, added Dat, his voice sounding strangely stiff. Mam took Rachel's hand in her own. We'll stay right here with you, till you're released to go home. Home .... Rachel moaned; her whole body shook. Home could 41 never be the same for her. Not without Jacob and Aaron. Overcome with grief, she closed her eyes, blocking out her mother's somber face. Mam's words were compassionate and true, yet Rachel could not comprehend a single one. Jacob . . . Aaron dead? How can this be! Her head throbbed with the truth, like a cumbersome weight against the long, flat hospital pillow. How it pained her to lean back. No matter what she did, her head ached, and her heart anguished for her dear ones. She wished she might've held her sweet little Aaron as he lay suffering on the road. It plagued her that he had died alone at the accident scene, that he might've called out for her- Mamma, oh, Mamma, I'm hurt awful bad! -or worse, that he could not utter her name at all. She placed her hands on her womb, her flat, lifeless womb, longing for her unborn child as well. More than anything, she wished to join her husband, her son, and their tiniest little one in heaven. Life without Jacob would be ever so lonely. Unbearable. Life on this earth without her darling boy would be intolerable. How could she face the years ahead? How could she bear the pain, missing them so? Someone wearing white floated into the room, and although Rachel assumed it was the nurse coming with a sedative, a blanket of numbness fell over her before she ever felt the needle penetrate her skin. Esther and her husband arrived the next afternoon. They had hired a Mennonite van driver to rush them from 41 42 Holmes County to Lancaster. In the space of half a day, they'd come. The reunion was a tearful one, and Rachel repeatedly searched Esther's dewy brown eyes, taking in the familiar rosy cheeks and the oval shape of her cousin's face. Esther had worn her best blue cape dress for the occasion, though her black apron was a bit wrinkled from the trip. You'll need someone to look after you and little Annie for a while, she insisted, kissing Rachel's forehead and holding her hand. Levi and I will be more than happy to stay till you're back on your feet. I'm so glad you're here. I came to help, to bear your sorrow, Esther pledged. Levi and I can stay as long as need be. She explained that their children were with close Amish friends in Holmes County. I don't know what I'd do without you, Rachel said, her voice breaking. Didja know that I must've written you a letter the night before the accident? But I don't remember writing it now. Mamma found it in my apron pocket. She motioned to the small closet. It's in there somewhere, she said before giving way to a fresh spasm of grief. Esther hugged her cousin. Shh. I'm here now. We'll get through this, jah? When Rachel was able to compose herself, Esther sat on the edge of the hospital bed, their hands clasped. They talked quietly of Annie and how glad they were that the child had been spared, along with Rachel. The Lord surely kept the two of you alive for a special reason, Esther said, her eyes still wet with tears. Rachel didn't quite know what to think of that-being kept alive for a special purpose. God's sovereign will was not 42 43 to be questioned, of course. Yet it was difficult to hear Esther go on so, especially when Rachel sincerely wished the Lord had taken her home to Glory, too. Why had God let her live? Mamma and Esther moved quietly to the window, encouraging Rachel to rest a bit. She heard the lull of their discreet whispering-Jacob's or Aaron's name slipping into the air every so often-but, honestly, she did not care to know what was being discussed. Funeral plans, most likely. With the thought of such a thing-a funeral for her dear ones-horrifying mental pictures flashed before her eyes: the car roaring into the wagon, Jacob's body broken beyond recognition. She shook her head as if to shake off the visions, shutting her eyes tightly against the persistent images. No! she cried out. Mam and Esther turned their heads. What's that, dear? Mam called to her. And Esther rushed to Rachel's bedside again. She breathed heavily as the painful memories slowly receded. Then suddenly a new insidious notion sprang at Rachel-that the accident had been her fault. Hen. Taking a deep breath, she blurted, I never heard the alarm! We slept through. If we hadn't overslept-if I'd heard the alarm clock like always-we'd never, never have taken the shortcut. We wouldn't have been at the Crossroad, and Jacob and Aaron would be alive today. Mustn't trouble yourself, Esther was saying, stroking Rachel's arm. Mustn't go blamin' yourself. But Rachel felt she had to express herself while this one memory was still alive in her. We were rushing to market . . . requiring the horse to gallop. Oh, Esther... 43 44 The accident wasn't your fault, her cousin repeated. Believe me, it wasn't. Mam was on the other side of the bed now, leaning over to reach for Rachel's free hand. The horse became frightened and leaped into traffic, is all. I ... I don't remember any of that, she confessed as she wept. How do you know this? There were witnesses, replied Mam. People saw what happened and told the police. This was the first she'd heard any talk of police and witnesses. Why, the whole thing sounded like some made-up story. Esther continued to hover near. You mustn't dwell on what was, Rachel. Think on the Lord ... how He watched over you and Annie, she said, her eyes filled with concern and love. We will trust the Lord for His continued watch over you. And all of us will pitch in and help, too. Jah, she said, feeling calmer, knowing that what Esther said was precisely true. Still, she felt she was going through the motions, agreeing with Mam and Esther, yet not feeling much conviction, if any. She was now intended by God to be a widow, to raise Annie, her only child. By herself. Esther remained close as Mam looked on. Rest now, she urged, squeezing Rachel's hand. Please, just rest. She wouldn't rest much, not the deep, life-giving rest that comes from a long day of toil. She would nap, but it would not-could not-possibly be restful. 44 45 That night, Rachel was alone for the first time. Mam andEsther had left Rachel to sleep, but her slumber was fitful ;iik! intermittent. Terrifying visions continued to haunt her as she fought to repress the nagging remnants of memories involving the accident, repeatedly refusing to see the sights her mind thrust upon her. Giving up, she turned on the bedside lamp to read her New Testament, only to find that the room remained engulfed in hazy darkness. She blinked her eyes, trying to brushaway whatever it was, assuming that her eyes were overlytired, strained perhaps. Slowly the darkness subsided. She had been reading her New Testament only a shorttime when the words began to rill together like a gray smudge on the page. Thankfully, the distortion lasted onlyafew seconds, then cleared up. She said not a word to the night nurse but fell into a troubled sleep, the Testament stillopen in her hands. Hours later, she awoke to a night sky, a starlit view from her hospital room. Getting up, she wandered to the window, looking up at a shimmering half-moon. Oh, Jacob, I wish you hadn't had todie, she whispered. You were such a peaceable man. Why did you and Aaron have to go that way? Her dreams just now had been filled with more nightmarish images. A horse-a sleek bay mare-lay sprawled out on a highway. Dead. And what might've been an Amish market wagon was twisted and on its side, all burst to pieces. She shuddered anew and rejected the repulsive visions. She woutd not,couldnot allow herself to see the memories that had torn her world apart. Yet with the shunning of images i nine shooting head pains, like long needles piercing her skull. 46 She closed her mind to the recollection of distant screams as well. The ear-piercing cries of a child. Aaron? Annie? Turning from the window, she limped back to her hospital bed, though it afforded little comfort. Once again she fell into a troubled sleep, dreaming that she was searching about her on the road, the sharp pain in her womb and the spasms in her head keeping her from moving much at all. She saw Jacob lying helplessly, wounded and bleeding. She began to cry out in her sleep, awaking herself with a jolt, only to find that the dimly lit hospital room had turned hazy beyond recognition. The next morning, Rachel was sitting in a chair near the hospital bed, wearing her own bathrobe that Esther had so graciously brought to her from home, when the nurse carried a large breakfast tray into the room. Good morning, Rachel, the nurse greeted her, though Rachel could make out little more than a filmy white shape. Gut mornin' to you, she replied, not able to determine where the coffee or juice or eggs or toast were located on the tray. She didn't feel much like eating anyway, so she sat silently till Mam and Esther began coaxing her to just taste something. Honestly, I'm not very hungry. Ach, now, what a nice selection of things, Mam prodded discreetly. Looks mighty tasty to me, too, Esther said, getting up and picking up something on the tray-maybe a glass of 46 47 juice or milk; Rachel couldn't be sure. Here, why don'tcha just have a sip? Though she felt they were treating her like a reluctant toddler, Rachel went along with the suggestion, reaching out toward the shadowy figure. But she fumbled and missed making contact, and the glass crashed to the floor. Oh, uh, I'm awful sorry. Rachel? What'sa matter? Mam asked as Esther wiped up the mess. I guess it's my eyes. .. I've been havin' a bit of trouble, that's all. What sort of trouble? asked Esther. Just some blurriness every so often ... it comes and goes. Well, have you told the doctor about this? Mam wanted to know. Rachel sighed, feeling awful about the broken juice glass. And terribly uneasy having to answer so many questions. What she really wanted was to be left alone to grieve her husband and son. I hate to bother anyone about it, really. Prob'ly nothing much at all. But when the nurse came in to pick up the tray, Esther inquired anyway. What could be causing Rachel's eyes to blur up? Can you describe your symptoms, Rachel? asked the nurse. I don't see so clearly anymore. Everything's all murky. Do you see light and shapes? Jah, but it's a lot like lookin' through a cloud. Esther spoke up just then. Doesn't seem normal, her having foggy vision-not after a miscarriage, does it? Well, I'll certainly mention this to the doctor, the 47 48 nurse said. He'll probably want to do a preliminary check on Rachel's eyes, then, if necessary, refer her to an eye specialist. Thank you ever so much, Esther replied. When the nurse left the room, Rachel reached out for her cousin's hand and squeezed hard. Thank you she whispered. The doctor wasted no time in coming. He marched into the hospital room carrying Rachel's chart, a stethoscope dangling around his neck. I hear you're experiencing some eye discomfort. No pain, really. Things are just all blurry. Well, we can't have you going home like that, can we? he said casually, lifting her left eyelid and flashing a pen light into it. Just exactly how much can you see now? Rachel struggled to describe her vision loss as the doctor led her through a series of probing questions. I don't need to tell you that you've been through a lot, Rachel. You're still reeling from having witnessed something no one should ever have to see. You'll need time to recover. Recover? She couldn't see how she would ever recover from such a loss as this. And she didn't want to be reminded of the grim accident scene. No, she desperately wanted to forget. But what would cause her eyes to blur? asked Dat, sitting on the other side of the room, pressing for more explanation. I couldn't say for sure, Mr. Zook, but from what Rachel has just told me, the disruption in her vision may be related to what we call post-traumatic stress. 50 How long will it go on? Dat asked, his voice sounded thinner now. My guess is no longer than a week came the cautious reply. Only in rare cases does it persist. But if it does continue, I'd recommend you see an eye specialist and . . . perhaps a psychiatrist who specializes in grief counseling. Rachel's vision was blurry, but she could see well enough to notice the nervous glances exchanged between Mam and Dat. Esther listened quietly, her gaze intent on the doctor. He continued. I'm confident that with love and support of those close to her, Rachel should recover very soon if this is, indeed, the reason. Rachel mentally replayed the doctor's strange description of her condition. It sounded as if he thought she needed a head doctor. I'm not crazy, she thought. Dat and Mam quizzed the doctor for several more minutes before he left to make his rounds, and Rachel took some comfort in his comment that her eyes would likely return to normal soon. No longer than a week. . . . In all truth, she was so discouraged by grief and the suppression of dreadful memories, her eye problem seemed almost trivial by comparison. 49 51 The joint funeral for Jacob and young Aaron was delayed a full twenty-four hours, making it possible for Rachel, though sickly and sorrowful, to attend. Her parents and siblings-and Jacob's family-lovingly surrounded her. And (here was Esther, attentive as ever. Rachel needed help walking to and from the buggy and into the Yoders' farmhouse. There had been times after her hospital release when her vision actually seemed to be improving. Today, however, things were rather dim again. A blistering sun beat down on the People, nearly two hundred strong, as they traveled for miles-most of them by horse and carriage-to gather at the farmhouse of Jacob's father, Caleb Yoder. The Yoders, both Caleb and his wife Mary, had wanted the funeral at home, due to the tragic nature of the deaths and the fact that it was a combined funeral for father and son. Has no thin' to do with us be in' Old Order, Caleb had assured her. A home setting always makes for better. He said this with eyes hollow, his wrinkled face gray as death itself. Rachel knew enough not to question, for Caleb Yoder was not a man to tolerate interference. And she wouldn't have thought of doing so anyway. Being submissive was a result of having been the last daughter in a string of siblings 51 52 prob'ly. And one of the twelve character gifts her father liked to talk about. Benjamin Zook believed certain traits were handed down through all families, through the ages. Old gifts, he chose to call them. Values such as generosity, responsibility, serenity, and simplicity. And, yes, submission. Three expansive rooms had been prepared by removing the wall partitions so the People could see the preachers from any corner. The air was thick with heat and humidity as folks gathered, sitting on closely spaced wooden benches the length of each room. Women sat on one side of the house, men on the other. A large number of Jacob's English woodworking clients and friends also showed up to pay their respects. The house was filled to capacity, chairs being added here and there at the end of a bench row, squeezing in an additional person wherever possible. Rachel sat stone-still, facing the coffins-one large, the other heartbreakingly small-seated with her relatives, Jacob's and Aaron's closest kin. Her back to the minister, Rachel recalled the painful, nagging memory of how they'd scurried about that last morning. She held her daughter close, letting Annie lean back against her, careful not to bump the broken arm. Rachel was glad her little one was still small enough to hold on her lap this way. There was something comforting about embracing a child, and she thought perhaps it was because she had lost the tiny baby growing inside her. While they waited for the service to begin, she struggled with her circumstance, wishing she could go back and unravel the hours, relive their last morning together. A thousand times a day she wished it. What was it Jacob had said-that they had plenty of time? She dismissed her keen thoughts for now, till her dear 53 ones were safely buried in the ground, though the tragedy was as real to her as the precious child in her arms. The People waited silently, reverently, for the designated hour. Then the various clocks in the house began to strike nine times, and the first minister in a lineup of several preachers removed his straw hat. The others removed their hats in unison. The first preacher chose a spot, standing between the living room and kitchen. Rachel didn't have to turn and try to focus her eyes on him; she knew the scene by heart, from having attended a number of traditional Amish funerals. It was her place to face forward, to keep her eyes, though cloudy and dim, on the handmade pine coffins. The gathering here today is an important one, the preacher began. God is speaking to us-all of us-through the death of our brother and his young son. Rachel listened intently, adjusting Annie's position on her lap. Her little daughter might never even remember this solemn day, but Rachel wouldn't have considered not bringing her. The preacher continued. We do not wish either our brother Jacob Yoder back into this life or his son, Aaron, but rather we shall prepare ourselves to follow after these departed ones. Their voices are no longer heard amongst us. Their presence no longer felt. Their chairs are empty; their beds are empty. He expounded on the grimness of dying in one's sins, though Jacob Yoder had chosen that good and right path- the only way a just and upright Amishman could stand before God on the Judgment Day, assured of where he stood for all eternity. Their presence no longer felt ... 53 54^Oeuerlt/ /bi jeverJu