by Nancy Mehl
“Hannah!” Emily said. “Don’t tell tales. As far as I know, he’s never specifically said he doesn’t like us.”
“My wife’s right. I don’t think it’s just Mennonites the man finds so repulsive. I think he feels the same about all faiths. He’s an equal opportunity heathen.” Abel eyes twinkled and he winked at me.
“Abel! My goodness. Calling a law enforcement official a heathen,” Emily said with a sigh. “I’m glad we’re going to church tonight so you can repent.” Even though she sounded serious, I noticed the sides of her mouth curve up.
“When can we get together to paint?” Hannah asked. Even though I’d only been gone a couple of months, I could see the gorgeous blond-haired, blue-eyed girl maturing right before my eyes. Not only did she possess God-given talent; she’d been blessed with a delicate, almost angelic beauty.
“If the weather holds, we’ll get together this week sometime. How’s that?”
Her face lit up. “That would be wonderful. I’ve missed you, Gracie.”
I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve missed you, too, Hannah.”
“Add me to the list,” Emily said with a smile. “Why don’t you come to dinner one night during the week? You and Hannah could paint afterward.”
“I’d love it. Can I call you tomorrow to set it up?”
She squeezed my arm. “That would be wonderful.”
Abel stood to his feet. “If you both will excuse Gracie and me for a moment, I’d like to talk to her privately.”
“You’re always talking privately to people,” Hannah said. Her bottom lip stuck out slightly.
Abel raised one eyebrow and stared at his daughter through narrowed eyes. “You’re right, Hannah. It comes with the territory. I’m a pastor. Maybe you weren’t aware of that.”
She blushed. “I know, I know. But I’d like to have a secret once in a while.”
“Tell you what,” I said. “When we get together, I’ll tell you a secret about me. As long as you promise to keep it to yourself.”
“Oh, Gracie,” she breathed. “I promise.”
I winked at Emily, who smiled at me. I had no idea what secret I could share with the teenager, so I’d have to do some thinking first. I said good-bye to the women and followed Abel to an empty table.
“I’m almost glad Hannah mentioned secrets, because this will have to be a secret between us for now. The mother’s identity won’t stay quiet for long since people will see her with the baby, but it’s up to her to decide how to tell people.”
“I understand, but boy, Sweetie and Sam are really going to be disappointed.”
He chuckled. “Emily respects my position, but she’s tried once or twice to get me to reveal the truth.”
“You mean Emily doesn’t even know?”
“No. A pastor isn’t any different than a priest or a psychiatrist when it comes to protecting the privacy of our parishioners. The only person I have permission to tell is you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Abel leaned in closer to me. “I told her about the letter and how it had upset you. She felt you should know, and she asked me to apologize to you. Not only for being accused of something you didn’t do, but also for running away from you the night she brought me the baby. She saw you fall down but was too afraid to go back and check on you. She feels bad about it.”
“Please tell her I’m fine. There aren’t any hard feelings. And the letter certainly wasn’t her fault.” I scooted my chair nearer to him. “I don’t suppose the letter writer has also confessed?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. I still have no idea who wrote it. What about you?”
“Not a clue.”
“I’m still hoping we’ll find out one of these days. I keep talking about the seriousness of gossip and false accusations in my sermons, hoping the culprit will confess. But so far no one has said anything.” He laughed softly. “I think my congregation is getting a little nervous. I was told that the ladies’ Bible study had a real revival last week. They were crying and repenting and carrying on so loudly our outreach committee left their meeting to find out what was wrong.”
I giggled at the picture that popped into my mind.
“Now to the reason I asked to see you.”
His tone turned solemn, and I suddenly felt apprehensive. Was the mother someone I knew? Would I be shocked?
“Not only is the mother almost a child herself, only seventeen, but this past week has been a terrible time for this family. You see, her father just passed away.”
I shook my head, puzzled by his comment. I had no way of knowing who had recently died in Abel’s church. I started to tell him that when the realization exploded in my mind. “Oh my goodness. Do you mean… ?”
“Yes. The baby belongs to Jessica McAllister.”
“Oh, Abel. That poor girl. She just lost her father. How awful.”
“Yes, it is awful,” he agreed. “But there’s more to it than you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s just say that Jessica brought the baby to me for protection. Rand McAllister was a very abusive father. She feared for the child and for herself. When Rand found out about the baby, he was furious. Thelma and Jessica had kept her pregnancy a secret right up until a few weeks before the baby’s birth. Rand threatened to kill his daughter and her child unless she figured out a way to get rid of it. He told them he had no intention of supporting Jessica’s illegitimate child.” Abel winced. “Of course, he didn’t use the word illegitimate.”
“Boy, he really was an awful man. So after he was found dead, Jessica came to claim the little girl?”
He nodded. “That’s right. And the look on her face when she saw that baby.” He dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief he took from his pocket. “Well, let’s just say that I’m not the least bit worried about the baby getting all the love she needs. And Thelma is just as crazy about her. They named her Trinity, by the way.”
“Oh my. That’s lovely.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I hesitate to say this, but from what you’ve told me, it almost sounds like Rand’s death was a blessing in some ways.”
He studied the surface of the table for a moment before replying. “The death of any man who doesn’t know God is a tragedy beyond description,” he said. His voice broke. “Believe me, I stay up some nights thinking about people like him. People I couldn’t get through to. I wonder if I’d done something different—or better—maybe they would have found the Lord.”
I started to say something, but he shook his head. “I know those thoughts are wrong. The Holy Spirit convicts every person, and in the end, it is their decision. But thoughts like these are part of the territory when you’re a minister.” He cleared his throat. “But back to your comment. As far as Thelma and Jessica, yes. Their lives will be much better now that Rand is gone.”
“That’s a sad commentary on anyone’s life,” I said.
“It certainly is.”
“Will they be okay? Financially, that is?”
Abel smiled. “You know better than to ask that.”
I returned the smile. “You’re right. Sorry. The church will step in and take care of them.”
“That’s what we’re called to do. And we love doing His work.”
A thought popped into my mind. “Will they sell their property to Eric now?”
Abel frowned. “Strange about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Thelma has no idea what Rand was thinking in trying to sell his land to Mr. Beck. Rand had mortgaged the place to the hilt. Of course, he didn’t spend the money on his family. He used it for drinking and gambling. I guess he was a regular at a casino near Topeka. All Thelma can surmise is that Rand figured he could pay off his first mortgage and get another loan on the house so he could throw that money away as well.”
“And then he got greedy and decided he wanted to not only pay off his loan but make a little more from Eric and his i
nvestors.”
Abel shrugged. “That’s about the only thing that makes sense. I think he kept the fact that he didn’t have a clear title from Mr. Beck.”
“So if Thelma sells her place to Eric, will she make any money?”
“Not much after paying off the mortgage. But it doesn’t really matter since she never wanted to leave her home in the first place. Thelma feels as strongly about Harmony as most of us do. She wants to stay here—in her own home.”
“So what now?” I felt overwhelming compassion for Thelma and her daughter. Rand had certainly left them an unhappy legacy.
“That’s an interesting question. Seems when Thelma started calling family this afternoon to tell them about Rand’s death, she found out Rand has a life insurance policy. It was taken out on him when he worked for the family business back in Iowa. After Rand left to come to Harmony, Thelma’s brother kept it going because he was concerned about Thelma and Jessica. With Rand’s drinking, he figured there was a good chance he’d die early, and the brother wanted his sister and niece to be protected. It’s enough money to pay off the mortgage and get the farm back on its feet.”
“Oh, Abel. That’s wonderful news. I can hardly believe it.”
“God is already providing,” he said with a wide smile. “And the church will make sure those fields are taken care of the way they should be. Thelma will have enough money to live comfortably on her land as long as she wants.”
I didn’t say anything for a moment, and Abel noticed the pensive look on my face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. It’s just that…”
“That Rand’s death has actually benefited his family?”
I nodded.
Abel put his hand on my arm and patted it. “Rand chose to use the gift of life God gave him to be selfish and cruel to the people he should have cherished. His life could have been completely different. We can do a lot of things to help others, but we can’t make their choices, Gracie. Even God Himself won’t override our will.”
I nodded my agreement. There wasn’t much else to say. It was a sad ending for a sad man.
“I won’t keep you any longer,” Abel said. “I’m sure after the past few days, you’re looking forward to enjoying some time relaxing with Sweetie and Sam.” He patted his round stomach. “And eating Mary’s food.” He beamed. “I recommend the sauerbraten. It’s delicious.”
I laughed. “Is there anything Hector can’t cook?”
“He is a marvel, isn’t he? Please keep him and his family in your prayers. His wife, Carmen, is pregnant and has been having some problems. Her doctor has ordered bed rest for the last three months of her pregnancy. That means she has to leave her teaching job at the school in Sunrise. With three other children, things are already tight. Hector has no idea how they’ll make it.”
“I’m sure folks here will pitch in and help.”
“Of course. Several of the town’s women have volunteered to help Carmen around the house and with the children. But that’s as much as Hector will allow us to do. He won’t accept financial assistance. He believes supporting his family is his responsibility.”
“I respect that, but all of us need help sometimes.”
Abel sighed. “I agree. But I have to respect his wishes.”
“I’ll definitely keep him and his family in my prayers.”
“I know you will.” He rose to his feet. “I think I see Mary with my sauerbraten. Now I must enjoy my dinner—but without showing too much enthusiasm.”
I stood up, too. “I don’t understand.”
He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Because if my wife suspects I enjoy Hector’s sauerbraten more than hers, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He stepped back with a big grin on his face. “You be sure and call us so we can set up a time for dinner. And bring Sam with you.”
I kissed the big man on the cheek. “I can hardly wait. And thanks, Abel, for telling me about the baby. Please thank Jessica for me, too.”
“I will. God bless you, Gracie.”
I watched him go back to his table. Emily and Hannah waved at me. What a great family. And what wonderful friends they had become. I could hardly believe that when I first came to Harmony, I’d been so negative toward Abel and his religion. Just proves it’s impossible to judge justly through preconceived opinions and prejudices.
When I got back to our table, Sam and Sweetie looked at me expectantly. “Well,” Sweetie said, “who’s the mother?”
I sat down. “I can’t tell you.”
“What?” Sweetie screeched loudly enough to be heard by dogs in the next county. Several patrons turned and looked our way. I noticed the Crandalls sitting in a booth across the room. They smiled at me, and I raised my hand in greeting.
“Hush,” I scolded. “The mother has asked Abel to keep her identity secret—for now. You’ll know the truth soon.”
Sweetie wasn’t happy about being kept out of the loop, but she grudgingly accepted my promise that she wouldn’t have to wait long for the information she wanted. “Why did Abel tell you who the mama is?” she asked in a subdued voice.
“Because of that awful letter. The mother felt bad about it and asked Abel to apologize to me.”
“Well, it wasn’t her fault,” Sam said. “But that’s very thoughtful.” He shook his head. “When the truth comes out, I hope the person who wrote that letter feels like the judgmental gossip they are.”
“Most critical, judgmental people are too busy thinking about everyone else to look at themselves. I think that’s why God commanded us not to judge people. We can’t see into another person’s heart, and we have no idea what we’re talking about.”
“Besides that, we got that huge two-by-four stuck in our eyeballs,” Sweetie added.
I chuckled. “You’ve got it right, Sweetie.”
Sam winked at me.
“Here you go,” Mary said, stepping up to our table with a tray of drinks. She put a coffee pitcher and two cups down in front of me and Sweetie. Then she handed a huge glass of Mountain Dew to Sam. “I don’t know how you can drink caffeine this late in the day. It would keep me up all night.”
“Sweetie and I can drink coffee almost up to bedtime, and it doesn’t bother us,” I said.
She grinned. “I wasn’t talking to you.” She looked at Sam. “I never understood how you can drink that stuff any time of the day and never have a problem.”
He smacked his lips and took a big gulp. “Best drink on the face of the earth,” he said with a sigh. “Hardly ever go through a day without it.”
“That’s the truth,” Sweetie said. “I cart that stuff back from Sunrise by the caseload.”
“You guys decide what you want?” Mary asked.
“Abel recommended the sauerbraten,” I said. “Think I’ll go with that.”
“You won’t be sorry. It’s fabulous.” Mary scribbled my order on her pad. “It comes with potato pancakes and sauerkraut—is that okay?”
“Sounds great.”
“And what about you two?”
“Bring me the biggest, juiciest rib eye you got,” Sweetie said. “I’ve got a real hankerin’ for steak tonight.”
Mary wrote down her order, not asking about side dishes because she already knew what Sweetie wanted. “Sam?”
“Put me down for the second biggest, juiciest rib-eye in the place,” he said. “After all that work in the orchards, I’ve got the same hankerin’.”
“You got it,” Mary said. As with Sweetie, she didn’t ask about sides. “Hey, Gracie, you still coming here tomorrow night? The roads should be pretty good by then.”
“Sure. It sounds great. What time?”
“I’ll close up around seven. It might take me another thirty minutes to get everyone out of here. Will that work for you?”
“Perfect. I’ll be here. I look forward to it.”
She left to take an order at a nearby table. I recognized Bill Eberly, the kind man who had moved his car for
Ida and me the day of the meeting. I held my hand up and smiled at him. He waved back. I noticed he sat alone at his table. “Sam, do you know Bill Eberly?” I asked when Bill turned his attention to Mary.
“Sure. Nice man. He and your uncle got along really well. He and his wife moved here about ten years ago with their two kids. A boy and a girl. They’re both in college now. One’s in California and the other is somewhere back east. Edith passed away almost four years ago. Cancer, if I remember right.”
“So he lives all alone?”
Sam nodded.
“He’s about Joyce Bechtold’s age, isn’t he?”
“Yep, they’re about the same age,” Sweetie said. “But it won’t do you no good to try to fix them two up. Bill ain’t been interested in any woman since Edith passed. He’s a one-woman man, I guess. And anyways, Joyce is gone.”
“What do you mean she’s gone?” Joyce had been in love with my uncle for many years before he died. Although I was certain he’d felt the same way about her, he’d never acknowledged it. Before I left town the last time, Joyce and I had spent several hours painting the last birdhouses, feeders, and rocking chairs my uncle had crafted before his death. Working together had been a joy, and we’d begun developing a real friendship.
“Her sister died, and Joyce moved to Dodge City to take care of her nieces and nephew,” Sam said. “She left about a month ago.”
“I wonder why she didn’t tell me.” I couldn’t help feeling a little hurt. Maybe we weren’t as close as I thought.
“To be honest,” Sam said, “I’m not sure her brother-in-law needs her that much. I think Joyce just wanted to get away. Harmony reminded her of your uncle. She needs time to heal. Maybe she’ll come back someday.”
I sighed. “Well, I hope so. We still had some birdhouses left to paint.”
“She finished ‘em,” Sweetie said. “I shoulda told you, but with everything goin’ on I just forgot. They’re all stacked up in the basement. She told me to tell you to do whatever you want with them.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Sam said kindly. “Joyce didn’t leave you; she left her painful memories. She thinks the world of you.”