Simple Choices (5 page)

“So did you spend any time with Pat while I was gone?” I said finally. Immediately I felt an emotional door slam shut.

The smile slipped from Sam’s face. “You know we’re very busy in the orchards right now.”

“You’re not so busy you couldn’t have found a couple of hours to spend with your father.”

Sam took a sip of coffee then put his cup down with a thud. “Look, Grace. You just got back. We’ll talk about it at some point but not today, okay?”

“You said that before I left. There never seems to be a right time to discuss Pat.”

“He abandoned me and my mother.”

“For crying out loud, Sam. He didn’t even know your mother was pregnant. How is that abandoning her?”

He brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen over one eye. “Well, he certainly didn’t check to find out, did he? He took advantage of her, and then he was gone.”

We’d been over this more than once. Sam seemed to judge his father by his own standards. “I get it, but as I’ve said before, neither one of them were living for God.” I knew this was difficult for him and tried to keep my tone as gentle as possible. Truth was, his attitude frustrated me. “Even so, I don’t believe your father would have left had he known your mom was expecting.” I reached across the table and took Sam’s hand. “It was your mother’s responsibility to tell him, but she didn’t. And remember, when she contacted him a couple of years ago, he immediately set out to find you. He even gave up an important job he loved to become sheriff of a rural county where most of the time the biggest crime he faces is chicken stealing.”

Sam pulled his hand back, and a frown creased his handsome face. “Right. Except he waited for over a year to tell me who he was. And actually, he didn’t even tell me. You figured it out.”

Sam scooped another big helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate, a signal that our conversation had ended.

I couldn’t help but sigh with frustration. Sheriff Pat Taylor became my friend last year during a particularly trying time. In fact, he’d saved my life. Through a series of incidents, I’d discovered he was Sam’s real father. Since then, Pat had done everything possible to forge a relationship with his son. But Sam’s resistance had stalled their connection and when they were together, the tension was palpable. Before I picked up my fork, I let out another deep sigh.

Sam stopped eating and scowled at me. “For goodness’ sake, Grace. If you keep that up, you’ll hyperventilate. We’ll sit down sometime this week and have a long discussion about Pat if it will keep you conscious. Okay?”

I waved my fork at him. “Very clever. You know my folks will be here, and you’re counting on my being too busy to talk to you.” I jabbed my fork at him like a pointer. “It won’t work. I’ll definitely find the time. You’ve got to figure this out before the wedding. Your father should be sitting on your side of the church. He’s family, you know.”

For the first time since we’d begun this uncomfortable conversation, Sam grinned. “Oh sure. And I suppose you’re planning to sit him down right next to Sweetie?”

Touché. If Sam’s acceptance of his father was minimal, Sweetie’s was almost nonexistent. Although Sam’s aunt had come a long way in her spiritual walk since I’d known her, the subject of Pat Taylor was “sorer than a boil on a pig’s behind,” as she would say. I’d even dragged both of them to a meeting with our pastor, Marcus Jensen. He’d done a great job of explaining forgiveness and how we had no right to withhold it from anyone after God had sacrificed so much to forgive us. For a while, I thought he had them. But when we walked out of his office, the Goodriches were right back where they started. It confused me some since they were both such kind, forgiving people in every other area. This was simply one stronghold they protected with ferocity. Meanwhile, Pat just kept trying. If he ever decided to give up and move on, I wouldn’t blame him. But instead he’d dug his heels in, determined to ride it out. In truth, he was as stubborn as his son, although in my eyes, he was in the right while Sam stood with both cowboy boots planted squarely in the wrong.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone walk up to our table. I turned to find Bill Eberly smiling at me. “Glad to see you back, Gracie.”

“Thanks, Bill,” I said, returning his smile. “It’s good to be back.”

Bill is a nice-looking man with an easygoing manner. His brown hair is sprinkled with gray, and his dark-green eyes almost always twinkle with humor. His road hadn’t been an easy one since the death of his wife, Edith. Not long after her passing, his two grown children moved away, leaving him alone and grieving.

“So how did Hannah enjoy her art classes?” he asked.

“She did very well. The instructor thinks she’s quite talented.” I congratulated myself on sidestepping the Hannah-fought-tooth-and-nail-not-to-return-to-Harmony issue. But my mouthy fiancé wasn’t quite as clever.

“Yeah, she didn’t want to come back,” he offered. “Grace had to practically drag her home.”

I shot Sam a look that made his eyes widen. Men. They have no clue when it comes to discretion.

“Wow,” Bill said. “This certainly isn’t a good time for young women to be where they shouldn’t be. Have you two heard that another girl is missing? This one from Emporia?”

“I caught something about it on the news last night,” I said.

Bill looked around and then stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I have a nephew who works for a newspaper in Topeka. He says the police think all three girls might have been kidnapped by the same man. They’re trying to keep that away from the media, though, so they don’t spook the guy. You know, in case the women are still alive. If the kidnapper thinks the authorities are closing in on him, the police are afraid he might harm them.” He shook his head. “We need to pray for those poor girls and their families.”

“But why do they think the cases are connected?” I asked. “I mean, maybe these girls took off on their own.”

Bill shrugged. “My nephew has a friend on the police department.” He lowered his voice again. I had to strain to hear him. “Please don’t repeat this. My nephew’s friend told him it was off the record, but in one of the situations in Topeka, someone saw the girl being picked up in a red truck. And in Emporia, there were truck tracks on the dirt road where that young woman disappeared.”

“What about the other girl in Topeka?” Sam said.

“She was out walking and never came home,” Bill said. “No one reported seeing her get into a truck, but all the girls look so similar.”

“That’s not much to go on,” Sam said, frowning. “Lots of people in rural areas have trucks. Someone sees one red truck, and there are tracks from a truck at a second location?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense. Why would the police think these situations are connected based on flimsy evidence like that?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe they have something else that links the missing girls together.” He grunted. “My nephew isn’t the best source of sound information. He could be blowing his friend’s comments out of proportion.”

I frowned at Sam. “All the girls have long blond hair and blue eyes. Like Hannah.” I could hear the alarm in my voice, and Sam noticed it, too.

“Hannah’s not out running around by herself,” he said reassuringly. “And she’d never get into a stranger’s vehicle. Never. Besides, I’ll bet none of the girls dressed like Hannah, did they, Bill?”

He shook his head and smiled at me. “No, these were modern girls, Gracie. Not Mennonite.” He patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “Hannah’s been on my mind, and some of her recent actions have me concerned. You’re both right. This has nothing to do with her.”

Sam grunted. “A red truck, huh? I have a red truck. You do, too, don’t you, Bill?”

He nodded. “Yep, and so do a lot of other folks around here. Oh, I just remembered. The truck had an odd bumper sticker. The witness didn’t get a real good look at it, but I guess she told the police something about it that they found helpful.” He shrugged. “My nephew didn’t go into any other details.”

Sam pointed toward the front window of the restaurant. “I see four red trucks parked out there right now, and I can guarantee you that at least three of them have bumper stickers. The police are going to need a lot more than that to find this guy—if there really is someone out there abducting young women.”

Bill nodded. “You’re right about that.” He straightened up and grinned at us. “Well, I better get going. I’m having dinner at Thelma’s tonight before church. I need to take a nap and sleep off Hector’s fried chicken before I tackle Thelma’s yummy pot roast.” He chuckled. “It’s a hard life, but I’m doing the best I can.”

Sam and I laughed, even though our previous discussion left me feeling decidedly uneasy. After Bill walked away, I finished my meal while Sam talked, but I couldn’t concentrate on the discussion. Ida had taught me to listen when something disrupts my inner sense of peace. And I felt as if my peace was busy jumping up and down, frantically waving its arms.

A
fter lunch, Sam took me home. I spent the rest of the day trying to get ready for the arrival of my parents and Papa Joe. The situation with Hannah made it difficult for me to concentrate. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on at the Muellers’. I stopped and prayed once again that God would bring peace to them. Somehow I managed to get everything done I’d planned to do. The room my dad grew up in sat ready for my mother and father, and I’d cleaned out my room for Papa Joe since it had been his bedroom when he and Mama Essie lived in the house. I’d temporarily moved into Uncle Benjamin’s room. When I surveyed the space I’d prepared for my family, I felt certain everyone would be comfortable. The rooms were clean, the furniture polished, and each bed was covered with one of the beautiful quilts I’d retrieved from trunks in the basement. Most of the furniture pieces had belonged to the room’s original owner. Temple furniture was certainly made to last. I loved knowing that my family would be able to enjoy many of the furnishings they grew up with.

I finished much earlier than I’d anticipated thanks to Sam and Sweetie’s efforts before I got home. There was plenty of food in the house and the main rooms had been cleaned so perfectly there was almost nothing left to do. I decided to run over and see Ida. Since she only lives half a mile from me, I chose to walk. I hadn’t gone very far when I realized I’d made a mistake. The July sun beat down relentlessly on my uncovered head, and I remembered that Ida doesn’t have air-conditioning. Even though I considered turning around more than once, in the end I kept going. If someone Ida’s age could handle the heat, surely I could.

As I entered her yard, the front door swung open. “Ach, my Gracie! I have been hoping you would come to see me.”

I hurried up the steps and flung my arms around her. “I missed you so much.”

“Not as much as I missed you, my dear child,” the old woman said, her voice breaking. “Please come inside. I can hardly wait to hear all about your trip.” Her blue eyes, faded with age, shone with tears.

When I stepped inside Ida’s simple home, I was pleasantly surprised. Although the interior of the house was warm, it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. The shades were drawn, keeping the room cooler, and a slight breeze from outside flowed through the space with vigor. Ida noticed my interest.

“My house was designed to circulate the air,” she said with a smile. “The windows and doors in the front and back are situated in a way that brings the wind from outside through my main rooms.” She chuckled. “However, it is still very warm.”

“I’ve visited you when it was hot outside, but I never noticed that your house was designed differently from anyone else’s.”

“I believe you were not aware of the heat because you were comfortable here. But today you are thinking about the heat, so for the first time you see the difference. Is this not the answer?”

I nodded. “I think you’re exactly right.”

“Your house is designed in the same way,” she said. “If you will open the windows in your living room and the windows near your back door, you will find that the air will move through your home just like mine.”

“Maybe I’ll try that in the fall, but on days like this, I’m afraid any cool air in my house will have to come from my air-conditioning. I guess I’m a wimp.”

Ida laughed. “You are certainly not a wimp in my book. Now you sit here while I get something cold to relieve you.”

Ida’s refrigerator runs on propane. It seems odd that while propane gas burns under the appliance, the inside stays cool. I watched the elderly woman toddle off toward her kitchen. In deference to the hot summer temperatures, she’d shed her usual apron. The sleeves on her dress had been shortened, and the large collar she usually wore had been removed. But her dress was dark blue, not a good color in the heat, and her ever-present black prayer covering sat atop her head, covering her steel-gray hair, which had been pulled into a tight bun. I’d learned from my friend Sarah that in Harmony, married or widowed women wore black prayer coverings while single women, like her, wore white. Good way to let the gentlemen folk know you’re available, I guess.

I wiped the sweat trickling down my face and rubbed my hands on my jeans. Shorts would have been more comfortable, but not wanting to offend Ida, I’d opted for jeans and a T-shirt. It’s true that Ida’s house was cooler than it could have been, but I was still second-guessing my clothing choice when Ida came back into the room carrying a large glass of lemonade. As I took it from her, I realized she wasn’t sweating. It was obvious I was more sensitive to the high temperatures than she was. Maybe some people adjust to this kind of heat when they’re not used to air-conditioning. Obviously, I would never be one of them. All I could think about was going home and sitting in front of the air conditioner until my face froze.

“Now, Gracie,” she said, as she sat down again, “before we talk about anything else, you must tell me about Hannah. How did she do in Wichita? Was your art teacher able to help her?”

I took a big gulp of lemonade before answering her. “It—it didn’t go well, Ida,” I said. “Hannah loved Wichita. In fact, she wanted to stay there. My teacher offered to let her live with him and go to a local magnet school that specializes in art classes.” I put the lemonade down and sighed. “The truth is, I had to force her to come home.”