The Postcard by Beverly Lewis Read Free Book Online Page A

forgive her for not having the sort of funeral service he would’ve preferred. When it came time for her to pass on to Glory, she would try to explain the sticky situation to him. Jacob would understand, she knew.
    It was then, thinking of heaven again and the hope of seeing her husband someday, that her tears began to flow, unchecked. Try as she might, there was no stopping them, even as the preacher recited the ages of both Jacob and his son—the only formal obituary statement given at the end of the funeral.
    “Jacob Yoder’s memory is a keepsake, as is his son’s. With that we cannot part. Their souls are in God’s keeping. We will have them in our hearts,” the preacher said finally.
    We always miss what we don’t have. . . .
    Rachel wept silently, accompanied later by uncontrollable sobs at the graveside service. Quickly, little Annie was surrounded by Rachel’s mother and sister Elizabeth as the pallbearers began to shovel gravel and soil, filling the graves.
    The thumping sounds of the dirt hitting the coffins made Rachel quiver, and she was grateful for her mother-in-law and cousin Esther, who held on to her, standing with their arms linked through hers as the traditional hymn was read and the men removed their hats one last time.
    That night Rachel slipped Aaron’s black shoes under the covers, on Jacob’s side. Then, when she got into bed, she reached over and held the shoes near her heart, thinking of the little barefoot boy with the bright, happy eyes . . . and his fun-loving father. She knew she would not speak of this deed to anyone. Not to Esther or to Mam.
    It was her secret. Hers and God’s.

Five
    I n the days that followed, Rachel was beholden to Esther for her care and supervision. Overwhelmed with despair, she slept around the clock some days, only to become too dizzy to stand when awake. So Esther cooked and cleaned and sewed, doing the things Rachel would normally have done if she’d felt strong enough.
    By the end of the week, Rachel got out of bed due to sheer willpower, helping with a few chores indoors. She was grateful, especially, for Esther’s loving attention to Annie and for her cousin’s fervent prayers for Rachel as well.
    “Can Esther stay with us, Mamma?” Annie asked as Rachel tucked her in for the night.
    “ ’Twould be nice.” She sat on the edge of the bed, touching her little one’s brow. “But Esther and Levi must return to Ohio soon to care for their own family.”
    Annie was silent for a moment, her blue eyes the color of the summer sky. “Is God taking care of Dat and Aaron?”
    “Jah, my liew —dear one, the Lord is taking gut care of them.” She kissed Annie’s cheek and held her in her arms long past the child’s bedtime.
    “I miss Dat and Aaron,” Annie said, sniffling.
    Sighing, Rachel fought the urge to weep. “I miss them, too, but we’ll see them again in heaven.”
    After tucking Annie into bed, Rachel stood in the doorway, lingering there. Often, since the funeral, she’d questioned the wisdom of leaving her child to fall sleep alone. As hard as it was for her to sleep peacefully, she hoped Annie wasn’t struggling that way, too.
    “Don’t think twice about bringing Annie into your room to sleep once in a while,” Esther said when Rachel mentioned it to her privately. “The dear girlie’s feeling awful alone in the world—and she’s still just a baby, really. She needs to know that her mamma doesn’t mind sharing that great big bed.”
    “She’s blessed with many relatives who love her,” Rachel added quickly, knowing full well that Annie would never want for fellowship. She would grow up completely loved and looked after by the whole of their church community, Beachy Amish and Old Order alike.
    “Annie is not to be pitied,” Esther commented. “And neither are you. Pity parties can only last so long, then one must put a hand to the plow, so to speak. Life goes on.”
    For you it does , Rachel thought, suppressing the idea