Simple Secrets (The Harmony Series 1) (4 page)

“One other thing,” he said. “There’s an old wringer washer downstairs. Not very modern, but you’d be surprised how clean it will get your clothes.”

“Thankfully, my grandmother used a wringer washer when I was young. She taught me how to operate it. When it broke down, she finally got a modern washer, but she always swore that her old machine got her clothes cleaner.”

“My aunt used to say the same thing. However, she was willing to trade cleanliness for convenience. She’d never go back to the old way.”

Feeling that we’d exhausted the clothes washer topic, I tried another tack. “Sam, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. That’s why I’m here.”

“It’s about my uncle. You see, I never got the chance to know him. I must say I’m shocked he left his property to me. I have to wonder about it. You and your aunt were close to him. Do you have any idea why he’d pass along his inheritance to a niece he’d never met?”

Sam cleared his throat and frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t. He made it very clear that his personal life was off-limits. I guess he was friendlier with me than most, but there was always a side of Ben that he kept to himself. As you know, he was raised in the Old Order. Never really left it. Most of the other folks in town have adopted more modern ways, although they hold true to the Mennonite principles, plain living, and everything. But not Ben. He and a few others clung to the old ways. Funny thing was, he didn’t hang around them much either. It was like he was protecting himself against something and he couldn’t allow people to get too close.” He stared down at the floor, looking uncomfortable. “Toward the end, he said some things I didn’t quite understand. I got the feeling he hadn’t meant to let them slip out.” He lifted his head and looked at me. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’m comfortable telling you something said in private. If I really thought it was important, I would be willing to chance it. But at this point, I don’t see how it would help anything.”

A good-looking man with principles. Quite a rare find. Without realizing it, my eyes drifted to his left hand. No ring. For a few seconds, I felt a sense of relief. Then I realized I was having some rather serious thoughts about a hick farmer in a town so small it wasn’t on most maps. This wasn’t what I was looking for. I’m definitely a big city girl. I forced my mind back to the situation at hand.

“You said my uncle didn’t spend much time with people who believed the way he did? Didn’t he go to church?”

Sam shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, the Old Order folks don’t have a formal meeting house anymore. They hold services in each other’s homes. Ben went to all the meetings and did everything he was supposed to do, but he rarely just sat down and carried on a conversation with anyone, even those who believed the same way he did. There were a few people he trusted, including my aunt and me. But I can’t say he was ever completely forthcoming with us.” He gulped down some lemonade then set down the glass. “I believe there was something going on with your uncle—something he never talked directly about. As far as I know, he died without ever sharing it.”

“But he did tell you about me.”

Sam frowned and leaned forward. “Ben asked me to come by and talk to him about something ‘private’ a couple of months ago. I thought he was finally ready to share whatever it was that bothered him so deeply. But he only talked a little about your family—who you were and how he hadn’t seen you for so long. Didn’t really explain why except to say there were some differences that separated you. Then he told me that I should watch for you to come. He even told me that he’d had all his property put in your name.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “That was as personal as he got. I only wish he would have trusted me more. I think he went to his reward with a heavy burden. That shouldn’t have happened. Benjamin Temple deserved better.”

“Maybe he would have told you if he’d had more time,” I offered.

Sam stared at his empty glass. “Possibly, but I don’t think so. Ben knew he didn’t have long. His heart was giving out. In the last year, he got worse and worse.”

I felt a rush of indignation. “Why in the world wouldn’t he call my father to let him know how ill he was? Except for my grandfather who is in a nursing home, my dad was his only close relative.”

“He had his own way, Grace. It might not make sense to you, but over the years I came to respect your uncle for many of his beliefs. He didn’t choose an easy life.”

“But turning your back on people who don’t believe the same way you do isn’t right.”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t agree with it either, but I think in Ben’s mind it was the only choice open to him. I guess he thought somehow your dad and your grandparents would repent and come back into the fold.”

“That’s ridiculous. My parents and grandparents are the best people I’ve ever known. They have nothing to ‘repent’ from.”

Sam pushed back his chair and stood up. “Well, Pastor Mueller agrees with you. He talked to Ben several times and encouraged him to contact your family. Your uncle wouldn’t budge. I tried to reason with him, too, but he shut me down. I finally let it go because I didn’t want to lose his friendship.”

I smiled at Sam, but I was thinking that although his words sounded right, I wished someone had been more forceful with my uncle. He’d left a lot of hurt behind him, and that certainly didn’t seem very Christlike to me.

“I’ve got to get going,” Sam said, “but first I want to make certain you know how to fire up all your appliances.”

I obediently followed him around while he demonstrated each piece of equipment. I wanted to grumble that in Wichita, all I had to do was turn a knob, but I kept my mouth shut. I appreciated his help. After our informative tour, I walked him to the front door.

He put his hand on the doorknob to leave but suddenly hesitated. “Why don’t I stop by tomorrow and take you to breakfast in town? You’ll get a chance to visit a few of our shops and meet some of Harmony’s residents. There are still a few folks who remember your family. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”

I started to turn him down. I wanted a few days to myself before taking on the town of Harmony. But as I looked into his incredible smoky gray eyes, I forgot what I’d wanted to say. Instead, I found myself nodding and asking him what time he’d be by. After agreeing to nine o’clock, I said good-bye and closed the door after him. As it clicked shut, I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, some time alone. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any more interruptions from friendly neighbors.

It was still early, so I decided to carry my bags in from the car, poke around some, and then have a little supper. I’d already noticed several oil lamps scattered throughout the house. I searched until I found some matches in my uncle’s desk. At least I would have some light after the sun went down.

As I closed the drawer, my eyes were drawn to the black leather Bible that lay on the desktop. I’d picked it up, intending to see if Benjamin had written family information in the front, when something slipped out from between the pages and fell to the floor. It was an envelope. I gasped involuntarily when I bent down to look at it.

My name was scrawled in large block letters on the front.

I left the letter sitting on Benjamin’s desk while I carried in my bags and had supper. I assumed my uncle had written it, but I couldn’t decide if his message from beyond the grave was something I really wanted to read. Was this some last-ditch attempt to seek forgiveness? I didn’t have to scratch very deep to uncover the resentment I felt toward him. The hurt he’d caused my family made it difficult for me to forgive him no matter what he had to say. Of course, my uncle may have left a very different kind of letter—a scathing missive full of judgment and retribution. Except that Sam and Myrtle had painted him in different colors. Unfortunately, most people have two faces—the one they show in public and the one they keep hidden behind a carefully constructed mask. Not knowing my uncle made it impossible for me to guess his motives.

A look through the refrigerator presented me with several options for supper. I finally settled on a bowl of beef stew that smelled absolutely wonderful. I found myself searching for the microwave before I remembered where I was. I discovered a small metal pan that I filled with stew and set on the stove. After locating a box of matches, I turned the knob under the pan, struck the match, and watched as the flame whooshed beneath the raised burner. A few minutes later, the aroma of homemade stew filled the homey kitchen. I added a slice of bread and butter, and before long my meal was ready. I sat down at the kitchen table and gazed out the window. A row of trees lined the back of the property. I wondered what was on the other side and decided to scout it out when I had time.

I finished my supper, put the dishes in the sink, and lit the oil lamp on the table. My mother had kept a couple of oil lamps in Fairbury even though we had electricity. A holdover from her childhood, I guess. The smell of burning oil took me back to leisurely nights on our old porch swing, listening to the cacophony of cicadas while my mother’s old lamp burned in the window. I’d been in such a hurry to leave Nebraska I guess I’d forgotten a few of the things I’d actually enjoyed.

I grabbed my largest suitcase and headed for the stairs. Since the main floor consisted of the large living room, a bathroom, the kitchen, and the pantry, the bedrooms had to be on the second floor. The stairs were much steeper than I was used to, and each step creaked as I climbed. They twisted at the top and ended at a dark hallway. It occurred to me that perhaps it would have been better if I’d checked out this part of the house before the sun had gone down. The light from my lamp cast a rather ominous glow that made my surroundings look a little spooky. I left my heavy suitcase on the landing and proceeded down the hall.

There were three rooms upstairs. The first bedroom had probably been Benjamin’s. The bed was covered with a rather plain blue bedspread. There was a mahogany dresser with a mirror. The top of the dresser held a comb, some kind of hair tonic, a small bowl of change, and two bottles of prescription medicine. An old wooden chair sat next to the wall, and a small battered trunk rested at the foot of the bed. Across the room I found a closet door. I slowly opened the door, which protested loudly in the silence. An array of men’s slacks and shirts hung on wooden hangers. All the pants were either black, dark brown, or dark blue. The shirts varied from light to dark. It was almost impossible to distinguish exact shades in the yellowish glow of the lamp. A wide-brimmed black hat hung on a hook on the side of the closet, and another hat just like it, but made out of straw, sat on a shelf.

I closed the door and stood in the middle of the room. “Hello, Uncle Benjamin,” I said softly into the still, quiet space. “You wanted me here, and I’m here. Too bad you didn’t make a move to see me while you were alive.”

Feeling a little silly for talking to myself, I left that room and stepped out into the hallway. I held the lamp out in front of me and followed its flickering light to the next door. I turned the knob and swung it open. This room was larger than Benjamin’s. A beautifully carved bed was pushed up against the back wall, next to the windows. A colorful patchwork quilt covered it. I walked over to the bed and ran my fingers across the hand stitching. I recognized the design. Mama Essie. She’d made one just like it for me. I’d tucked it away in my closet at home, afraid to use it because it was so precious I didn’t want to damage it.

Of course, Mama hadn’t seen her creations as something to be protected. “Why, honey,” she’d said when I confessed to storing the precious gift away, “I made that quilt to be used. When you wrap yourself in it, I want you to imagine you’re getting a big hug from your grandma.”

I swung the lamp around and found a dresser like Benjamin’s—but bigger and more ornate. A large homemade rag rug lay on the floor, and a cast-iron stove in the corner waited for the next chilly night. This had obviously been Papa Joe and Mama Essie’s room. This was where I’d sleep. I could almost feel my grandparents, and the sensation gave me a sense of peace. I wondered how long it had been since the room had been thoroughly cleaned. I ran my fingers across the dresser and found it relatively free of dust. The quilt and the bedsheets looked freshly laundered. Had Benjamin tidied up in anticipation of my visit? The thought made me feel a little funny—as if he’d reached out to touch me from the great beyond. A shiver ran up my spine. Of course, as sick as he’d been, it was more likely Myrtle or Sam who had spruced the house up. I doubt my uncle thought much about housework during the last days of his life.

I lit the lamp that sat on the dresser but kept the one I had with me so I could use it to navigate my way back up the narrow stairs in the dark when I was ready for bed. I swung it around and had turned toward the door when I noticed an old photograph on the wall. I held the light close to it. It was a family portrait. A young Mama Essie and Papa Joe looked stoically at the camera. Mama was lovely, her dark hair pulled back into a bun with a few loose curls caressing her cheeks. Her dark eyes were framed by thick eyelashes that didn’t need any help from mascara, and although the picture was in black and white, her cheeks were shaded with what might have been a rosy hue had the photograph been taken in color. Papa Joe stared at the camera with a rather humorless expression. But the hint of amusement in his eyes was unmistakable. I knew that look. He’d had it every time he’d told me one of his awful jokes. I didn’t figure out how bad they were until I was an adult. To a child who worshipped her grandfather, Papa Joe put the professional comedians on TV to shame.

“Did you ever wonder why bread is square and lunchmeat is round?” he’d ask. Or “If you’re eating cured ham, Gracie girl, don’t you ever wonder just what was wrong with it before it got well?”

I also recalled the times he’d swing me around in circles with his strong arms, singing “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” After leaving Harmony, he’d worked for the railroad until he retired. I guess that’s why he loved the song so much. But even more than that silly song, Papa Joe had loved me—and I loved him and Mama. Seeing them so young made me realize how much I missed them. Even though Papa was still alive, he seemed only a shadow of the robust man he had once been. I’d give almost anything just to hear another one of his terrible jokes. I moved the lamp a little closer. I’d never seen any pictures of my father as a child—but there he was, probably all of ten years old. And next to him a smaller boy with deep, piercing eyes. Eyes that spoke of intelligence and reason. Uncle Benjamin. Although hair color is difficult to define in a black and white photo, it was easy to see that while the rest of the family had dark hair, Uncle Benjamin’s was lighter. I would have bet all the money in my checking account, which wasn’t much, that he’d had red hair like me. And that the spots across his nose were freckles just like mine. Although my mother told me my dimples came from an angel’s kiss, I found that, in fact, they’d come from my uncle. I wondered if his eyes were green, too. They looked lighter than my dad’s, which were brown.