Free The Postcard by Beverly Lewis Page A

witnessed in the parlor. A heartfelt, unposed portrayal of love between two human beings. Little Annie and her mother, no doubt.
    He thought of his photographer friend on staff at the magazine. Henning would travel any number of miles if assured of such a tender photo opportunity. The vision of the child and mother was implanted in Philip’s memory, and as part of his research, he decided to write the description, along with his emotional response to it. In fact, as he rehearsed the maternal scene, he realized with sudden enthusiasm that he was eager to begin.
    Mighty happy, indeed , he thought, letting the quaint expression sink in. The Pennsylvania Dutch style of speech might take some getting used to, but he would be mindful of his sister’s admonition and be a trustworthy kind of guy. The instant this assignment was finished, he would think about taking a much-deserved vacation. Janice would be happy to hear of it. So would Kari, who might even be allowed to sneak off with him to Vermont and hide out at Grandpap’s old summer cottage. A pleasant thought, though he doubted he could ever bring himself to pull off such a fantasy.
    First, though, the assignment—Plain folk and their family traditions. Tonight at supper, he would get his research rolling by saying all the right things. And hopefully he could get Susanna Zook talking. Maybe Benjamin, too.
    Then he remembered Susanna’s adorable granddaughter. “Busy as a honeybee,” the woman had said of the child.
    Annie’s perfect , he thought.

Seven
    S usanna poked a sharp meat fork into the pork chops, testing them for tenderness. “We’ll have us a right fine supper tonight,” she said, nearly singing the words. “Wouldja care to join us, Rachel?”
    Rachel, who was counting out the utensils with Annie’s help, shook her head. “Nothing’s changed, Mam. I don’t eat with our guests at breakfast, so I wouldn’t feel comfortable joining in at supper. You know how I feel about eating with strangers.”
    “Strangers— so en lappich Wese —such a silly matter! Our guests are no longer strangers once they hang their hats in the vestibule.” She sighed, a trifle exasperated.
    Rachel wore a pained expression. “I’m all right, just keepin’ to myself.”
    Susanna feared she’d hurt her daughter’s feelings. “Well, then I’ll leave it up to you.” Which was pretty much the way things turned out most of the time—leaving Rachel to wallow in her grief. Had it not been for Annie, full of vim and life, Rachel might never wander any farther than their property, in either direction. She wondered, too, if her daughter would ever think to be wearing dresses of blue or purple again, instead of the humdrum gray of mourning. ’Course if she couldn’t see, then what did it matter?
    “Annie and I will have supper in the parlor, with the door closed,” Rachel said softly. “It’s all right with you, ain’t so, Mam?”
    “No, Daughter, it’s not all right.” She was surprised at herself, revealing her true feelings at long last. She probably should’ve said something a year or more ago, after the appropriate time for mourning had ceased. But Rachel’s grieving seemed endless, and she worried that her daughter was downright content with it.
    The peculiar symptoms of lingering blindness bothered her almost as much as her daughter’s indifference to life. She viewed Rachel’s condition as something other than a true affliction. A Philadelphia doctor—an eye specialist—had conducted a battery of tests, even attached sensors to Rachel’s head. Measured her brain-wave activity no less, and had found nothing physically wrong. Not mincing words, he’d said there was no medical basis for Rachel’s inability to see. According to the tests, her brain was actually registering sight!
    He’d termed Rachel’s problem a conversion disorder—a hysteria of some sort—like hysterical blindness, which the specialist said sometimes comes on a person who has