Read Online The Postcard by Beverly Lewis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beverly Lewis
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churn stood sentinel in one corner, near a wood-burning fireplace.
Susanna Zook, the plump Amish hostess and owner’s wife, had encouraged him upon his arrival to make himself at home. “Feel free to read, relax, and mingle with the other guests,” she’d said. So he located the pleasant room, complete with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves built in across one wall and a marble-topped coffee table with ample reading material—all this within yards of a well-appointed dining room. He congratulated himself on having made an excellent choice for his stay, sight unseen.
A young couple was curled up on a settee near a fireplace marked by eighteenth century delft tiles, quietly exchanging intimate glances. He greeted them, then settled down in a chair to thumb through a Lancaster tourist guide.
“Oh, there you are again, Philip.” He looked up to see the round and jubilant face of his congenial hostess. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked. “I can get you coffee, tea, a soft drink, or a glass of milk.”
“Black coffee, thank you.”
“Don’t forget to save room for supper, served promptly at five o’clock, two nights a week—Mondays and Wednesdays,” Susanna replied, including the couple in her remark. “You’re always welcome to help yourself to snacks, before and after supper. Anytime, really.” She turned to a corner table, arrayed with a variety of cheeses and fruit, chocolate chip cookies, and scones. “Homemade specialty breads are also handy, if you know where to look for them.” She opened a cabinet door under the table, producing a wooden tray of additional delicacies. “Now, let me get you that cup of coffee. Black, you say?”
He nodded, sinking back into the chair just as the little girl he’d seen in the parlor came scurrying through the room, carrying a tall glass of water.
“Careful not to spill,” Susanna called to her, then turning to Philip, said, “That’s Annie, our six-year-old granddaughter. She’s busy as a honeybee.”
“I can see that.” As they engaged in small talk, he listened carefully, paying close attention to the inflection of the woman’s unique speech pattern. “Does Annie live with you?” he asked when there was a lull in the conversation.
“Both she and her mother do.”
He waited, thinking that an explanation might be forthcoming. Was Annie’s mother divorced, a young widow . . . what? But no clarification was given, and Philip decided it was none of his business anyway.
The Amishwoman turned toward the kitchen, and it was then he noticed the midcalf length of her blue cape dress and black apron, similar to the style of the younger woman’s. She wore, also, the accompanying white netting head covering made familiar to moviegoers by Hollywood’s portrayal of Lancaster County Amish. The see-through cap was referred to as a prayer covering by non-Amish folk; a Kapp or veiling by the Amish themselves. That much he knew.
He had a strong desire to get chummy with some Amish folk; maybe even volunteer to help pitch hay somewhere. Simple enough. It was what he was paid to do, his gift , or so his young niece had mischievously informed him last time he’d visited. Yet he knew he’d have to temper his questions, choose each one carefully, especially those he asked the Amish directly. He had been warned by his sister, who had been corresponding with an Amish pen pal near Harrisburg for several years now. Drained and wondering why he’d even agreed to this assignment, he now wished he had grilled Janice in more detail. Mainly, though, he had been caught up in his own affairs—too busy as always to delve into his only sibling’s casual friendships.
“Most importantly,” Janice had advised, “you must prove that you’re a trustworthy sort of guy before any Amishman will give you the time of day. And I’m not kidding.”
He had appeased her by listening with one ear, thinking that when he arrived in Lancaster, there would certainly be folks
Susanna Zook, the plump Amish hostess and owner’s wife, had encouraged him upon his arrival to make himself at home. “Feel free to read, relax, and mingle with the other guests,” she’d said. So he located the pleasant room, complete with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves built in across one wall and a marble-topped coffee table with ample reading material—all this within yards of a well-appointed dining room. He congratulated himself on having made an excellent choice for his stay, sight unseen.
A young couple was curled up on a settee near a fireplace marked by eighteenth century delft tiles, quietly exchanging intimate glances. He greeted them, then settled down in a chair to thumb through a Lancaster tourist guide.
“Oh, there you are again, Philip.” He looked up to see the round and jubilant face of his congenial hostess. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked. “I can get you coffee, tea, a soft drink, or a glass of milk.”
“Black coffee, thank you.”
“Don’t forget to save room for supper, served promptly at five o’clock, two nights a week—Mondays and Wednesdays,” Susanna replied, including the couple in her remark. “You’re always welcome to help yourself to snacks, before and after supper. Anytime, really.” She turned to a corner table, arrayed with a variety of cheeses and fruit, chocolate chip cookies, and scones. “Homemade specialty breads are also handy, if you know where to look for them.” She opened a cabinet door under the table, producing a wooden tray of additional delicacies. “Now, let me get you that cup of coffee. Black, you say?”
He nodded, sinking back into the chair just as the little girl he’d seen in the parlor came scurrying through the room, carrying a tall glass of water.
“Careful not to spill,” Susanna called to her, then turning to Philip, said, “That’s Annie, our six-year-old granddaughter. She’s busy as a honeybee.”
“I can see that.” As they engaged in small talk, he listened carefully, paying close attention to the inflection of the woman’s unique speech pattern. “Does Annie live with you?” he asked when there was a lull in the conversation.
“Both she and her mother do.”
He waited, thinking that an explanation might be forthcoming. Was Annie’s mother divorced, a young widow . . . what? But no clarification was given, and Philip decided it was none of his business anyway.
The Amishwoman turned toward the kitchen, and it was then he noticed the midcalf length of her blue cape dress and black apron, similar to the style of the younger woman’s. She wore, also, the accompanying white netting head covering made familiar to moviegoers by Hollywood’s portrayal of Lancaster County Amish. The see-through cap was referred to as a prayer covering by non-Amish folk; a Kapp or veiling by the Amish themselves. That much he knew.
He had a strong desire to get chummy with some Amish folk; maybe even volunteer to help pitch hay somewhere. Simple enough. It was what he was paid to do, his gift , or so his young niece had mischievously informed him last time he’d visited. Yet he knew he’d have to temper his questions, choose each one carefully, especially those he asked the Amish directly. He had been warned by his sister, who had been corresponding with an Amish pen pal near Harrisburg for several years now. Drained and wondering why he’d even agreed to this assignment, he now wished he had grilled Janice in more detail. Mainly, though, he had been caught up in his own affairs—too busy as always to delve into his only sibling’s casual friendships.
“Most importantly,” Janice had advised, “you must prove that you’re a trustworthy sort of guy before any Amishman will give you the time of day. And I’m not kidding.”
He had appeased her by listening with one ear, thinking that when he arrived in Lancaster, there would certainly be folks
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