Simple Secrets (The Harmony Series 1)

by Nancy Mehl

  He shook his head. “Working out in the orchards keeps me fit. God help me when I get too old to do it anymore. My only hope is to marry a gal who can’t find her way around a kitchen.”

  He gazed at me with a serious, fixed stare, and any humorous retort I might have tried to sling back died in my throat. I quickly dropped my gaze to my coffee cup and took a sip.

  “Do you want me to drive you to Ida’s?” he asked, his voice a few notches lower than normal.

  “N–no. It’s just down the road. I’d like to walk.” I stood up and pointed toward the porch. “Think I’ll go down to the lake for a while before I head over to her house. There are some beautiful flowers growing along the shore. Thought I might pick some to take to her.”

  Sam smiled. “She’d love that, Grace. How nice of you to think of it. I’ll eat a little something and get back to work. See you at two.”

  “Okay.” I headed out the kitchen door onto the porch and then out the back door. The overcast sky added a chill to the air. My sweatshirt wasn’t enough to protect me from the cold that nipped at me. As I broke through the trees, the beauty of the lake struck me again. Trouble Lake. If only I could jump in the water and leave all my troubles behind just as the Indians had done so many years ago. It was hard to believe that I’d only been in Harmony four days. It felt as if I’d been here forever. Wichita seemed far away—almost like someplace I’d only dreamed about.

  I gathered some of the lovely wildflowers that lined the water’s edge, winding my way around until I reached the dock behind Benjamin’s house. Even though it was smaller than Sam’s, it looked sturdy and inviting. I walked out to the edge and looked back toward the big red house. It was barely visible above the tree line, but I could see Sam’s dock clearly. I turned to walk away when I noticed someone standing at its edge. It was Sam. He stood there, staring into the water. He remained motionless for several minutes. Finally, he took something from his pocket and stared at it. Then he suddenly threw it into the water and walked back toward the house. What in the world had he tossed into the lake?

  I turned and headed toward Benjamin’s house, wondering if Sam was keeping a secret from me. And if so, what? I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I didn’t pay much attention to my surroundings until I entered the grove of trees between the lake and the house. I’d no sooner stepped into the clearing when I stopped dead in my tracks. Was this where Jacob Glick was buried? Was I standing on his grave? Talking about a dead body on your property is one thing. Being faced with the reality of it is quite another. Sweat broke out on my forehead and my knees felt like rubber. I looked back, trying to get my bearings. Although not obvious from the road, Benjamin’s house actually sat on a small hill.

  As I stared at the lake, that odd feeling of déjà vu came rushing back. Even though it made no sense, I knew I’d definitely been here before. I’d looked at Trouble Lake from this very spot. No, wait a minute. Something wasn’t quite right. I walked through the clearing to a grassy knoll right above the tree line. Now I knew where I’d seen this view of the lake. In Emily’s heartbreaking self-portrait. This was where she’d sat all those years ago, after Glick’s heinous crime, frightened and wondering what to do. I looked around, saddened to think of a young Emily sitting where I stood now, terrified and alone, afraid to tell anyone what had happened to her. And now, years later, Glick’s body lay hidden beneath layers of earth. Was this some kind of divine justice or just a bizarre coincidence? I thought about Paul’s admonition to the Galatians, that a man will reap what he sows. Jacob Glick had sown evil, and his end had been violent and deadly. A deep sadness washed through me for Emily and, oddly, for Glick himself. If only he’d chosen a different path and given God a chance to make something good of his life. Of course, it was too late for him, but it wasn’t for Emily.

  Without warning, a sudden gust of wind moved quickly through the trees. The rustle of their leaves seemed to whisper to me, “Beauty instead of ashes. The oil of gladness instead of mourning.” I knelt down in the soft grass and prayed for Emily—that she would find a way to exchange the ashes of her past for the beauty God had waiting for her. Too much evil had occurred here. It was time to vanquish it. I knelt before the Lord for several minutes, praying until I felt a release. Trying to shake off the odd sensations that surrounded me, I got to my feet and almost ran out of the grove and into the sunlight. I hurried past Benjamin’s silent house and made my way to the road. As I approached Ida’s house, I noticed the old woman waiting for me on her front porch. She rocked slowly back and forth in her rocking chair but stood to her feet as I approached.

  “I’m so happy to see you, my dear,” she said with a delighted smile.

  Her friendly expression helped to banish the disturbing remnants of the past that tried to cling to me. “I picked these for you.” I held out my armful of flowers, grateful to be out of the clearing and in the presence of this sweet woman who radiated friendliness.

  She clapped her hands together and then took them from me. “Ach, wildflowers. I love them so. My husband used to pick them for me. After he died, I would go once in a while to gather them, but as I got older, it became harder and harder to make it down to the lake.” She pulled open her screen door. “Come inside and sit while I find a vase.”

  The inside of her house reminded me of Benjamin’s. Homey but simple. I sat down in a lovely chair with quilted upholstery. The open windows picked up the spring breeze and moved it through the house, fluttering Ida’s sheer curtains in a slow spring dance.

  She left the room for a few minutes but tottered back with the colorful flowers arranged in a cut-glass vase. She put them on a dark wooden table next to the couch and sat down beside them. The floral scent wafted through the room, carried by the gentle air currents. Even though it was still early afternoon, I suddenly felt sleepy. The peaceful quiet of Ida’s home made me compare it to my own. Seemed like the television was always on—or music CDs. But now I could hear the wind moving through the trees, the birds singing in different tones and voices, and Ida’s clock ticking away the seconds of a lazy April afternoon.

  “I thought we would read your grandmother’s letter first, dear,” Ida chirped in a voice that quivered with the sound of age and contentment. “I baked a strawberry pie this morning. And the coffee is on. It should be ready soon.”

  “That sounds lovely,” I said. “Please, read the letter.”

  She reached into the pocket of her long, dark blue dress and pulled out an old envelope, faded and yellowed with age. Carefully opening the brittle seal, she reached in and pulled out the folded pages inside.

  “I was foolish to leave this unopened all these years,” she said, her words heavy with the accent of her heritage. “Herman, my husband, passed away about three months before your grandmother and grandfather decided to leave Harmony. Essie and I were so close. I felt she had deserted me.” She shook her head slowly. “It was selfish of me. I should have understood. They had finally freed themselves from their commitment to the church and wanted to spend time with you. Benjamin was old enough to fend for himself and encouraged them to go.” She wiped a tear from her wrinkled cheek. “Poor Benjamin. Essie was confident he would follow them someday. But as soon as they left, he shut himself in that house and refused to have anything to do with anybody. I asked him about his parents frequently, and all he would say was that they were fine. About two years after they left, I finally questioned him about why he had not left Harmony to be with them. I will never forget what he said. Or the look in his eyes. They were so dark and cold. ‘They have made their bed, Ida,’ he said. ‘I have made mine. And that is the end of it. I have no need of anyone but my God.’” She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Never could figure out why he cut them off.” She looked at me with sadness in her face. “Did Essie and Joe ever try to contact him?”

  “I honestly don’t know a lot about it. No one talked to me much about Uncle Benjamin. But I did hear Mama Essie say something once about trying to talk to him
. He told them he wanted nothing to do with them—or my father. Papa Joe made plans to come here and try to reason with Benjamin, but then Mama died and Papa Joe started having problems with Alzheimer’s. He never did make that trip.”

  “But now you are here,” she said. She smoothed her skirt and smiled at me. “You came here for them. In their place, ja?”

  “I—I never thought about it that way. Of course, I was too late for Uncle Benjamin.”

  “I am not so sure about that, child. God has a whole different sense of time than we do. What looks too late for us is sometimes right on time for God.” She held the letter to her chest. “Why, just think about your grandmother and me. She left Harmony in 1990. You were jus a toddler.” She shook her head. “Bishop Angstadt pitched a fit, he did. Your grandparents were leaders in the church, you know. When they started to doubt his leadership, things began to fall apart for him. Others in the church began to leave. He died a couple of years after your grandparents moved away. Even if Benjamin could not leave because of his loyalty to the bishop, his death should have made his way clear. I guess the bishop’s beliefs about The Ban overcame Benjamin’s loyalty to his family. It’s a shame.”

  “One thing I don’t understand, Ida. Wasn’t there anyone keeping an eye on Angstadt? Someone from your denomination or something?”

  “Bishop Angstadt himself was an overseer, but there were no other congregations except ours in this area. And those whose job it was to watch over him were far removed from Harmony. They assumed everything was fine. None of us complained. Perhaps we should have.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “It is hard to explain now, child. But at the time we thought we were doing the right thing. Criticizing our bishop was looked upon as an awful sin.”

  “Seems to me that following your ‘old ways’ led to a lot of heartache. Yet you still cling to these same principles. I don’t understand...”

  “Now let me stop you there, child,” the old woman said with a smile. “I do embrace many of the old ways, but it is only because I want to. I love my life—the way it is. Of course, not all my choices are made out of the desire for simplicity. For example, I certainly have nothing against electricity. If it didn’t cost so much, I might put it in.” She sighed. “But you know something? I love the glow of a lamp at night. And I love sitting in front of a fireplace in the winter and snuggling under the quilts my mother made.” She shrugged. “I must admit that I am not a fan of really hot days, but I can harness my old horse, Zebediah, and ride my buggy into town. I sit in the cool café and visit with my neighbors.” She put her hand to her mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl. “Now this must stay between you and me, ja? Sometimes, I strip down to my underwear and soak my feet in a tub of cool water. Good thing I can see anyone who turns into my driveway. That way I am able to get decent before they see me in my altogether.” She pointed her finger at me. “And is there anything as wonderful as a cold glass of lemonade on a blistering day?” She clapped her hands together. “How can we enjoy the good things in life if we don’t understand what it is like without them?”

  Ida’s simple delight in her lifestyle made sense to me. “I think I understand. If someone had tried to tell me a month ago I’d be envious of people like you, I’d have thought they were crazy. But now...”

  “You’re beginning to like us, ja?” she said laughing. “I’m so glad. If nothing else, you have made some friends here. Maybe someday your mother and father will come back for a visit. I am afraid they have some bad feelings toward Harmony. But this town is special—and very resilient. Even someone like Bishop Angstadt could not break its spirit.”

  “Sam told me that a long time ago you and some of the other women in Harmony prayed that this would be a peaceful place.”

  She nodded slowly. “Ja, we certainly did. And our Lord has honored that prayer all these years. I would like your father and mother to see the work He has done here.”

  “Maybe they will. I intend to tell them about Harmony and what it’s become. I think it would heal them to come back for a visit.”

  “I agree, child. You are very wise.” Ida’s eyes twinkled with an inner joy that drew me to her.

  “You know, you remind me a lot of Abel Mueller. Do you mind if I ask why you don’t attend his church? I mean, it’s Mennonite and all. Is it because you think he’s doing something wrong?”

  Ida’s eyebrows shot up. “Ach no, child. That is not it at all. Pastor Mueller and I have talked about the reason I am still with our small group, and it has nothing to do with him.” She sighed and looked out the window. “Truth be told, I would love to go to Bethel.” She swung her gaze back to me. “I will tell you the real reason, but it must stay between us. Is that something you can abide by?”

  “Of course.”

  “It is because of Sarah Ketterling. We have developed a fine friendship, and I just can’t desert her, Gracie. The poor child is so isolated. At least Gabriel lets me talk to her. And he even allows her to visit me from time to time. I am afraid if I start attending Bethel, he will forbid our relationship.”

  I told Ida about running into Sarah in town and my desire to learn wood-block printing from her.

  Ida nodded slowly. “I wonder if Gabriel would allow her to teach you if you met here in my home.”

  “I—I kind of doubt it,” I said. “He wasn’t very nice to me. Told me my uncle would be ashamed of me.”

  Ida’s face flushed crimson. “That man had no business speaking to you that way. He is so filled up with hate, he can’t love anyone.” She shook her head. “Your uncle would be so proud of you, Gracie. You are such a lovely young woman. Good and kind—and full of love. Do not listen to Gabriel. I knew Benjamin better than most folks. He was a troubled man—but he was a good man.”

  She turned her attention to the old letter and unfolded its yellowed pages slowly. “Now, let us read this letter before that handsome, young Sam Goodrich breaks in, looking for a piece of my pie.”

  I nodded and settled back in my chair. Listening to a letter from my grandmother written twenty years ago gave me a lump in my throat. How I wish I could talk to her one more time. Feel her hug my neck or call me her “little gift of grace.”

  “‘My dearest friend, Ida,’” the old woman read in her age-crackled voice. “‘I know our leaving has caused you pain. I am so sorry. When we drove away from Harmony for the last time, all I could think of was you. I know you have felt alone since Herman’s passing. In the past few years, our friendship has grown even stronger. Surely you realize how much I treasure it—and you. But I cannot allow Grace to grow up without her Mama Essie and Papa Joe. When we visited Daniel and Beverly, my heart broke when we had to leave. Gracie cried for us as we walked away. I cannot bear it, Ida. Can you understand that, my friend? If I could have both of you, I would. Joe and I talked about asking you to come with us. But I know you do not want to leave your home, and I respect that. Can you respect the yearning in my heart for my beautiful grandchild? I wish you could see her, Ida. She has the most beautiful green eyes and bright red hair. She looks so much like Benjamin. Joe and I are hopeful that he will join us soon. My little gift of grace will love her handsome uncle—I am sure of it. And oh, Ida, if you could only see Daniel and Beverly. What a lovely home they have made for themselves. They are so much in love, even today. It is such a blessing to be near them.

  “‘I know Bishop Angstadt was angry about our decision, but I have come to realize that the love of God I read about in the Bible is not the kind of love I see in him. I will not speak ill of anyone, Ida, but I will ask you to remember that Mennonites are dedicated to following God’s love and living in peace with everyone. It is because of my love for Him and His ways first, and the love of my family second, that I have embraced the decision my husband made to move to Nebraska. This does not mean that my heart is not broken because I had to leave Benjamin and you behind. Maybe someday soon I will be able to come to you—to greet you once again with a holy kiss. I pray for this.

&n
bsp; “‘Please take care of yourself, my dearest friend. And if you can find it in your heart, please forgive me for any pain I have caused you. I want you to know that I will love you every day I live. And if I never hear from you again in this life, I will wait for that kiss in the fields of heaven where we will take off our socks and shoes and dip our toes into God’s holy waters. I love you today and forever.

  “‘Your loving sister in Christ, Essie Temple.’”

  Ida lowered the letter with trembling fingers. Tears coursed down her face, and I realized with a start that my face was wet, too. As we looked at each other, I was filled with a desire that seemed to speak straight from my heart. I rose to my feet and walked up to Ida. Then I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “This is from Essie,” I said, trying to keep my voice from breaking.

  The old woman’s breath caught, and she reached up and put her arms around my neck. I hugged her back while we both cried. When I straightened up, my shoulder was damp with her tears.

  “Oh, my dear Gracie,” she whispered. “My dear, dear Gracie.”

  I sat back down and tried to compose myself. I couldn’t help but compare this letter to the one my uncle had left for me. The first letter brought fear and confusion. This one had delivered healing and love. Ida reached into her pocket and took out a hankie, which she used to dry her face. Not having a tissue handy, I wiped my tears with my sleeve. Finally, I started to giggle. “My goodness, if Sam finds us like this, he’ll think we’ve lost our minds.”