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The Postcard

By Laura V. Hilton

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Chapter 1

Awareness darkened his eyes.
“Kiss me…”
Rachel Miller read the words near the end of the book with a sigh. If only some man would look at her with awareness. Of course, she wasn’t sure what that looked like, but she didn’t think Obadiah ever had. Not even when he proposed. But he was much too practical for that.
So was she for that matter.
Might as well just enjoy the rest of the story. No point engaging in silly daydreams. She turned the page. Heavy steps clomped down the wooden floor outside the employee break room. She bolted to her feet, slid the bookmark in, and quickly exchanged the romance for her notebook from her black bag, then tossed her coat over the bag to hide it. The steps passed by.
She was on her fifteen-minute break, but the manager – a rather strict Amish man – would be unhappy catching her reading an Englisch novel. It was historical—set in the dream-inspiring country of northern Michigan. The descriptions of the landscape were so well-done she could almost see the blowing snow, the drifts, the ice-covered lake, the… handsome hero.
The draw was too great. She started to reach for her bag again, but the footsteps returned, pausing outside the door. Instead, she snagged her pen. Pink. Joel Beachy might frown at a pink pen, but he couldn’t fault her for writing a letter. Round-Robin letters were encouraged. And she could be writing one.
Except… she wasn’t.
She glanced toward the door as he came into the break room. She sat at the table, and opened the notebook to a blank page. He set the windup alarm clock on the table for fourteen minutes. So she’d know when her break was over. He allowed her one minute for putting her things away. Joel was strict about not-a-minute-over breaks. And she tended to lose track of time.
Should she mention that she came on break a bit early—long enough to read a chapter in her book?
Was Joel this big of a control freak with his frau and kinner?
She smiled. He was so predictable with the alarm clock. He quirked an eyebrow at her and left the room, carrying something. She hadn’t seen what he picked up. But that didn’t matter. Her book was safe.
The Englisch owner of the discounted grocery and bulk food store didn’t care. She even taught Rachel how to use the computer in the small office at the back of the store. Encouraged her to use it. So she could order books online, any time she wanted. If only she had an unlimited income. She’d buy boxfuls of the paper entertainment. Enough to last a month or two…
Rachel shook her head. She wasted her break with silly thoughts. Joel avoided the office – and he would frown on her sneaking in there. He left the computer work for Billie Jo. A funny name for a woman.
Rachel uncapped her pink pen, and stuck the lid on the backside.
Dear David,
Everything is changing—except my life. Sometimes I wonder if it’ll always be the same old same old for me even though I’m marrying Obadiah next fall. But even then, little will change. He wants me to continue working. Sometimes I wish something would happen to shake my life up. But… that is just wishful thinking.
My cousin Esther eloped with Viktor Petersheim this summer. Did I tell you? I never dreamed that would happen. He whisked her off to Florida for a belated honeymoon. Can you imagine? She’s going wading in the ocean—Viktor said, “Swimming” with a chuckle and a rakish grin—but here the autumn chill is in the air. I begged her to take me. I always wanted to go to Florida. Well, anyplace, actually. But it doesn’t matter. She’s in Florida. I’m not. At least she promised to bring back some postcards.
Have you ever lived anywhere other than the outskirts of Seymour, Missouri? Do you ever think of seeing something new? I think I asked you this before—or maybe I just meant to—but I don’t remember if you answered.
She couldn’t keep from smiling as she wrote. Funny how a man she never met stirred her heart in such a manner. If only she and Obadiah could communicate like this. She’d miss writing David when either one of them married. And since they both were promised to someone else, it’d happen sooner or later.
The alarm rang. She jumped, her pen leaving a pink squiggly line on the page.
Rachel replaced the cap on her pen, closed the lined notebook, and returned it to the tote bag. The book snagged her attention again and she started to reach for it and read about the kiss, but then forced herself to put it back. Break was over. She could read tonight after she finished chores. She needed to get back to work so her cousin Greta could have her break.
She left the small room marked “Employees only” and went into the main area of the store. She waved at Greta to let her know she was back. Joel wasn’t anywhere in sight. No customers waited at the lone open cash register, so she started “fronting” aisles, making sure everything was neat and easily reached by customers—Amish and Englisch alike. She crouched down to rearrange peanut butter on the bottom shelf, sorting peanut butters by size and brand.
The chimes on the door rang as it opened. She looked over her shoulder. An Amish man entered. No beard, so he wasn’t married. But she’d never seen him before. Odd, considering everyone made it to the Amish Country Store sooner or later. Not to mention, the unmarried ones usually attended Singings and frolics. Especially the ones where they could meet others from different districts. It expanded the dating pool considerably. That was how she’d met Obadiah two years ago, since he lived in a different district than she.
The stranger pulled off his straw hat, revealing light brown hair and dark brown eyes. He glanced at her and a slight smile formed as his gaze skimmed over her. Something inside her jumped to life. Her stomach fluttered.
Wait, she shouldn’t be so excited about a stranger. She was taken. But there was nothing wrong with appreciating a handsome man. Tall and handsome. Nice body. Strong looking. Except for his eyes, there was nothing dark about him.
His smile widened, and he slowed to a stop. It was then she noticed the wooden cane he carried, but didn’t use.
A cane. What happened to make him need one of those? An accident of some sort?
Rachel stared at it, then blinked. She was being rude. She looked away and resumed straightening the bottom shelf. But his presence loomed behind her, making her more aware than she wanted to be of him. She really shouldn’t fill her mind with romance if this was how it would affect her. Her imagination worked overtime.
The floor creaked behind her. “I’m looking for Rachel Miller. I was told she works here.” The stranger’s voice broke the silence.
Rachel’s heart stuttered. He knew her? Well, obviously not, or he would’ve recognized her and not asked. But he knew her name? And the way he said it, mmmm. Like fresh butter melting on a hot biscuit right out of the oven. She smiled, enjoying the warm, huskiness of her name sliding off his tongue. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Do you know her? Is she here today?” He moved toward her again, and this time she noticed his limp. Who did she know who limped? No one came to mind. Ugh, she hated when someone knew her and she couldn’t think who they might be. It made conversation so awkward. Except, he obviously didn’t know her…
Rachel rose to her feet and wiped her sweaty palms on her apron. “I’m Rachel Miller.”
Something in the man’s face lit up. His brown—no, this close, they appeared to be a greenish, golden brown—eyes twinkled with his smile. Something undefined flashed between them, making her heart thud. Awareness flickered in his eyes… just like in her novel. Or maybe that was her imagination at work again.
“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.” His smile faded as red crept up his neck and colored his checks. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry.”
She stared at him, ignoring her increasing heartbeat and the flutter in her stomach.
And you’re more handsome than I imagined even though I don’t know who you are.
No one had ever called her beautiful before. Nor had a man ever acted so flustered around her.
“I’m David Lapp.”
He said it as if it meant something. It didn’t.
The only David Lapp she knew lived in southern Missouri. The other side of the state.
The one she’d started writing another letter to during her break. Never mind she’d just written him yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that… Well, almost daily for the past two months. And he wrote her as often, usually including postcards. Feeding her desires for a change of scenery.
He was her special pen pal. But she’d imagined him as being plain and ordinary, maybe even looking like a monster due to all his injuries from the accident. No one attractive, by any means…
This man definitely wasn’t the David Lapp from Seymour.
“From Seymour.” A concerned look crossed his face as if he began to wonder about her sanity. Or maybe as if there might be two Rachel Miller’s who worked there.
Her eyes widened and she barely controlled a gasp, her hands moving to tangle in her apron. She twisted it tightly in her fists. “What?” The room swayed. She released the apron and grabbed at the shelving. “It’s you?”
Her dream man just walked into the store and he was everything Obadiah wasn’t. Not only that, but he was two years too late.
He moved nearer. “I came to meet you. I fell in… Uh. I mean… Well, closed buggies appealed to me. And…”
***
David stammered to a stop when her face turned an alarming shade of red, then faded as white as Mamm’s freshly bleached pillowcases. He looked away, his gaze going to the other young Amish woman who’d come up behind Rachel and stood at the end of the aisle. The wide, frantic look in her eyes, like a startled deer, mirrored Rachel’s. But this woman appeared ready to bolt. Unlike Rachel, who held onto the shelves with a white-knuckled grip.
He frowned. He should’ve warned her he was coming. Asked her if it was okay. What he’d done was chase pipedreams to the rolling hills of northern Missouri. He’d fallen in liebe with the heart of the woman who’d corresponded with him for the past year, their letters getting increasingly more and more personal, not to mention more frequent, as he shared his life with her on paper, and read about hers.
And with the woman he’d courted since before his near fatal accident pressing him to make a decision about when they’d marry, all the while scolding him because of his irrational fears and lingering disabilities, it was time to admit the truth. He didn’t liebe Cathy. He loved a woman he’d never met.
It was time to go. To embrace the future. A future that stared at him like he was out of his mind.
And maybe he was.
Her lips parted. “It’s you,” she whispered again. Color began to come back into her cheeks, just enough to take away the whiteness.
At least he’d stopped shy of blurting out his liebe for her two seconds after discovering her identity.
“You’re too late.” That was whispered, too.
Too late?
Pipedreams.
But he’d burned his bridges behind him. Both in Pennsylvania and in southern Missouri. He had nothing to return to—nothing he cared to return to. He couldn’t be too late. Because everything he ever wanted stood right in front of him.
Rachel was beautiful. A great figure beneath her maroon dress. Curves that… He stopped that thought from going any further. Medium blond hair, hazel eyes. Eyes that looked rather terrified at the moment. As if he was a stalker.
Come right down to it—he was.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” David cringed as he backed away. He probably should make his exit, and seriously think about looking for somewhere else to live. He didn’t have a job here or anywhere to stay. Only enough money to last a matter of days. He’d hoped to find a job quickly. Bishop Joe had offered him a cot in the barn—until he found someplace. And had indicated that maybe… Just maybe… if David’s references checked out, there might be an opening for teaching school on a temporary basis, since the current teacher had fallen from a barn loft and broken her ankle as well as her arm.
But with stalking a local girl… it probably wouldn’t. Especially since the bishop’s comments were so ambiguous to start with. Using words like might, possibly, maybe… and stressing the temporary nature.
She shook her head and glanced around. As if she looked for someone who would come to her rescue.
He scowled as he took another step back. He’d killed any chances he might’ve had by frightening a strange girl. A beautiful girl, but a stranger nonetheless. Even if he did know her heart from her letters. Or thought he knew her heart.
Though, he hadn’t expected a virtually mute response. Other than the whispered “It’s you…”
He eyed her. She released the shelving and wiped her hands over her apron again. Uncertainty crossed her face. She took a step toward him, the beginnings of a smile forming, then hesitated as the bells on the door rang. Her gaze darted past him.
He shook his head. “I’m more sorry than you know,” he muttered to the two girls standing there wide-eyed and silent, then turned away. He almost ran into the barrel chest of an Amish man with a full beard… The bishop.
David shut his eyes.
Could this day possibly get any worse?
***
David Lapp. Rachel hadn’t dreamed he’d be someone who made her heart pitter-patter like a toddler running barefoot across the wooden floor. She wasn’t supposed to have this reaction to him. They were just friends. Best friends, via the U.S.P.S., but still just friends.
Not lovers.
Obadiah filled that slot. Except he went out east a year ago, living with relatives in Ohio, apprenticing for a trade to support them with, once they married. They planned for her to continue working until the kinner came or his business was built—whichever came first. And since he was learning cabinetry, and the Englisch always seemed to want their kitchens remodeled, they anticipated the business would thrive.
But Obadiah never caused these strange flutters in her stomach. Not even when he kissed her after Singings. Or held her hand in the darkness during the buggy ride home.
David hadn’t even touched her. Yet his mere presence…
She couldn’t even think. Couldn’t focus on anything that he was there… in front of her… too handsome for words. And too late.
Much too late.
He shifted, the wooden cane sliding forward a bit. His head bowed, his shoulders slumped as he faced Bishop Joe’s stern expression. She could sympathize. She’d been on the receiving end of it a time or two… such as when she and Greta went to confront the bishop about his unfair treatment of Esther. And to tell him about Henry’s bouts of temper.
“Bothering these two girls, are you?” The bishop glared at David. “I had a feeling you were up to nein gut. That’s why I followed you. You’ll state your purposes for coming here truthfully now, ain’t so?”
Rachel turned to glance back at Greta, hoping for some emotional support, but she’d fled the scene. Figured. Her cousin didn’t handle drama well.
Rachel firmed her shoulders and looked back at the men. Bishop Joe tapped his foot while waiting. David muttered something she couldn’t understand. Whatever it was made the bishop’s eyes widen and he glanced her way. He grasped David’s arm and steered him outside, away from her ears.
With nothing to do, unless she wanted to stare out the window at the two men talking—and Joel would frown at that—she needed to get busy.
But he—the man of her dreams—was right outside. She moved closer to the front doors, tempted to find her voice, go out there, and tell the bishop that David could stay, that she wanted him around… that…
Joel wandered by and cleared his throat.
Rachel swung around, and went to work on the shelves again. Except this one was higher and closer to the door so she could keep an eye on the two men.
What had David said to the bishop? Her imagination worked overtime. Maybe he declared his love for her. Asked to court her. Her heart leapt. To eventually marry her…
Ugh. She shouldn’t have read those few pages in the romance novel. Now she had marriage on her mind. Not a gut thing when one’s beau was a couple of states away. Not when a stranger produced more flutters than her intended did.
Romance wasn’t—shouldn’t be—based on feelings. Liebe was a decision. And she’d made a decision to liebe Obadiah. To wait for him.
Which meant David couldn’t stay here. Writing a man she didn’t know—really—to encourage him after a near fatal accident and during recovery was a vastly different thing than encouraging a friendship with him in person.
Especially when he was so handsome, obviously unmarried, and thought she was beautiful.
She glanced toward the window again. Two buggies pulled away. One closed. One open, driven by the bishop.
Did David feel safer in a closed buggy? She should’ve asked. Should’ve cared enough to thank him for coming all this way to visit her. Shouldn’t have stared at him in utter fascination because… because he’d probably misinterpreted it as fear or repulsion due to the cane and the limp.
She owed him a lot more than he’d gotten, for sure and for certain.
Her behavior had bordered on rude.
Why hadn’t he mentioned he was coming? Why show up without warning? She could’ve mentally prepared herself. Made arrangements to have him over for a meal, maybe play games at the table, before he returned home to Seymour.
Nein, that’d be feeding her infatuation.
He had to go back. He couldn’t stay here.
Her heart lurched.
Nein. He simply had to go.

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