Simple Secrets (The Harmony Series 1) (27 page)

Sam cracked a smile. “Are you trying to put this into fruit terms so I’ll understand it?”

I chuckled. “Not on purpose. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“You’re becoming fruitier?”

“Sadly, that seems to be the case. But back to the money...”

“Look, Grace,” he said, the smile leaving his face, “I’m not going to pressure my aunt about that money. I had no idea everything she’d been through. Now that I know, I’m going to let her decide what to do. I’m not Holy Spirit Jr. She and God are going to have to work it out between them. My job is to love her—and support her no matter what she does.”

I didn’t argue with him; this wasn’t the time for it. Sam loved his aunt deeply, and finding out how Angstadt and Glick had tried to manipulate her had caused him pain.

“Okay. Let’s just leave that alone for now.” I glanced at my watch. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s almost noon. I have to be at Ida’s by one.”

“I’ll make us some sandwiches.”

“Oh my, no. I just finished breakfast. And Ida plans to stuff me with strawberry pie.”

“You’re right,” Sam said, frowning. “Maybe I’ll just eat half a sandwich...”

I laughed. “You’d better be careful. I would hate for you to drop over from starvation.”

“Very funny.” He winked at me. “I’ll have you know I’m a growing boy.”

“I’m surprised you don’t weigh five hundred pounds the way Sweetie cooks.”

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?”