The Postcard Read Online Free Page B

proud,” she said aloud. “I will be thankful instead.”
    She dusted the organizer, complete with pigeonholes, and all the intricate woodwork where dust might’ve found lodging. Taking her time, she polished all the compartments except for one wide, thin drawer off to the left. She jiggled and pulled, but there was no budging the tiny niche, and she made a mental note to have Jacob take a look.
    It was after she had finished polishing the desk, as she made her way down the hall to the stairs, that she heard the wail of a siren. The dismal sound came closer and closer, then swept past the turnoff to Beechdale Road, just south of them on Highway 340. Momentarily she cringed as she often did when she heard an ambulance or a fire truck in the area. But she dismissed the worrisome thought and went about the task at hand—preparing the noon meal for her husband.

Three
    J acob brought the horse and wagon to a complete stop, waiting first in line for the light to change at the Crossroad. “There’s much traffic today,” he mentioned, his eyes fixed on the highway.
    “Public schools are out already,” Rachel said, seeing the cars whiz past them on Route 340. “Tourists are here from all over.”
    “ ’Tis gut for business.” Jacob looked at her quickly, then back at the road just ahead.
    “Jah, and for us movin’ to Ohio sooner,” she replied with a nervous titter, eyeing the busy intersection.
    Aaron, behind them, pretended to be attracting tourists, laughing as he talked. “Come on, now, folks, have a look at these handmade toy trains and helicopters! You won’t find toys like this anywhere else in the whole wide world.”
    Glancing around, Rachel saw her son holding up the wooden playthings, one in each hand. “Dat’s crafts won’t last long today,” she replied.
    “If we ever get through this light, they won’t,” Jacob muttered.
    Just then, an unexpected gust of wind snatched Esther’s letter out of Rachel’s hand, and it floated out the window and somersaulted—end over end—landing on the roadside to the right of the wagon.
    “Aw, your letter,” Jacob said.
    “I’ll run ’n get it right quick,” Rachel said and got out before Jacob could stop her. But the wind played chase, sending the envelope into the field, and she stumbled after it, glancing over her shoulder to see if the light was still red. Gut , she thought, seeing that it was, and hurried to catch the stray envelope.
    Just as she rescued the letter, pushing it down into her apron pocket—just at that moment—she turned and saw the horse rear up, spooked by traffic.
    “ Himmel , no . . . no,” she whispered, running back toward the road, her heart in her throat.
    Jacob was involved in a contest of wills, holding the reins firmly, pulling back hard. But the mare was up . . . up on her hind legs again, neighing loudly and shaking her long black mane.
    “Hold steady, girl,” Rachel begged, clenching her fists at her sides, helpless to do a thing.
    She could see that Jacob was trying his best to control the horse, but after moments of struggle, the frightened animal lunged forward, still snorting and stomping.
    Rachel screamed, but her cries did not keep the mare from pulling the market wagon forward into the busy intersection. In a split second, a surge of terrifying sounds filled the air—brakes squealing, car horn blaring. The noises accompanied a speeding car as it crashed broadside—Jacob’s side—into the wagon.
    Rachel stood gasping, frozen in place, as she witnessed the impact, seeing with her own eyes the market wagon splinter apart like so many toothpicks. Oh, dear Lord, her family . . . how could they possibly survive the crushing blow?
    Moments passed. Everything around her fell silent.
    Suddenly, strength returned to her legs. She began to stumble across the field to the accident scene, sobbing as she searched for her precious little children and dear, dear Jacob.
    Rachel combed through the wreckage, calling