by Nancy Mehl
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.
It took a little while for me to recover from the shock I felt. Why hadn’t anyone told me I looked so much like Benjamin? Had it been too painful for my parents and grandparents to talk about? When my father looked at me, did he see his brother?
I turned on my heels and left the room, slightly disturbed. Looking at that picture, I’d experienced a feeling of connection with an uncle I’d never met and never would on this side of life. Benjamin’s actions toward my family had left me a solid sense of disdain for him. Finding out that I looked like him left me feeling confused.
One room remained at the end of the hall. I tried to turn the door handle, but it was either locked or jammed. I pushed against it a couple of times but couldn’t get the door to budge. For tonight this last room would have to remain a mystery. At one time, it must have been my father’s bedroom, but he’d been gone for thirty years. Probably relegated for storage, lack of use had caused the door to stick.
I put my suitcase in Mama and Papa’s room, unpacked some of my clothes, and put them in the dresser drawers. When I opened the closet door, I discovered several women’s dresses. According to my folks, Benjamin had never married. They must have belonged to Mama Essie. I’d look more closely tomorrow, when I had enough light to see them better.
I pushed my empty suitcase under the bed, picked up the lamp, and walked across the squeaky floor to the stairs, being careful to grasp the wooden railing with one hand while I held the lamp out in front of me with the other. Once downstairs, I realized I was going to have to get better at figuring out this lighting thing. If I’d lit a couple of lamps down here before I’d gone upstairs, the house wouldn’t be so dark. I quickly fired up a lamp in the living room and put the one in my hand back in the kitchen. It sure wasn’t like having electricity, but at least I could see well enough to get around.
I moved the bag with my makeup and toiletries into the bathroom, and grabbed the remaining overnight bag, carrying it into the living room to unpack. Although with my mother’s prompting I’d purchased a windup alarm clock, I quickly realized that my cell phone charger was useless. Maybe I could buy an adapter for my car. That way I could at least charge my phone once in a while. Since I hadn’t seen any kind of auto parts store in Harmony, I would probably have to drive to Council Grove.
The silence around me seemed almost deafening. In Wichita, I’d grown used to the sounds of cars honking, people talking as they walked past my windows, and long train whistles that woke me up in the middle of the night. It had been a long time since I’d been in the country—and so far Harmony was turning out to be even quieter than Fairbury, where the neighbors lived much closer. At least in Fairbury, you could hear dogs barking at night.
Suddenly remembering something else I couldn’t get in Wichita, I went out on the front porch and down the steps. After walking a few feet away from the house, I stopped and looked up. Across the dark expanse of the night sky, the vista of stars sparkling like scattered jewels almost took my breath away. This was a sight only visible in the country. The lights of Wichita muted the stunning portrait of God’s heavens, but in Harmony, they glittered with fire, anointing the night with His majestic, creative touch. It was beyond beautiful. I stood there, staring up until my neck began to ache. Reluctantly, I made my way back into the house, reminding myself that I had two weeks here—several more chances to behold this awesome sight.
Once inside, I checked my watch. A little after eight. I crossed my arms and gazed around the room. This was the time of night I’d usually pop popcorn, turn on the TV, and veg out until I got tired enough to go to bed.
“Not much to do here, Uncle Benjamin. What did you do for entertainment?” My voice sounded strange in the quiet. Like it didn’t belong. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe I didn’t. I glanced over at the bookshelf and considered checking out the books lined up there, but I knew I was only trying to put off the inevitable.
My eyes rested on the letter lying on Benjamin’s desk. Might as well get it over with. Funny how I dreaded reading it even more now that I knew about the similarities I shared with my uncle. Would my opinion of him be altered? And if so, which way would it go? I scolded myself for trying to anticipate something I couldn’t possibly know anything about unless I actually got enough gumption to open the envelope. I moved the lamp to a small table next to the rocking chair, picked up the letter, and sat down. With trembling fingers, I pulled out the sheets of paper, unfolded them, and began t
o read:
Dearest Niece Grace,
It is difficult to write this letter for many reasons. First of all, I am unsure that you have even honored my bequest. I am aware that this letter might fall into different hands than yours. I placed it within our family Bible, believing that only a family member would discover it. I pray my assumption proves correct. However, since I cannot be sure of the outcome, it is with great trepidation that I pen these words.
First of all, I must tell you that although my family believes I have rejected them, I assure you I have not. I love them deeply and miss them. It is true that they have chosen to leave the old ways, but I cannot judge them right or wrong for this. God’s love transcends our habits and choices. The reason for my separation from them is for motives they have never been made aware of. However, as I am dying and will not be able to protect them much longer from a terrible secret that has held me captive all these years, I have no choice but to pass it to someone else. And unfortunately, that person, my dear niece, must be you.
I cannot see into the future, and I don’t know you, so I have no idea if you will be able to discover and navigate a path never found by me. However, my conscience will not allow me to die with this secret buried beneath years of deceit and lies. I have asked God’s forgiveness for keeping it to myself—and for my part in it. But even with that forgiveness, justice has still not been served. Perhaps it never will. Unfortunately, you will now have to decide the matter. I pray your choices will be better than mine have been.
Reading by the light of the old lamp proved difficult, and my uncle’s cramped script wasn’t easy to read. His words filled me with a sense of dread. Either I was about to find out something I was pretty certain I didn’t want to know—or I would discover that my poor deranged uncle had fallen way off his wooden rocker. With a sense of misgiving I turned the letter over and once again held it near the flickering lamplight.
Many years ago, an evil man lived in Harmony. Maybe you think I am being dramatic by using the word evil, but I assure you that this man epitomizes the term. On the night my brother, Daniel, your father, planned to leave town with Beverly Fischer, the young woman who would become your mother, Jacob Glick was killed. No one in Harmony knows this. They believe he left town because he was so disliked. All these years I have been the only person who knew the truth. Now I must pass it on to you. Sadly, it is yours to bear alone.
You see, I found Jacob’s body that night. He’d been struck on the head with a large rock that still lay near his feet. The force of the blow took his life. I buried his body, the bloody rock, and a suitcase filled with his belongings amid the grove of trees on our property. His body lies there still.
I had to read the last paragraph several times to be certain I understood its meaning. My uncle had buried a body—here? A feeling of cold fear moved through me. I tried to tell myself that he was sick and that this letter was the result of his illness. But the thoughts seemed so well constructed and clear of confusion. With dismay, I continued to read.
You are probably asking yourself why I would do something like this. Why would I bury the body of a man who obviously lost his life by the hand of another and spend the rest of my days separated from my family, afraid to leave this property because the truth might be revealed? The answer will shock you, my dear niece, but I cannot keep the matter hidden any longer. It is because the man who killed Jacob Glick was my brother—your father, Daniel.
I put the letter in my lap. “This isn’t true,” I whispered into the dark corners of the room. “My father would never do something like that.”
Of course, there was no response. What kind of a man would leave a poisonous letter like this behind him? What was he trying to accomplish? I knew my father. He was a man of peace—of forgiveness. The idea that he would take a human life was ludicrous. I had no desire to read another word of the hateful letter, but something compelled me to pick it up again. My hands shook, causing the paper to quiver beneath the amber-tinted glow of the lamp. I pulled the second page to the front and continued to read.
Please understand that I love my brother. I know this sin of murder was not planned. Jacob must have done something to provoke Daniel. Jacob was reprimanded many times for conducting himself inappropriately with several of the town’s young women. Perhaps his conduct toward your mother was the impetus for my brother’s reaction. I will never know the answer to this question in my lifetime. And please understand this: I am confident my brother did not know of Jacob’s death. I came upon them when they were having words, arguing about something. I have no idea as to the nature of their disagreement. I left them to their contentious confrontation and went home. I found Jacob a couple of hours later. I am certain Daniel had no idea his blow had taken the man’s miserable life. If my brother had been aware of the result of his anger, he would have stayed and paid for his crime. But I, in my desire to protect him and the girl he loved, took matters into my own young hands. I wanted Daniel and Beverly to get away from Harmony and have the life I knew could be theirs. So I took care of the problem and spent the rest of my days protecting our secret.
There are days when I regret my actions, even though I still love my brother. There are days when I hate him for what his careless actions have cost me. But there are many more days when I love him as much or more than I did when we were children.
With apprehension I turned the second page over and read further.
Now, dear niece, I am forced to turn my secret over to you. You must decide what to do with it. Should you call the police, my brother will probably be arrested for murder. Should you keep this horrible secret, you may suffer the same fate I have—life in Harmony, protecting the land that holds the proof of my brother’s dreadful deed.
Forgive me for passing this terrible legacy along to you. I realize it is unfair, but I did not know what else to do. I could not die with this unconfessed sin on my conscience. Perhaps I forfeited my life on earth to protect my family, but I am too weak to forfeit eternity.
Please know that I have prayed earnestly for you.
Your loving uncle, Benjamin Temple
My fingers trembled so much as I attempted to refold the horrible letter, I dropped it on the floor. All I could do was stare at it. It couldn’t be true. It had to be the rantings of a man sick not only in his body but also in his soul.
I tried to figure out what to do next. Should I call my father and read the letter to him? But what if Benjamin was telling the truth? I knew my dad. If he thought he’d really caused the death of another human being, he would contact the authorities. And then what? Would he go to prison? And what about my mom? The cancer that had tried to take her life was in remission. Would the stress cause it to return? And what if I decided to keep this secret to myself? Burn the letter and leave town without revealing Benjamin’s secret? Someday, someone would probably find Jacob Glick’s body. Would they tie it to us? Even though confusion jumbled my thoughts, I attempted to think the situation through. This property had been in my father’s family for several generations. Glick’s death would certainly be blamed on a Temple. Would it be Benjamin? For a moment, the idea of pointing the finger at him seemed to be a way out. But if the body was identified, my father would realize the truth and take responsibility for it. Of that I was certain.
My legs felt like lead. I couldn’t move. Suddenly, an odd noise from outside caught my attention. What was it? Again, a scratching sound near the window drew my eyes there. I got up slowly, actually stepping on the letter, and crossed the room. I moved the curtain aside and looked out. I couldn’t see anything, but another sound—a bumping noise—came from the other side of the house. I quickly realized how incredibly vulnerable I was.
I ran to my purse and pulled out my cell phone. Although it was almost out of power, there was still a little juice left in it. I quickly punched in 911, not knowing if emergency services even existed out here. All I got was a series of beeps telling me I didn’t have enough power to make this call—or any c
all. I could run out to my car and drive to Sam’s, but I had no intention of exposing myself to the darkness—and whatever waited outside.
It was entirely possible that the noises I heard belonged to an animal—but what kind of animal? I knew that in Kansas I wouldn’t have to contend with a bear or a lion, but there were other things to consider. Like packs of wild dogs that banded together after their owners dumped them in the country. And rabid smaller animals that would attack humans if they felt threatened.
And of course, there was the possibility that whatever waited outside was altogether too human. Someone who knew there was a woman alone in this house without any way to get help.
I checked the front and back doors, making certain they were locked. Then I sat down on the couch and wrapped myself up in the quilt that lay over the back. Probably another one of Mama Essie’s. “I need a hug, Mama,” I whispered. As I sat there shaking, I put my trust in the only One who could really help me now. I repeated the comforting verses in Psalm 91 until the noises outside ceased, and I fell asleep.
Chapter Five
