The Postcard by Beverly Lewis

favorite. She thought if she did as Susanna suggested and sat there, relaxing and fanning herself for a bit, everything would be all right soon enough.
    Sitting in the hickory rocker, she realized how very dismal things had been these past weeks, pining for Jacob’s jovial nature. Oh, how she missed his hearty laugh! She missed other things about him, too. But it was the thought of his good-natured chortle that brought more tears.
    “Ach, Rachel, must ya go on so?” Mam was saying. Yet she stood behind the rocking chair, stroking Rachel’s back.
    “I hafta tell you something, Mam,” she said softly, wishing she knew where Annie was just now. She felt the swish of her mother’s long dress against the chair.
    Susanna seemed to understand, taking her hand and squeezing it. “If you’re thinking of your miscarriage . . . well, believe me, I do know how you’re feeling, Rachel.” And she began to explain the empty sadness associated with the loss of a baby born years ago.
    Rachel listened, though she continued to weep. “What I want to tell you isn’t about the baby I lost,” she whispered. Then, pausing, she asked, “Is Annie anywhere about?”
    “Why, no, she’s outside playing in the side yard—out diggin’ in the dirt. You know, the way she and Aaron always . . .” Susanna stopped. “What do you mean asking if Annie is near? Are ya still having trouble with your eyes?”
    “Well, right now, I can’t see much of anything.”
    “I think we oughta have Blue Johnny come and take a look at you. He’s been known to heal a wheal in the eye within twenty-four hours,” Mam was quick to reply.
    Rachel flinched at the mention of the pipe-smoking hex doctor. “I don’t believe there’s anything growin’ in my eye, Mam. It’s just that my spirit’s awful troubled. . . . I can’t shake it off.”
    “If I told your pop this, he’d say you’re crying your eyes out. Plain and simple. That’s just what he’d say.”
    Rachel blinked again and again, holding her hands out in front of her now, turning them over, trying to see them clearly. Still, she could not make out even the contour of her own thin fingers. “What’s really causing this?” she pondered aloud. “Do you believe what the hospital doctor said?”
    “You witnessed a greislich —terrible thing, Rachel. And if you ask me, I don’t think it’s something we oughta be foolin’ with. Why don’tcha let me contact Blue Johnny?”
    “I’m sorry, Mam, but no.” She felt herself straighten a bit, determined not to let Susanna get the best of her, in spite of her distorted sight.
    True, the powwow doctors were much cheaper—most of them worked for nothing—that was common knowledge, and most of the time they were quite effective. Still, she hadn’t made a practice of calling on them and wasn’t much keen on starting now.
    Mam’s voice rose in response. “I wouldn’t be so quick to turn up my nose at the powwow doctors. ’Specially if you keep havin’ trouble.”
    Rachel leaned her head against the rocking chair. “I think I’d rather go back to an English doctor, if I go to anyone. Besides, Jacob . . .” She paused. “Well, if my husband were here, he’d prob’ly tell me to stay far away from Blue Johnny.”
    “But Jacob’s not here to see what you’re goin’ through, Daughter. He’d want what’s best for you, jah?”
    What’s best for me . . .
    She figured it was just as well she hadn’t told Mam about the sharp, penetrating pain that came sometimes at night, just after she lay down to sleep. It came most often with the sound of horses and carriages clip-clop ping up and down the road. And it came with the recurring noise of an automobile motor. She feared that one day the pain might come and stay put, with no relief ever again.
    Sighing, she got up from the rocking chair, her vision having cleared up somewhat, enough to find her way to the back door and call Annie inside for lunch.

    Truly, she might not have gone to bed