Simple Secrets (The Harmony Series 1) (9 page)

“Thank you.”

She waved her hand at me. “It’s nothing. As persnickety as Benjamin was, we thought a lot of him. Such an honest and ethical man. You should be proud of him, Grace.”

“Please call me Gracie,” I said. I realized as I said it that Sam kept introducing me as Grace. In fact, I couldn’t remember him calling me Gracie once.

“Gracie it is,” Ruth said. “Now let me show you around some.” She came around the corner and took my arm. “I’ve got several of your uncle’s birdhouses and feeders over here.” She sighed heavily. “I can hardly believe there won’t be any more.”

“Joyce can still paint birdhouses for you, Ruth,” Sam said. He reached up and ran his fingers along the smooth side of a beautifully carved house. “I guess no one makes a house quite like Ben, though.”

“No. No they don’t.” Ruth put her hands on her hips and stared at the birdhouses displayed on her shelves. “Benjamin took pride in everything he did. Never rushed the job. Never sacrificed quality for speed, yet he met every order on time.” She brushed at her eyes with her hand. “Aren’t many men like Benjamin Temple anymore.” A quick smile chased the sadness from her face. “Except you, Sam. I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d believe you two were related.”

Sam’s easygoing expression faltered for a moment, and something dark crossed his features. I wondered what was behind it. Why did he live with his aunt? Where were his parents? He’d mentioned living in Harmony for most of his life. My curiosity was aroused. Sam Goodrich was an interesting man. I found myself wanting to understand him.

Besides my uncle’s creations, Ruth’s shop was filled to the brink with handmade items: beautiful quilts, dried flower arrangements, pottery, and bolts of cloth. On one wall, I discovered several framed paintings. Most were landscapes; several were of horses. Each one was striking, painted by someone with remarkable natural talent. And every single painting was set into a carved frame that highlighted the scene perfectly. One particular picture really caught my eye. It depicted a man plowing a field, with a storm brewing in the sky behind him. Dark clouds boiled with moisture. The farmer’s urgency to beat the impending rain showed in his taut muscles and stalwart expression. I realized the style was familiar.

“These are outstanding,” I said. “I believe my uncle has two paintings by this artist hanging in his house. Who...” I leaned in and saw the signature.
H. Mueller.
I couldn’t hold back a gasp. “Hannah Mueller painted these?”

“Hannah painted all of them,” Ruth said, bustling up next to me, “and the pictures in your house. She’s a very talented young lady. Hard to believe she’s only fourteen. You know, painting used to be frowned upon by many in the Mennonite community. This kind of art was considered useless.”

I shook my head. “That’s a shame. I’m glad Hannah’s family doesn’t believe that.”

Ruth smiled. “Well, you can still see influences from those beliefs in Hannah’s work. You’ll notice that most people are either seen from a distance or their faces are turned away. Landscapes are the prevalent theme, and almost every picture is of local life and community.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ruth shrugged. “I’ve seen some paintings I wouldn’t allow into my house, haven’t you? I guess it’s just an attempt to keep the subject wholesome and free of vanity. Like it says in Philippians: ‘Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.’”

An image from a lurid art show I’d accidentally stumbled upon during a downtown art crawl in Wichita flashed through my mind. It had left me feeling disgusted. “I—I see what you mean, Ruth. Painting the kinds of things that honor that verse makes sense.”

She nodded. “Abel and Emily see Hannah’s painting as a gift. They encourage her, but they also make certain she uses it in a way they believe will please God. I think she does that admirably. She’s never had any formal training, you know. Unfortunately, the school she attends has no art teacher.”

“Her technique is very advanced. I’m surprised.” I leaned in closer and inspected the painting a little closer. “Are these for sale? How much for this one?”

“The watercolors are twenty dollars, and the oil paintings are thirty.”

“That’s not enough. These are worth much more. Goodness, the frames alone...”

“These frames don’t set Hannah back a penny,” Ruth said, chuckling. “They’re donated by a very talented man who loves to help other people.” She smiled at Sam.

“You?” I said to him. “You carved these frames?”

He shrugged. “No big deal. Something I do while I watch TV.”

“Well, it
is
a big deal. They’re beautiful. You could sell them.” I fumbled in my purse and pulled out my pocketbook. “Here,” I said to Ruth. “I won’t give Hannah less than fifty dollars for this painting. And it’s worth much more.”

Ruth put her hand up to her mouth. “Oh, she will be so thrilled. We haven’t sold many.” She noticed the surprised look on my face. “Not because people don’t love them,” she said. “It’s because Hannah gives them away to everyone. The only people who pay for them are out-of-towners, and we don’t get that many. Of course, there is one person in town who’s bought quite a few.” She crooked her thumb at Sam.

I grinned at him. “So let me get this straight. You give her frames—and you buy the paintings and the frames back?”

He flushed just as he had at the restaurant. “I never had brothers or sisters. Helping Hannah kind of fills the void, I guess.”

Ruth chuckled and looked at him fondly. “You’re a good man, Sam Goodrich. You know that? I’m proud to know you. I really am.”

Sam turned an even deeper red, causing Ruth and me to laugh. He shook his head and walked over to a display of colorful plates, feigning disinterest in our attention.

Still giggling, Ruth grabbed a bag and some newspaper from under her counter. While she wrapped up the painting for me, I poked around the shop a little more. I found lots of wood carvings and a table full of embroidered towels and pillowcases. I grabbed four of the pillowcases—two for me and two for my mother. A nicely decorated box of homemade fudge called my name, and I added it to my selections.

On the other side of the room sat a table with the most artistically designed stationery, cards, and envelopes I’d ever seen. “These are lovely,” I said to Ruth. “Where did you get them?”

She toddled over to see what I meant. “Oh, you mean Sarah’s paper.” She picked up a sheet of stationery with green and yellow leaves that wrapped around the top and one side. Each leaf was intricately designed. “Sarah Ketterling is one of our few Old Order residents. She and her father live on a farm outside town.” She fingered the eye-catching design. “This is called wood-block printing. Do you know anything about it?”

A faint memory from one of my college classes flashed through my mind. “I’ve heard of it, but this is the first example I’ve seen. She carves the design into wood, right? And then rolls paint across it. Then the paper is put on top and the design is transferred.”

Ruth smiled. “That’s the basic idea, but it’s a little more complicated than that. I have these patterns in right now, but I sell out pretty quick. People love this stationery. I also have several customers from outside Harmony who order it regularly.” She ran her hand over the paper again. “Sarah’s about your age. A lovely young woman.” She sighed. “But her father keeps her on a pretty tight rein, so I don’t get to speak to her often. Her father, Gabriel, was very close to Bishop Angstadt when he ran the church here. He’s never cottoned to Abel Mueller—thinks he’s too liberal.” She touched my arm. “Even though Benjamin was part of that Old Order group, he wasn’t too thrilled with Gabriel’s brand of parenting. He and Ida Turnbauer tried talking to him more than once. Never did any good. Just made him mad.”

“Well, Sarah is very talented. A real artist.” I picked up a package of the green leaf stationery, along with some matching envelopes. “I’d love to learn more about this process.”

“Gabriel won’t let you anywhere near his daughter,” Sam said. “In fact, when Ruth sells her work, she has to give the money to him. He won’t allow the proceeds to go directly to Sarah.”

“He sounds like an awful person. Why doesn’t Sarah just leave?”

Sam shook his head. “She’s afraid of him, Grace.”

“I’m not so sure she isn’t more afraid
for
him,” Ruth said frowning. “Gabriel used to be a different person before his wife ran off with another man. He always had a good word for everyone. I liked him. But after his wife left, he completely changed. I think Sarah feels responsible for him—as if it’s her job to look after him.”

Anger churned inside me. “I’m sorry for him, but what about
her
life? She must be extremely unhappy.”

“I don’t believe he realizes what he’s doing to her,” Sam said. “He thinks he’s protecting her against the world. The same outside world that stole his wife. Of course, Angstadt’s early influence in his life has only reinforced his suspicion and fear. One of the bishop’s main teachings was that worldly influences cause nothing but spiritual pollution. I guess in his mind, that justifies his treatment of Sarah.”

“That preacher left a trail of confusion behind him, that’s for sure,” Ruth said, shaking her head. “Thank God Abel Mueller came to this town. The difference is night and day.”

“If you’ve spent enough money, we should get going,” Sam said. “I didn’t think we’d be spending our whole day here.”

“Now you let Gracie alone, Sam Goodrich,” Ruth said goodnaturedly. “She can buy anything she wants.”

I took the stationery up to the counter and put it with the painting, the pillowcases, and the fudge. “I’d really better get out of here. I won’t have any money left.”

“Well, before you leave, I have to show you my pride and joy.” Ruth’s eyes sparkled as she directed my attention to something silver inside the glass case under the counter.

Sam grinned. “She shows off her pride and joy to everyone who steps foot in this place.”

“Now, Sam Goodrich,” Ruth shot back, “you just hush.”

“Oh my goodness. What is it?”

Ruth smiled. “This is the one thing I won’t sell. I let it stay in the store so folks can enjoy it. You see, I live alone. Keeping it in my house just for my tired old eyes doesn’t make much sense.”

She slid the door behind the case open and lifted out a silver piece that looked like a vase with handles and a top. Under the silver cover decorated with floral finials sat a glass container. The silver itself had been beautifully decorated with rosettes and laurel leaves. Leaves ringed a square-shaped stand, and on the front, a silver flower encircled a crest.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Believe it or not, it’s a chestnut vase.” Seeing the surprise on my face, she beamed. “That’s what it was designed for, but near as I can tell, my ancestors actually kept sugar in it.” She touched it lovingly. “It was handcrafted in the 1700s by a rather well-known designer and given to one of my relatives as a gift. It’s been handed down for generations. When I’m gone, it will go to my daughter. It’s very valuable.”

“Does your daughter live here?”

“No, she lives in Kansas City with her husband. But she visits when she can. Next time she comes, I’ll introduce you.”

“I would like that, but I’m only going to be here a couple of weeks.”

Ruth’s forehead wrinkled. “That’s right. I forgot. For some reason it seems as if you’re already a part of us.” She carefully put the vase back behind the counter. “Well, it’s too bad. Carolyn would have loved you.”

She rang up my purchases on a cash register that looked about twenty years old. My total was a lot smaller than it would have been for the same items in Wichita.

“Why don’t you leave this stuff here and come back for it later, when you’re finished looking around town?” Ruth said. “That way you won’t have to lug it around or let your fudge melt inside Sam’s truck. It doesn’t seem hot outside, but you know how steamy the inside of a vehicle can get when the sun beats down on it.”

“Thanks. I will.”

Sam stood at the front door, holding it open. “Come on, woman,” he said with a grin. “We’ve only made a little dent in our tour.”

“He’s getting a little pushy, don’t you think?” I said to Ruth, who laughed and waved good-bye.

Back out on the sidewalk, Sam guided me to the next store. Harmony Hardware was exactly what the sign declared. A small hardware store with items you would find in most other shops just like it. However, among the hammers, nails, and other tools, there were handmade wooden spoons and oil lamps. Obviously it was geared to accommodate all of Harmony’s citizens. I recognized the outside of the building as the place where Amil Angstadt’s had had his picture snapped unawares so many years ago.

Sam introduced me to Joe Loudermilk, a small man with a ready smile and an offer of hot coffee.

“Joe’s got the pot going all day,” Sam said. “Don’t you, Joe?”

“You bet.” He lowered his voice and gave me a secretive smile. “Get ’em in for coffee, and they’re buyin’ stuff they forgot they needed. Works every time.”

“Well, I don’t want coffee, but I need some things to help Grace live a little better out there at Ben’s house.” Sam said. “Why don’t you give me a good flashlight—and a couple of those battery-powered lamps?” He turned to me. “These will give you a lot more light than those old oil lamps.”

“Great idea, but what if I hear another monster clumping around outside?”

“I have a plan that should keep you safe from monsters. We’ll have to stop by my place on the way home, though.”

I was thrilled to know I was going to get to see the inside of his house, yet disturbed that he called my uncle’s house
home.
It certainly wasn’t
my
home.

Sam paid for the lamps and flashlight even though I offered. His argument that he could use them after I left took the wind out of my protests, and I finally agreed.

We visited two more stores on that side of the street: a secondhand store that had lots of great items, and a clothing store that carried some of the traditional garb worn by many of Harmony’s populace. The proprietors at Cora’s Simple Clothing Shoppe were friendly and welcoming, even though my basic questions and ignorance about their practices made it obvious I wasn’t Mennonite. They showed me different garments and explained that originally, wearing certain kinds and colors of clothing was an attempt by the Mennonites to show their separation from the rest of the world. But eventually it was determined that although keeping oneself removed from carnality was a positive thing, removing themselves too far from the people Christ called them to love wasn’t productive. They showed me dresses in lovely fabrics and styles, along with many skirts and blouses that, although plain, were no different than clothing being sold in regular stores across the country.