by Nancy Mehl
A loud knock on the door roused me. Was I late for work? Would Grant be mad? I opened my eyes and looked around. Where was I? This wasn’t my apartment. I was in Harmony, and there was a body buried on my property.
The knock came again. I got up and shuffled to the front door. When my hand touched the knob, I remembered that someone or something had been outside last night. Daylight streamed in through the windows, so I felt safer, but still ... I yearned for my door in Wichita. There was a peephole where I could see who stood outside, waiting to come in. I’d just stepped over to the front window, hoping I could get a look at my visitor, when a face popped up right in front of me. I shrieked involuntarily before I realized it was Sam, looking as surprised as I felt. Trying to pat my hair into place, I cracked open the door.
“Do you scream at everyone who stops by?” His eyes were still wide with alarm.
“No, just you.” I swung the door open so he could come in.
“Is that what you’re wearing to breakfast?” He stared at my rumpled clothes.
“Oh. Breakfast. I forgot.” I pointed toward the living room. “I’m sorry. Come in. It will only take me a few minutes to get ready.”
Sam entered the living room and walked straight to Benjamin’s letter, still lying on the floor. “Did you drop something?”
I reached over and grabbed it out of his hand before he had a chance to look at it. “Yes, sorry. Please have a seat. I don’t have any coffee. I—I just...”
“Woke up?” He offered me an uneven smile. “I couldn’t tell.”
“Funny.”
He glanced at the letter in my hand and then looked at me strangely. I’d planned to put it back inside the Bible, but that was out now. I’d have to take it upstairs with me.
“I had a rough night. Something outside. Guess I’m not used to living this way—so far from other people.”
He chuckled and plopped down in the rocking chair. “I understand. It definitely takes some adjustment.”
“Actually, it was rather frightening. And I had no way to contact anyone.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, the smile slipping from his face. “It’s important to have a way to get help if you need it. We’ll work out something.” He pointed toward the roof. “Most of the time, squirrels only feed during the day, but Ben mentioned that he heard something at night sometimes. Could even be raccoons or possums. That’s probably the noise that frightened you.”
I frowned at him. Great. Nocturnal squirrels or something even bigger. His explanation might explain the scratching noises, but it certainly didn’t cover the odd thumping. Unless these were the biggest critters in the world.
“Excuse me while I get ready.”
“Sure. Is it okay if I wait inside? It’s a little nippy out there this morning.”
I nodded, clutched the letter to my chest, and hurried away, somewhat charmed by the idea that he’d actually asked if he could stay inside the house while I changed my clothes.
First I stopped by the bathroom to brush my hair and fix my makeup. Then I ran up the stairs to Mama and Papa’s room where I’d stored my clothes. I changed out of my wrinkled jeans and T-shirt and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a dark green sweater that complimented my coloring.
I stuck the letter from Benjamin in the top drawer of the dresser, underneath my socks. It would stay there until I could figure out a safer place for it. I had no idea what I was going to do with the information my uncle had passed on to me, but for now, I didn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.
In the soft sunlight of a new day, the letter seemed like a bad dream. I wanted to read it again, just to make sure I’d understood it, but first I needed to seek God’s council. Before I went downstairs, I prayed, “Father, I’m asking You to show me the way. Give me wisdom. I don’t know what to do. Thank You for Your guidance.”
Remembering Sam’s comment about a chill in the air, I grabbed a light jacket from the closet and put it on. When I went downstairs, he was still sitting in Benjamin’s rocking chair. He stood up as I entered the room.
“Wow, you really do clean up quick.” An odd look flitted across his face. “Please don’t take this wrong, but you sure look like...”
I sighed. “I know. My uncle Benjamin. I saw a picture of him last night.”
“It’s just the coloring. I don’t want you to think you look like a middle-aged Mennonite man.”
“Oh, thanks. Because that’s certainly not the look I was going for.”
He laughed and walked to the door, holding it open for me. “Then you’ve succeeded. Ready for breakfast?”
I searched for my purse and found it next to the couch. “I don’t usually eat much in the morning. Sometimes I grab an energy bar on the way to the office or some coffee cake from Starbucks.”
His expression registered confusion.
“Oh, Starbucks is...”
His hearty laugh stopped me in my tracks.
“Grace, I know what Starbucks is. I may have lived in Harmony most of my life, but I do get to the city quite a bit. Besides, we actually do have television out here.” He shook his head. “You’re still in America, you know. This isn’t a foreign country. I was just wondering how anyone can get their day started without breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Yes, I know. My mother tells me that all the time. And sorry about the Starbucks comment. It’s just so different here. Sometimes it feels like I’m living a long way from civilization.”
He pointed toward the door, his gray eyes twinkling. “Just the reason I want to introduce you to Harmony. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
I stepped outside to a chilly morning. I tugged my Windbreaker closed and locked the door.
Sam trotted down the steps in front of me. “There is a lake behind us,” he said. “On the other side of the tree line. You’ll find that it’s cooler living near the water. We’ll warm up fine in a couple of hours.” He pointed up the road toward his house. “My place is even closer to the shore. Believe it or not, it’s a little colder in my backyard than it is in yours.”
I pushed back a desire to ask him if I could see the inside of his fabulous house, but I was afraid he’d misunderstand my intentions. Besides, running into “Sweetie” wasn’t something I looked forward to.
On the way to the restaurant, Sam told me some of the history of Harmony. Founded in the late 1800s by a group of German immigrants, it was once called Bethel. In the early 1900s it was changed to Harmony because of another Kansas town that adopted the original name.
“Although at one time, most of the residents lived under Old Order rules, now the population is largely Conservative. There are a few, like Ben, who still live under the old traditions, but along with the conservative Mennonites are those who are much more liberal.”
“I noticed two churches here,” I said. “We just passed Harmony Church, and on the other side of town is BETHEL MENNONITE CHURCH.”
Sam nodded. “Bethel serves the conservative Mennonites. Harmony members are either more liberal Mennonites—or not Mennonite at all. Harmony Church is nondenominational.” He turned to smile at me. “That’s where I attend. I’m not Mennonite and never have been. But the pastor there, Marcus Jensen, was raised Mennonite.”
I stared out the window of Sam’s truck. Main Street bustled with activity. The shops were open and people meandered down the sidewalks, stopping to visit before proceeding on to their destination. Most wore clothing I would associate with Mennonite culture, but quite a few were dressed just like Sam and me.
“How do the two churches get along?”
“Surprisingly well,” he said. “For the most part, Harmony’s name fits the town. Of course, that wasn’t always the case. Although this was before my time, back when your family lived here, the church’s bishop was a man named Amil Angstadt.”
“My dad mentioned him. I guess he’s the reason my parents left Harmony.”
Sam nodded
. “From what I’ve heard, he ran this town with an iron fist. He died about ten years after your father left. That was about a year after your grandparents moved away. Some people thought they’d come back, but they never did.” He smiled at me again. “I understand they didn’t want to leave behind a granddaughter they’d grown to love.”
“They stayed away for me?”
He shrugged. “That’s what Ben told me. I believe he exchanged a few letters with his parents.”
“I—I didn’t know that. He certainly never wrote to my father.”
“Ben wouldn’t talk about his brother much. That was a closed subject.”
The mention of my uncle’s name brought back the memory of that awful letter. “Sam, have you ever heard of a man named Jacob Glick?”
Sam frowned. “Jacob Glick? Sounds familiar. I think Sweetie mentioned him once. Some really unpleasant man who used to live here. If I remember right, he moved away a long time ago, but I’m not sure. I could ask my aunt if you’d like.”
“No. That’s okay. Just forget it.” I didn’t want Myrtle Goodrich involved any deeper in my life than she already was.
I turned away to look out the window again. I could feel Sam’s eyes on me, probably wondering why I’d asked about Glick. I really didn’t want to think about him now. I was in Harmony, and I wanted to experience it without the specter of Glick or my dead uncle hanging over me. I tried to concentrate on the shops and people we passed, putting the letter out of my mind. But its presence hung on me like a heavy coat—not so easily shed.
Sam pulled up in front of Mary’s Kitchen. The old two-story redbrick building looked as if it had existed almost as long as the town. Wooden beams held up the sloping porch roof. The second story windows were thin and topped by stone carvings that resembled intricate valances. Four white rockers sat on the front porch, two each in front of the wide glass windows that framed a bright red wooden door. Signs in the windows read OPEN and No SHOES, No SHIRT, No SERVICE. A menu was posted in one window and flyers from both of Harmony’s churches in the other.
“There aren’t any wimpy city breakfasts here,” Sam said with a chuckle. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Surprisingly, I was starving. There was something about the country air and the wonderful aromas drifting from the restaurant that stirred up memories of Mama Essie’s big Saturday breakfasts. We’d drive to Mama and Papa’s house every weekend and gorge on homemade pancakes with lots of butter and maple syrup. And spicy link sausages with crusty edges. Without warning, my mouth started to water. “I don’t think you need to worry about me. This morning I feel like I could eat my breakfast and yours.”
Sam laughed and jumped out of the truck. I started to put my hand on the door latch, but before I had a chance to flip the handle, my door swung open. He stood waiting for me to get out of the truck. Add being a gentleman to his other great qualities. I flashed back briefly to my last several dates in town. Not one of my escorts had opened the car door for me. In fact, now that I thought about it, none of them had opened any doors for me. After I exited the truck, he hurried up the steps to the diner and held that door open, too. I could certainly get used to this kind of treatment.
“Hey, Sam!” several patrons called out when we stepped inside. Burnished wood floors and wooden booths reminded me of an old diner in Fairbury that had never left behind its ’70s motif. A few tables sat against the front window. Stainless-steel legs with yellow laminate tops and matching chairs held the obligatory salt, pepper, sugar, and orange plastic container with nonsugar sweeteners. Cerulean blue walls were covered with photographs. Many of them looked pretty old. Without closer inspection, I assumed they were pictures of the town down through the years and of the people who had called Harmony home. Some of the portraits looked to be from the 1800s or early 1900s. Scattered among lots of smiling faces, several dour looking families frowned upon the easygoing patrons enjoying their food.
Sam pointed to a table for two next to a wall near the window. “How’s this?”
I nodded and sat down on one side of the table while he took the other chair.
“Mary! You got customers!” An older man in overalls who sat in a nearby booth hollered toward the back of the restaurant.
A long wooden counter that matched the booths held large glass containers filled with slices of pie and cake. An old cash register sat underneath one of the café’s hanging lights, which consisted of large, white, round globes positioned around the interior of the room. Most of them were glowing even though the intense daylight that streamed through the front windows made their attempt to provide proper illumination completely futile. Steam rose from two coffeepots sitting on a warmer behind the counter, and overhead someone had mounted a couple of dead fish on the wall. Next to the stuffed fish, two large chalkboards contained the day’s specials. A hallway next to the backward L-shaped counter led to restrooms and a door that had to be the entryway into the kitchen. An old metal step stool pushed against the door held it open. A couple of minutes later, a rather harried-looking young woman came out carrying plates of hot, steaming food.
“If you yell a little louder, Harold, they can hear you in Council Grove.”
The chastised Harold greeted her good-natured ribbing with a raucous laugh.
“Just tryin’ to keep you on your toes, Mary,” he said with a grin. “Didn’t want nobody starvin’ to death due to your pokiness.”
The woman plopped a large plate in front of him. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She jabbed at the man’s large belly. “You could live on what you’ve got stored up for quite some time.”
The other two men sitting with Harold exploded with laughter. I noticed that one of the Mennonite families sitting nearby joined in the merriment. The overall feeling inside the restaurant was one of cozy familiarity.
After serving the rest of the plates in her hands, Mary headed our way. Her quick smile for Sam faded when she saw me. But she fixed it back into place so fast most people wouldn’t have noticed.
“Howdy, Sam. Who’s this pretty lady? You’re not stepping out on me, are you?” She placed her hands on her hips and locked her gaze on me. She had long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Long lashes framed deep brown eyes set in a heart-shaped face.
Sam flushed a nice shade of pink. “Now Mary, you be nice.” His smile seemed a little tight. “This is Ben Temple’s niece, Grace. She’s here to take care of his estate.”
I saw a flicker of relief in her expression. “Nice to meet you, Grace,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Mary Whittenbauer. I own this joint.” Her grip was stronger than I’d expected.
“Most people call me Gracie. Nice to meet you. I hear you fix a mean breakfast.”
“Well, Hector Ramirez, my cook, is responsible for most of the meals here. I tell people I taught him everything he knows, but he says it’s the other way around.”
She looked at Sam. “You havin’ the usual?”
He nodded.
Mary pointed to one of the chalkboards on the wall. “That’s our menu. What sounds good to you, Gracie?”
I picked the regular breakfast with scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns, and toast. I said yes to coffee and watched Mary saunter back to the kitchen.
“I take it you two date?”
Sam looked at the tabletop like he saw something interesting there. “We’ve dated some, yes. It–it’s not that serious though.”
“Sounds like Mary thinks it is.”
His eyes bored into mine. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? I’m not comfortable...”
“I’m sorry. It’s not my business anyway.” My eyes strayed to the photographs on the wall next to us. “Tell me about these pictures.”
Sounding a little more relaxed, Sam launched into a few stories about the families that had settled in Harmony years ago. Many of the original settlers still had descendants who lived in the small town. He confirmed my suspicion that as a rule, Old Order Mennonites didn’t go i
n for having their pictures taken. They believed capturing your likeness on film was akin to creating a “graven image” and that excessive attention to one’s outside appearance could lead to vanity and self-worship. Their lives revolved around aspects they considered to be really important. Faith and family were at the top of the list. However, there were a few scattered pictures of people dressed in clothing that identified them as members of the Old Order community. Sam explained that down through the years, a few pictures had turned up here and there. Some families who really wanted keepsakes had pictures taken in secret, not letting the rest of the community know. I thought back to the photograph I’d found back at Benjamin’s. It tickled me to think of Papa Joe as a rebel—even back then. I was certainly grateful he’d had at least one portrait taken. I wondered if there were more somewhere. Maybe a little digging would uncover others.
