by Nancy Mehl
I sat in the rocking chair on the front porch for over an hour, trying to decide what to do next. I’d lost the only piece of evidence I had that might prove my father’s innocence. What did the theft of the letter mean? Had someone else discovered our family secret? Or were they trying to hide the truth for other reasons? And why take the letter now? Benjamin’s place had been vacant for almost a month. Why not break in and steal it before I arrived in Harmony? My visit wasn’t a secret. Try as I might, I couldn’t make sense of it. A tension headache began to nibble at my temples, and I rubbed them, trying to chase away the pain.
My eyes wandered to the flowerpot sitting near the porch railing. Myrtle! Maybe she saw something. Unfortunately, it was a long shot. Sam had mentioned that they’d both been working in their orchards. Myrtle may not have been in a position to notice anyone coming or going from Benjamin’s house. I decided to check with her tonight though. Couldn’t hurt.
I rocked back and forth awhile longer and stared at my car. I had an almost overwhelming desire to pack up and go home. Confusion combined with a growing sense of fear gathered strength in my mind. Finding the letter was bad enough, but knowing it had found its way into someone else’s hands made everything much worse. Who had it and why? Was I in danger? Unfortunately, I had no answers to these questions.
My plan for a quick nap had been chased away by this strange turn of events. As I got up to go inside and change my clothes for supper, I realized that whoever had the letter had obviously been aware of my itinerary. Sadly, that fact didn’t narrow the list of suspects much. Almost anyone could have done it. Except Sam. At least I could be certain he wasn’t involved since he’d been with me all day.
I went inside and climbed the stairs to Mama and Papa’s room. As I picked out a fresh white blouse and a pair of khaki slacks, my fingers brushed against one of the long dresses hanging in the closet—a dark blue and cream calico print. I pulled it out and looked closer. The lace around the collar was slightly yellowed with age and the material was thin beneath my fingers. But even after all these years, there was a feminine quality about it that appealed to me. On a whim I took off my sweater and jeans and pulled the dress over my head. Then I took one of the white caps hanging on a nail inside the closet and placed it over my hair. I closed the closet door and turned to look at the old mirror attached to the dresser. I couldn’t help but gasp. The Gracie who looked back at me was a stranger. I even felt a little different. I ran my hands over the material, thinking about Mama Essie. She’d stood in this very spot, looking at herself in these clothes. I wished she were still here. Her sweetness and wisdom had always helped to lead me in the right direction.
As I stared at my reflection, I wondered what she would do in my place, but the answer to that question wasn’t hard to discern. Above all, Essie loved her family. There was nothing she wouldn’t have done for them. She would have met this challenge head-on, fighting for the truth in an effort to protect her son. She would never have believed that my father had killed another human being. As I removed the dress and put on my own clothes, I knew what I had to do. If I was even a little unsure about my father’s innocence before, I was totally convinced of it now. The theft of the letter made it clear there was a secret hidden beneath the seemingly calm surface of Harmony, Kansas—a truth someone wanted to keep hidden. I intended to find out what it was.
I gathered my fresh clothes together and put them in the downstairs bathroom. Then I headed for the basement door. I remembered Sam’s instructions about turning on the generator so it would pump water for my bath. I grabbed one of the flashlights purchased in town and walked gingerly down the rickety stairs. Thankfully, there were small windows in the basement walls so the flashlight wasn’t necessary.
The basement held several surprises. As Sam had said, Benjamin used this space for his carpentry work. There were eight rocking chairs lined up against the back wall. Six were painted—two were not. About twenty birdhouses in various stages of assembly were stacked up on a large workbench. Another corner of the room held a variety of old trunks and ancient, unused furniture. A quick search through one trunk revealed several beautiful quilts and other handmade items carefully packed away. In another I found a set of china, beautifully decorated with small pink flowers, and silver candlesticks wrapped in cheesecloth. These treasures must have belonged to Mama Essie. They were certainly part of the family heirlooms my father wanted me to rescue.
I finally figured out how to start the generator and hurried back upstairs to take a bath. Although I was used to showers, I had to admit that soaking in the tub felt good. Unfortunately, the knowledge that someone had been inside the house made me uneasy, so I didn’t tarry long.
I was ready to go by five thirty. As I sat waiting for Sam, something I’d seen while searching for the letter from Benjamin popped into my head. I got up and went over to the secretary where I’d first found the family Bible. I opened a long drawer underneath the desktop and took out a key attached to a blue ribbon. Maybe this was the key to the third bedroom upstairs.
I still had some time before I had to leave, so I hurried upstairs to check. Sure enough, the key fit and the door clicked open. I pushed it in slowly until the contents of the room were revealed. Unlike the other rooms, everything was covered with dust. Not wanting to get dirty after my bath, I ventured in only as far as the dresser that sat near the door. I carefully opened the cover of an old Bible lying on top of the grime-covered piece of furniture. The name Daniel Temple was scrawled on the inside cover. As I’d suspected, this had been my father’s room. Why had Benjamin kept the other bedrooms clean and in pristine condition but allowed this one to sit without any attention? There was only one reason I could think of. He’d closed off this room because he wanted to forget his brother. Why? Resentment? Even hate?
Looking around the neglected room, I began to wonder if the letter was actually an attempt to point the finger of blame at the wrong Temple brother. Could Benjamin have killed Jacob Glick? I left the room and climbed down the stairs to wait for Sam.
A new possibility swirled through my mind while I sat staring at the front door. Perhaps the isolation Benjamin had surrounded himself with hadn’t come from some noble attempt to protect his family. Maybe it had actually been nothing more than the act of a desperate, guilty man who hated his brother and wanted one last chance to destroy him. But if this were true, how in the world could I ever prove it?
I suddenly felt the need to get out of Benjamin’s house. I stepped out onto the front porch while thoughts of the missing letter, the abandoned room, and new suspicions about my uncle created a cacophony of fear inside my brain.
Chapter Eight
“I want to make a quick stop before we go to supper,” Sam said as he shut the truck door after I slid into the passenger seat.
“A quick stop? I can see your house from here. There are no stops between here and there.”
He jogged around the front of the truck and climbed inside. “I’m aware of that,” he said with a grin. “We’re going the other way.”
We drove out of the driveway and turned left—away from the big red house. There were two old homes that sat down the road about a quarter of a mile from Benjamin’s. Sam pulled into the dirt driveway of the closest one and turned off the engine. “This is Ida Turnbauer’s place. I want to introduce you.”
“But she doesn’t know we’re coming. It’s rude to just stop by without calling first.”
Sam laughed. “Maybe that’s true in the city, but out here you could have company stop by almost anytime. And besides, you can’t call Ida anyway. No phone. I want you to meet her. I’m afraid you have some wrong ideas about folks like her.”
I started to protest again when an elderly woman stepped out onto the porch and began waving us in. She had on a long, dark blue dress, and her head was covered with a white bonnet.
“Too late now,” Sam said innocently. “We’re trapped.”
I sighed and shook my head.
Sam reached over and put his hand on my arm. “Grace, Ida loves company. She’s always ready for a visit. Trust me.”
“Okay, I get it. I’m not in Wichita. The rules are different here.”
He nodded. “Most of your rules don’t even exist in Harmony. Besides, we’re only staying long enough to say hello. I promise.”
We got out of the truck and walked up to the porch where Ida stood sporting a wide smile. “This must be Grace,” she said as we approached. “I wanted so much to walk over and greet you when you first arrived, but I know city folk do not like unannounced company.”
Her face held evidence of past beauty. She spoke with an accent, her words slightly guttural. Proof of German descent, just like my grandparents. I instantly felt drawn to her and a little embarrassed to be counted among “city folk.”
“I–I’m happy to meet you.”
“My goodness,” she said as I stepped up next to her. “You are the spitting image of your uncle.” She took my face in her hands. I could feel the calluses on her fingers as her faded blue eyes sought mine. “Bless you, child. I know it meant the world to Benjamin—knowing you would come and take care of things after he died. I wish there had been time for him to see you before the end.”
I wanted to tell her that my uncle had had all the time in the world to “see me” if he’d wanted to, but I kept quiet.
A tear slid down the old woman’s wrinkled face. “Ach, your uncle was a good man,” she said softly. “I hope you believe that. No matter what anyone else tells you, you hang on to that, ja?”
She let go of my face and grabbed Sam’s arm. “I have some brewed tea and warm cookies inside. You two come and sit a spell with me.”
Sam leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Can’t do it right now, Ida. Sweetie’s waiting supper, and you know how she gets if I’m late.”
Ida smiled. “I know how she gets. But you two will come back, ja?”
Sam looked at me, and I nodded.
“How about Monday afternoon?” he said.
“That would be wonderful. I will look forward to it. I just might make one of those strawberry pies you are so fond of.”
“Well, in that case, we’ll definitely be here.” He turned to look at me. “Ida makes the best strawberry pie in Kansas.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I said teasingly. “My grandmother made a mean strawberry pie herself.”
The smile slipped from Ida’s face. “Made pie?” she said. “You do not mean Essie has passed away, do you?”
“Why yes,” I answered. “It’s been almost five years now.”
Ida clasped her hands to her chest. “Ach, no, no.” She toddled over to the white rocker that sat a few feet from her front door. Gracious, did everyone in Harmony have white rocking chairs?
“My uncle didn’t tell you? I don’t understand...”
She sat down slowly and covered her face with her hands. “I do not either. Surely he knew.”
“I’m sure he did. My father sent him a letter.”
Ida lowered her hands. Tears stained her weathered cheeks. “Your uncle was very tenderhearted. Maybe he did not want to cause me pain.”
One look at her face made it clear that if that had been his intention, he’d failed miserably. “Were you and my grandmother close?”
Ida nodded. “Ja, we were best friends growing up. I loved her dearly.”
“Then why...”
“Did I not try to get in touch with her in all these years?”
I nodded.
Ida sighed and stared out at the wheat field across from us. A gentle breeze caused the knee-high, green stalks to sway gently as if caught in some kind of synchronized dance. “It’s hard to explain,” she said. “I was so hurt when she decided to leave that it was easier to put her out of my mind.” She turned her gaze back to me. “I know that does not make much sense. Her leaving had nothing to do with me. I realize that now. But I turned it into something personal, and now it is too late.” She shook her head slowly. “She sent me a letter not long after she and Joe moved to Nebraska. I—I never opened it.” Ida reached up and wiped a tear away from her eye. “Perhaps it is time I did.”
“You kept it all these years?” I said.
She reached over and patted my arm. “Yes. I just could not bring myself to read it.”
“So your silence toward my grandmother had nothing to do with some kind of banning?”
Ida’s eyes widened. “Of course not.” She scowled at Sam. “Ach, what have you been telling this child?”
Sam shrugged. “Didn’t come from me.”
“Oh. Benjamin. I should have known.” Ida shook her head. “Benjamin had his own ways, Grace. In our faith, if someone is caught in sin and they are not repentant, they may be forbidden to participate in some of the ceremonies in the church service, but they are not asked to leave the fold. And we still talk to them. Understand that any action the church takes is not seen as a punishment; it is an attempt to help them get straight with God. But actually excommunicating someone? I saw it a couple of times when I was a girl. One had to do with a man who would not stop beating his wife and child, and the other was a woman who flagrantly carried on an adulterous affair with a man in our community. The elders counseled all of them and only asked them to leave the church after they refused to change their ways. Thankfully, the wife beater left his family behind and the church was able to help restore them.” She stared into my eyes. “My guess is that any other church would have done the same thing. You must understand that what happened under Bishop Angstadt was done through his own attempt to control his members. It was not godly nor would the Mennonite Church have approved it—if the area leadership had known about it. Benjamin’s attitude toward your family may have originated through Bishop Angstadt, but he held on to it all those years without any help from anyone else. When the bishop died, anyone approving of The Ban died with him.” Ida stared down at her feet for a moment. “I want you to know that I tried talking to your uncle many times on the subject, but he wouldn’t budge.” She looked up at me and frowned. “I often wondered if there was something else behind his stubborn refusal to contact his family. Something he would not tell any of us.”
Her sentiments echoed what Abel Mueller had told me. That made at least three people who’d confirmed that after Amil Angstadt died, Benjamin’s silence toward my family had been his decision alone—perhaps for the reasons he’d written in his letter—or perhaps for other reasons yet to be uncovered.
“Ida, I’m sorry to break this up,” Sam said softly, “but we’ve really got to be going.”
The old woman nodded. She reached for my arm, and I helped her to her feet. “Grace, you leave this big strapping man at home Monday and come by on your own, ja? Maybe we could read your grandmother’s letter together?”
“Hey, how come I get cut out of the loop?” Sam said playfully. “What happens to my strawberry pie?”
Ida and I both laughed. “I tell you what,” I said to Ida. “Why don’t I come by around one o’clock and Sam can join us at two? That way everyone gets what they want.”
Ida clapped her hands together and a smile lit up her face. “Ach, that would be wonderful. And we promise to save you some pie, Sam.”
“In that case, try to stop me.” He leaned over and kissed the old woman on the cheek. “Unless you both want Sweetie to come here after us, we’ve got to get going.”
I said good-bye to Ida, and we got back in the truck.
“So do you still think Old Order Mennonites are mean, judgmental people?”
“No, you and Abel were right. I came here with the wrong impression. I’m beginning to understand that as a whole, Mennonites live the way they do because they’re trying to protect their community.” I glanced at the houses and fields around us. “You know, as much as I love the city...”
“You’re beginning to appreciate a simpler lifestyle?”
I laughed. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” But he was right. Out
side of the situation with my uncle, Harmony was beginning to grow on me. It must have been very difficult for Papa and Mama to leave here—even with the church problems they faced. The knowledge that being with me meant more to them than their friends and hometown roots touched my heart. I worked to swallow the lump that tried to form in my throat.
“Well, here it is,” he said as we pulled into his driveway and he turned off the engine.
Although I’d seen his house from the road, I found it even more striking up close. Deep red with creamy white trim, a large porch, and two turrets—it portrayed all the beauty and elegance of the Victorian period. As Sam held out his hand to help me down from the truck, I couldn’t tear my eyes from it.
