The Crossroad (25 page)

Twenty-Three

First thing next morning, Mam offered to pray for Rachel. “After all my fussin’ over Blue Johnny, I think it’s high time to beseech the Lord God heavenly Father for your healin’.”

Rachel didn’t quite know what to make of the suggestion, but she gladly bowed her head, allowing her mother to pray that her sight might return “in your will … and for your glory. Amen.”

“Denki,” she whispered, embracing Mam.

“I won’t give up, neither,” her Mamma said, her arms strong against Rachel’s back. “We’ll keep on prayin’ and believin’.”

That morning, hearing Mam’s prayer, it seemed as if everything between the two of them had been near out of focus for a gut many years, and now, gradually, ever so slowly—and in God’s timing—the picture was growing clearer. ’Least it appeared to be so.

She and her mother had come a long way in just a few days. And Rachel knew she had the Lord to thank for that. Mam was no longer her adversary. No, they were sisters in the Spirit! She also knew that they would never go back to the way things had been before, that they would move forward. From now on.

After helpin’ Mam serve their one and only breakfast guest, Rachel left Philip and Dat chatting in the dining room and went to give Nancy Beiler a quick call. Rachel was ever so glad to actually talk to the dear woman who’d always insisted on bein’ called Auntie Nancy, after such a long time, too.

“Do you remember me?” she asked when the woman answered.

“Why … little Rachel, ’course I do! How in the world are ya, anyways?”

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ that we oughta sit down together and have hot chocolate and cookies here one of these days.”

“Sounds like a gut idea to me.”

They chatted ’bout some upcoming work frolics and such, then Nancy mentioned that she’d heard the “old bishop died … and on Christmas, too.”

“His funeral’s today.”

“Is it true what we’re hearin’ … that Seth Fisher got the assurance of salvation before he died?”

“Lavina Troyer was there to see it, and so was Dat.”

“Well, now, don’t that beat all.”

“It’s wonderful-gut news, ain’t so?”

Just then, Rachel heard Philip carrying down his luggage, so she said to Auntie Nancy, “Maybe I’ll see ya at the bishop’s funeral?”

“I’ll try to come. Wonderful to hear your voice, Rachel.”

“
Da Herr sei mit du
—the Lord be with you.” Then she hung up, trying without success to quiet her heart. Philip was preparing to leave!

She’d learned long ago that it wasn’t befittin’ to let emotions rule you. ’Twas simply childish to get flustered over an Englischer leavin’ town, for pity’s sake! Rachel wasn’t a child anymore. She’d been taught to “choke it down” if ever tears threatened to spill. ’Course, that was back when she was a little girl. Still, she’d worn her feelin’s on both sleeves near all her life, as Mam often reminded. Wasn’t because she wanted to; heaven knows, she didn’t. It was just how she was by nature. The Lord knew her heart, and that was that.

As a child she had been told—by older sisters, and Mam too—that she could squelch her emotions by simply standing or sitting right still, putting her fist over her mouth and shutting her eyes real tight. And if she did that and waited long enough, the lump in her throat would begin to go away, ever so slowly—but it
would
go away. “Sooner or later, your foolish tears’ll dry up, too, never to fall,” Lizzy had said.

But for Rachel to keep back the tears, she had to hold her breath a gut long time, too. Even then, sometimes that didn’t much help.

This moment—here and now—had been a long time coming, really. For all the days and weeks she’d thought of Philip Bradley, dreamin’ of him and sayin’ a prayer for him—all that—only for him to be sayin’ his good-byes. Again.

Yet she refused to let her tears be shed in front of him. Had to make them dry up, ’cause Philip was here in the parlor with her just now. She had to say so long without lettin’ on that she cared so awful much.

“I wanted to say how much I enjoyed getting to know you better, Rachel,” Philip was saying from across the room.

She nodded silently.

“I want you to know that I meant it when I said I’d be glad to set up an appointment for you with a doctor in New York City.”

A psychiatrist, he means
, she thought.

“If you decide differently, please let me know.” He paused for a moment, and she felt the gloom hanging heavy. “I’ll leave my business card here on the table for your parents … if they would be so kind as to give you the information. And … if ever you want to call … about that … I hope you will.”

I hope you will… .

She heard his words, heartbreakingly distant, but what more could she expect? That he might rush to her side and take her in his arms? Tell her how much he loved her? That he wanted to be with her for always? Just then, Annie came running into the room. “Oh, Mister Philip, you aren’t leaving, are ya?”

Rachel couldn’t bear to hear their exchange, their good-byes. Annie soon scampered out of the room again, and Rachel turned toward the latticed window she knew was there at the end of the private parlor. Her back to Philip, she shut her eyes tight and squeezed her fist against her mouth. It was no use. The lump in her throat was enormous, overpowerin’, really.

Amazingly, as she attempted to keep her emotions in check—the Amish way—she realized that she could make out the shapes of pine trees through the window, like seein’ through the veiling of her prayer Kapp. Ever so slightly, the trees seemed more and more clear. And the longer she looked, the more distinct they became.

All the while, as Philip talked, she blinked, getting used to the light again, truly marvelin’ at this wondrous thing that was happening. The murkiness, every bit of haze that had persisted since the accident, was beginning to fade away. It was as if a cloud or heavy film was lifting slowly, gently from her eyes.

Little by little, colors were coming into view. She could see the forest green of the pines, the azure blue of the sky, the dazzling white of the snow—and shapes, edges, lines, shadows … all the many things she’d taken for granted before the light had dimmed.

Taking a deep breath, she focused on the grandeur of the sky, the texture of the underbrush along the creek, shadows made by the apple trees lined up in their orchard behind the house. Even the neighbor’s silo and tobacco shed, more than a mile away, had become visible to her now. At long last, healing had come. She could see!

She wanted to turn and look into Philip’s face—oh, with all her heart she struggled with the urge to behold him. She wanted to see for herself the fine features Annie had described, look for the sweet spirit shinin’ out of his eyes. He was right there in the room—standin’ ever so near.

But what if she did tell him, and then her sight failed her again? Like it had the night Blue Johnny tried to use his enchantments on her? Hadn’t been long before her hazy vision was gone again, and the empty darkness was worse than before. And what if Philip pledged himself to her—thinkin’ she could see—only to be shackled with a blind wife after all?

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to call you sometime,” Philip said.

“I … I just don’t know,” she managed, torn between giddy feelings over her renewed sight and sorrow over Philip’s leaving. But she kept her gaze centered on the beautiful rich landscape beyond the window. She allowed her eyes to focus, ever so slowly, on closer objects: the windowsill, its white latticed frame—the center coming together in the shape of a cross. She looked with wonder at the Victorian marble-topped table—she’d gone with Mam to retrieve it from an estate auction years ago. She gazed fondly at the rose-colored hurricane lamp. Last of all, she stared down in complete astonishment at her own hands, folded tight across her waist.

Sighing, Rachel broke the silence. “Thank you for the offer, Philip—to help me get to a New York doctor… .” She paused, then, “Have a safe trip home. And may God bless you always,” she said softly. Yet her heart longed to announce the remarkable miracle, cried out from the depths of her soul to let him know. She could see again!

All the months of waiting for this moment, and yet she knew it was ill-timed. She could not tell Philip the truth.

It was only after the front door closed that she allowed her tears to fall freely. Then she rose and went to stand in the gentle curve of the bay window—away from view—watching him walk to his car.

Rachel caught sight of his face, if only for an instant. “Dear … dear Philip,” she whispered, thinking that Annie was surely right to say how good-lookin’ he was. His chestnut brown hair shone in the winter sun. Taking a deep breath, she continued to watch as he started the car, backed it out slowly, and turned toward Olde Mill Road.

Now that he was gone, she began to second-guess her resolve. What had she done? Had she made the mistake of her life by not telling Philip what had happened? That her vision had returned? She was ever so sure he would’ve pledged his love if he knew she had her sight. Yet she had withheld the truth.

She heard footsteps just outside the parlor door. “Rachel?”

It was Mam.

“Oh, Mamma, I can see!” she exclaimed.

Mam frowned in disbelief. “You what?”

“My eyes are perfectly clear. I see your green choring dress and your old work apron. And you’re scowlin’ at me to beat the band.”

“Well, praise be!” Mam rushed to hug her, then called for Dat and Annie. “Come, quick! The most wonderful-gut thing has happened!”

Rachel and Mam scurried out toward the hall as Annie came rushing in. “Annie, come here … let me look at you, my darling little one,” Rachel called to her.

Annie blinked as the realization began to settle in. Her mouth dropped open ever so far. “Didja say … oh, Mamma, you can see?” Her daughter’s eyes searched her own. “You
can
! You can!”

Rachel shed tears of great joy as she knelt down and let her baby girl hug her neck. “Oh, Annie, God made you ever so beautiful,” she kept saying over and over. “Ach, you’re the pertiest little girl I know.”

“God answered our prayer,” Mam said, all smiles as she stood over them.

Dat emerged from the front room, peering over his reading glasses. “Well, what’s all the commotion ’bout?”

“It’s ’cause of Mamma,” Annie said, releasing Rachel and running over to her grandfather. She hugged him hard at the knees. “Mamma can see again. She can see me … and you, too!” Annie looked up at Susanna and then down at their little dog, who’d followed Benjamin into the hallway. “Ach, Mamma can see
everything
!”

“Well, bless the Lord God” was all he said, wearin’ the downright biggest grin Rachel had ever witnessed on his face. “Bless the Lord.”

Later, after the excitement began to dwindle some, Annie ran off to color and Mam went to the kitchen, prob’ly to call Aunt Leah and Esther with the news. Dat headed back to reading
The Budget
, but Rachel turned toward the parlor, searching for the business card Philip had left.

She spotted it—a small white rectangular-shaped card—lying on Mam’s cherry tea table. Picking it up, she was tempted to look at it, to see the name of his workplace, what address it might be. But unsure of herself, she turned it over and over in her hand. Then, refusing the temptation to look at it, she began to tear it into tiny pieces. Scurrying outside, she threw the pieces into the trash can. Best not to be dwellin’ on either Philip Bradley or his little card anymore.

Standing on the back patio, with her shawl wrapped tightly around her, she looked beyond the apple orchard, now stark against the blue, blue sky. Her gaze drifted to the snowy pathway leading to Mill Creek, where she and Philip had walked just yesterday. What had he said—that the walk was an excuse for them to have some time alone? Why had he said such a thing? Did he need an excuse? What had he really and truly intended to say there as they stood on the crest of the footbridge? Something important, something lovely … she was ever so sure of it.

She allowed her eyes to follow the outline of the oval gazebo, closer to the house, where ivy and morning glory vines adorned it clear up to the capped roof with greenery and splashes of color in early summer.

“So long, Philip,” she whispered into the crisp cold air. “So long … forever.”

Twenty-Four

Love? Could this feeling for Rachel Yoder be
love
?

What was it anyway? Could
genuine
love make you feel this way—confused and troubled? And if so, how was a person ever to know if he or she had found the real thing—the one person with whom to spend the rest of one’s life?

Philip pondered these thoughts as he traveled east on Route 340, then south on Harvest Road, to Emma’s Antique Shop. Getting out of the car, he picked his way over the snow-packed walkway. Eager to see what was available in the way of an antique desk, he peered in the front window and was surprised to find a cherry wood rolltop desk, slightly smaller than the desk at the Zooks’ B&B. Intent on getting Rachel off his mind, he opened the door and immediately spied the young Mennonite owner.

“Well, hullo … didn’t expect to see you so soon again.” She smiled so big her grin spread across her face. “And you just about missed me, too. I come real close to puttin’ up my sign and goin’ home to fix lunch for my hubby. I usually only stay open a couple hours in the deep of winter. But today, well, I had a feeling someone might drop by, lookin’ to spend their Christmas money, maybe.”

“Then it’s good timing on my part.”

She nodded. “What can I help you with?”

He motioned toward the antique desk. “I’ve been looking for a piece like that.”

“Yes, I remembered what you’d said last time, so my husband and I went poking around at several different auctions in Massachusetts,” she explained, leading the way to the desk, made in the late 1800s. “You didn’t call back, so it’s been sittin’ here in the window since October.” She chuckled. “Must have your name on it.”

“But is it in my price range?” he asked, making her work for her sale.

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if I came close to matchin’ my price up with your pocketbook.” She brushed a piece of lint off the top of it, patting the wood.

Philip liked Emma’s jovial spirit. She was vivacious and cheerful, and her modest floral print dress seemed to emulate the meek and gentle spirit within. He thought if ever he was to make a lifestyle change, that honoring God by dressing more simply—conservatively, too—would be the least of his concerns. The more difficult thing, possibly: to embrace the Plain church as a covenant community, especially because he was a “secular” Christian in their eyes. Not so much from his own viewpoint, but from Plain church members who might be wary of his convictions. He would have to prove himself.

Catching himself again, he wondered why he was thinking this way. Was his subconscious working overtime? And if so, why?

Inspecting the desk, he noticed it had similar compartments to the old desk at the B&B—dovetail drawers and plenty of pigeonholes. “Nooks and crannies,” Grandma Bradley liked to call them. But thinking of his grandmother sent his mind spinning back to Rachel and her quaint old-fashioned way of expressing herself. How was he ever to go on with his life if every time he turned around, he was thinking of the lovely and sweet young Amishwoman?

“What’s your best price?” he asked, running his hand across the smooth surface.

“Since you traveled so far to look, I’ll say $750.”

The desk was in excellent condition, so he knew it was a good deal. Only slightly higher than what
she
must have paid. “I’ll take it,” he said impulsively, easily visualizing the piece in his apartment. His writing studio would be the perfect location. And a good thing, too; an excuse to rid himself of the useless computer desk he presently owned.

An excuse …

In his mind, he was back with Rachel, enjoying the invigorating walk through the snow, out to the frozen creek. There, he’d stood on the arched bridge with her, close enough to smell her hair, the fragrance of her beauty.

So why
was
he purchasing a desk and hauling it back to New York when his heart was here in Bird-in-Hand? Quickly, he dismissed the irrational thought that he ought to consider staying. He would return to New York. No need to labor over that decision!

Having finalized the transaction, he told Emma he’d have to rent a small trailer to pull behind his car.

“Just as well,” she replied. “Shipping costs are sky high.”

“Everything’s high these days, but thanks for the excellent price. I appreciate it.” He offered a smile. She had done him a favor.

It was as he was heading west toward Lancaster that he contemplated his own parents’ long-lasting love affair, how workable and happy their marriage had been. Janice and Ken came to mind, as well, for he viewed his sister and her husband as a model couple. One of the essential ingredients for a good marriage was similarity of background and interests. He had read that tidbit any number of places.

Yet his and Rachel’s backgrounds were completely different. How could their union possibly thrive and be blessed in the eyes of God … and man? And their interests? Other than eagerness to own land and farm, what else did they have in common?

Then the image of a precocious child came to mind. Blond, blue-eyed Annie. He had always wanted a houseful of little girls and boys for as long as he could remember. So he and Rachel shared a love for children. And they enjoyed talking together, spending time sharing openly. Most important, they had a strong desire to serve and honor the Lord in all things, and they both wanted to share the Good News, too. Now, thinking about it, he guessed they
did
have a number of mutual interests.

But what was he to do about it? Call Rachel when he arrived back in New York? Perhaps have a cordial chat on New Year’s Eve? Start a letter-writing relationship? What?

All of us, at one time or another, must make a choice
. The words Adele had written to him nipped his memory.

Turning on the radio, he was grateful for a Christian music station, hoping to drown out speculation. Wasn’t it enough that he’d gone out of his way to demonstrate his caring—his keen interest in her well-being, wanting to help her see again? How many modern men would offer to take an Amishwoman to New York City, of all places? He’d stuck his neck out in making a ridiculous overture. The fact that she’d turned him down flat was probably a very good thing. And sensible.

Sure, he could admit that he cared for Rachel. This far removed from the Orchard Guest House B&B, he could. Safely en route to rent a trailer and journey home, he could. Philip knew, too, that she just assumed she’d never see him again, most likely. And rightly so. After all, he had refrained from declaring his love. Had not even made an attempt. Yet he had thought of her—missed her—nearly every waking minute from their first encounter until the present visit.

So … what significant things had kept him from proclaiming his love? His writing career, his parents, his sister and family—all these had definitely played a part in holding him back. Yet as he contemplated his mental list, he knew big city life was not consequential to him; rather, the contrary. His parents and Janice, Ken, and Kari would expect him to marry at some point. Possibly move away, as well. So they were not a hindrance.

New York had always been home. It represented all that he really knew. Haggling over who would snag the next cover story or feature piece. Flying in and out of foreign countries to interview ambassadors and political leaders. Frantically sketching out rough drafts, rewriting, revising—all to meet some crucial deadline. Climbing the corporate ladder to yet another level of stress and strain. Never having time to stop and breathe in the sweet fragrance of life. Worst of all, regularly lamenting the time spent in jockeying to achieve what
society
deemed success.

Sighing, he thought again of Adele and Gabe, how they had belonged together, yet sadly missed each other. Due to what? Adele’s reluctance? Perhaps. But there was more to it, and he knew precisely what that was. Adele had been unwilling to face her need of Gabe, that he was the only man who could occupy that cherished place in her life. The only one. And she had been too reluctant to make the leap.

“Fear is the opposite of faith,”
Levi Glick had said on more than one occasion.

Philip turned up the volume on the dash radio, listening to a choral rendition of the old hymn “I Surrender All.” He had always enjoyed the pure, uncomplicated melody, even as a boy, but today the lyrics caught his attention most of all.

By song’s end, he found himself humming … then singing, even after the music had ended. “All to Jesus I surrender, humbly at His feet I bow. Worldly pleasures all forsaken …”

In the quietude, hearing his lone baritone voice fill the car, he sang out the words of joyous inspiration and surrender. And as he sang, he knew that he was in love with—
dearly
loved—Rachel Yoder. Without a shred of doubt. She was the woman in his life, the one woman who could complete him, fill his heart with the kind of simple joy he longed for. She was his heart mate, and he longed to tell her so.

Slowing the car at Anderson’s Bakery, he turned around and headed east again, past the sleepy hamlets of Witmer and Smoketown, away from Lancaster City to Bird-in-Hand. And he felt truly happy. Never so blessed with a realization in all his life.

The bishop’s funeral wasn’t such a sorrowful thing, really. Not for Rachel and her family. Many of the Plain folk in attendance had known Seth Fisher for well over fifty years—from the time he’d begun his leadership work in the area. Many, too, had already heard of his so-called transformation … at life’s end, of all things.

Because she was so jubilant about her healing, Rachel had gone along with her parents to the funeral to pay her respects to the man whose death, in all likelihood, would bring change to the Amish church. On the way, they passed the intersection of the Crossroad, and she took in all the sights without a single qualm or jitter. In the future, they would save much time on buggy trips to Intercourse, Gordonville, and farther east to see friends and distant relatives. She had much to be thankful for.

Well over five hundred Amish mourners attended the funeral, held at the bishop’s old farmhouse. Lasting three hours, the service was steeped in tradition and form. But it was the talk afterward among the People that encouraged Rachel most, just knowin’ how fast the word was spreading ’bout Seth’s salvation experience, as well as her sight regained!

Rachel spied Blue Johnny in the throng and was somewhat startled to see him. Still, he had every right to be here, and it made sense that he would come, really. After all, Seth Fisher had chosen
him
when Gabe rejected the status of powwow doctor more than forty years ago.

She excused herself from Mam and Annie, as they stood outside bundled up in layers against the elements, waiting for the coffin to be moved from the front room of the bishop’s farmhouse to the long white porch—for viewing purposes. Dat and Levi stood nearby, giving her even more confidence.

Working her way through the crowd of mourners, she soon found herself standing near enough to whisper to the man who’d repeatedly pursued her to pass on his healin’ gifts. “Excuse me.”

Blue Johnny turned and looked at her, his face not recording surprise, but rather glee. “Well, if it’s not Rachel Yoder. Now … didn’t I say you’d come lookin’ for me someday?”

“You may have said it, but that ain’t why I’m here.” Rachel looked him straight in the face, praying silently for wisdom. “I’ve been healed by the power of God. I don’t need evil powers to make me see. And I believe you, too, must surely be searchin’ deep down in your heart for the truth … just like most everybody else I know ’round here.” She inhaled, holding her breath for a second, then pressing on. “Seth Fisher got delivered of the devil’s gift before he died. And if you don’t believe it, you can talk to Rosemary, his widow.” She stopped and pointed toward the house, to Seth’s frail wife just now coming out onto the porch. “Just ask Rosie what God told the bishop on his deathbed.”

His dark eyes grew more serious. “I’ve heard tell—bits and pieces—of what went on. Hard to believe a simpleton could influence a mighty man like that, I daresay.”

“Well, the Lord says in His Word, ‘A little child shall lead them.’ So I s’pose then you hafta have that kind of childlike faith to enter the kingdom of heaven.”