by Nancy Mehl
“It’s Hannah,” he said, his words slow and methodical. He clasped his hands together. “But still, if she hadn’t left our protection …”
“The problem would still be in her heart. There is something she longs for, Abel. Something she hasn’t found here.”
His face flushed and his jaw tightened. “Her art. One of the elders also cautioned me about this—this talent of hers. He said Hannah’s interests could lead to vanity and self-involvement. I didn’t pay any attention to him. It seemed silly and old-fashioned. Maybe I’ve been foolish …”
“But Abel, if that were true, why would God give her such a wonderful gift? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“But why would He give her something she can’t handle? Something that would lead her away from Him and her family?”
I reached over and covered his hand with mine. “That hasn’t happened. Hannah is acting out a bit, that’s all. I think you’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “Maybe. I know some children rebel during their teenage years. I’ve certainly counseled many families in crisis. I just never thought Hannah would—”
“Be a teenager?” I smiled at him. “I think the best thing we can do is to let her work this out in her own mind. It could all blow over in a week or two. Hannah loves you and Emily. And Harmony is the only home she’s ever known.”
He nodded and patted my hand before pulling his away. “I believe it’s wise to put the subject of her future on hold for now. We’ve told Hannah we expect her to adjust her behavior. As you say, perhaps she will settle down now that she’s home. If God has a different plan for her life from what Emily and I would choose, we won’t stand in His way. But right now, it’s Hannah’s heart that concerns me most.”
Although I firmly believe God has a plan for everyone’s life, I’m also aware that He doesn’t force our steps. We all have the right and ability to pick a different direction—the one that isn’t God’s will for us. I prayed that wouldn’t happen to Hannah.
I’d thought about mentioning Hannah’s wardrobe malfunction in Wichita, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. What would it help? The knowledge that she’d rejected her simple clothing for jeans and a T-shirt wouldn’t give Abel and Emily additional peace of mind. They had enough to deal with now.
“What about our painting lessons?” I asked.
Abel stood up, his wide-brimmed straw hat in his hand. “Let’s wait on that for now, Gracie. But please understand that Emily and I still love you. Just because we hit a bump in the road doesn’t mean our buggy has completely turned over.”
“I understand, and I promise to watch out for any future bumps. This one just snuck up on me.”
He ambled toward my front door. “I know. When Hannah settles down, we’ll consider restarting her lessons. I’m sure she’ll be eager to continue.”
“All right.” When Abel closed the door behind him, I covered my face with my hands, trying to compose the emotions that raged through me. I prayed this situation would turn around, but frankly, not seeing Hannah for a while might be good for both of us. I’d said everything I could to encourage her to be patient. I was out of advice and although I would never admit it to Abel or Emily, I understood her desires. I’d felt the same way once. The big city had drawn me—as had the yearning for what I thought success entailed. But coming to Harmony had changed me. I’d found real peace and contentment here, something I’d never experienced in Wichita.
“Help Hannah find her way, God,” I prayed quietly. “Show her the path You have for her, even if it isn’t the same one someone else might choose for her.”
I headed to the kitchen and made a cup of hot chocolate. The July heat hadn’t chased away this nightly habit. Fixing cocoa from scratch takes longer than pouring a premade package of mix into a cup of hot water, but I really enjoy the taste of real cocoa powder, sugar, and milk, heated and topped off with whipped cream. I carried my cup upstairs to the bedroom and changed clothes. Then I turned on the small window air conditioner and the old, thirteen-inch television that sits on my dresser, wiggling the rabbit ears around until I got a halfway decent picture.
Television in my house is not without its complications. Sam and Sweetie have satellite TV, so when I want to watch something special, I go over there. Here, I just take whatever I can pick up through the tower Sam erected outside my house. At least I’m able to make out the news and a few programs I like. The many hours I used to spend in front of my set in Wichita has been reduced to only a few shows here and there. TV lost a lot of its pull on me after moving to Harmony. I chuckled to myself. Must be the Mennonite influence. The ten o’clock news was just coming on, so I set my cup of cocoa on the table next to my bed, got in, and wiggled under the covers.
“Police are investigating the disappearance of a young college student in Emporia,” the grim-faced announcer said. “Melissa Dunham went missing after a night out with friends. Miss Dunham never returned to her apartment last night, according to her roommate. Police are treating the situation as suspicious. If you know anything about the whereabouts of Melissa Dunham, please notify the authorities.” A picture of a young, fresh-faced woman with long blond hair and blue eyes filled my fuzzy TV screen. The girl looked remarkably like Hannah. “Police are still searching for two other young women who are still missing from Topeka. A local spokesperson declined to comment as to whether these cases might be linked to this most recent disappearance.” Two more pictures popped up on the screen. Both girls had long blond hair, and at least one had blue eyes. I couldn’t tell the color of the other girl’s eyes from the photo. They both reminded me of Hannah as well. A strange sense of disquiet filled me, and it took much longer than usual to fall asleep. When I finally did, I kept seeing the missing girls’ faces in my dreams, superimposed over the face of the young Mennonite girl I’d grown to love.
Chapter Four
It was a little after twelve thirty when church let out the next morning. It felt wonderful to be back among my friends at Harmony Church. Ruth Wickham hugged me so tightly I almost couldn’t breathe, and Wynonna Jensen, the pastor’s wife, squealed when she saw me. Pastor Jensen’s sermon brought such peace to my troubled soul. He talked about how important it is to forgive ourselves as well as others. That it actually helps to show our faith in God’s forgiveness. Many people, he said, say they believe God has forgiven them for their mistakes, but they continue to condemn themselves.
“If you truly believe in God’s promise to be faithful in forgiving your sin,” he said, “you would never throw that act of love and grace back in God’s face by continuing to punish yourself. Do you think your faults are stronger than Jesus’ sacrifice for you? True humility is believing God’s Word and not trying to create a false sense of righteousness based on your own behavior.”
His words led me to remind myself that taking Hannah to Wichita, and being away from Sam, Sweetie, and my friends, was a sacrifice done out of kindness. I hadn’t purposely set out to cause a problem in Hannah’s family. And besides, in the end, her reaction was her responsibility, not mine. I asked God to forgive me for beating myself up about it and submitted myself to His unending grace. I felt lighter and less troubled when we stepped out into the sunshine after church was dismissed.
“Let’s get to Mary’s before they’re out of chicken,” Sam said, gently pulling me away from the entrance.
Hector serves fried chicken family-style on Sundays, and the town turns out in droves to get their fair share. Thankfully, Abel usually preaches longer than Pastor Jensen so the members of Harmony Church get to their chicken dinners before the members of Bethel Mennonite. Harmony residents love to tease Abel about it. He always laughs and says, “I believe the good Lord cares more about your soul than your stomach.” But the truth was, most of the Bethel folks went home to eat after church anyway, so it didn’t really matter that much.
Sam left the truck parked in front of the church, and we walked hand in h
and down the wooden sidewalk to the restaurant. Younger Harmony residents know many of the older folks like to eat out on Sunday, so they purposely park farther away, leaving plenty of spaces close to Mary’s front door. We walked past the small stores that lined Main Street. Cora’s Simple Clothing Shoppe, Harmony Hardware, Ruth’s Crafts and Creations, and Menlo’s Bakery were just a few of the small, homespun businesses along the way. All closed on Sunday, thank you very much. Sunday is the Lord’s Day in Harmony, and no one would think of being open—except for the restaurant. Somehow hungry residents didn’t seem to notice the inconsistency. But since Hector and his family always attended Mass during the week at the Catholic church in Sunrise, no one questioned the contradiction too closely. Harmony residents love to gather together at Mary’s. It’s akin to family dinner at Grandma’s even though Hector certainly didn’t look like anyone’s grandmother.
I couldn’t help but feel sad when I saw the large sign that says MARY’S KITCHEN still hanging on the two-story brick building that houses the popular eatery. I secretly hoped one day Hector would rename the establishment and remove the name of the previous owner. I had nothing against Mary, but seeing her name every time we came to town brought back painful memories.
We entered the bustling eatery with its old-fashioned diner feel. Blue walls filled with old photographs, wooden floors that squeak when you walk on them, booths with checkered tablecloths, and tables with yellow laminate tops. Every tabletop held red and yellow plastic containers for ketchup and mustard. The place was filling up quickly, but we managed to find a table. We had to wait awhile for service. Two women I didn’t know were taking orders. A couple of Hannah’s friends, Leah and Jessie, worked during the week, but being Conservative Mennonites, they never work on Sundays. Leah had been brought up in a stable, godly family. Unfortunately, Jessie’s life had been a hard one so far. Her father, Rand McAllister, was abusive to her and her mother. His death last year was a tragedy—of sorts.
As awful as it sounds, since his funeral, his family seemed to blossom. Jessie actually smiled once in a while now. A rather unattractive girl when I’d first met her, she’d changed once her father’s tyrannical rule ceased. A glow of happiness that brought life to her features replaced her usual sullen expression. The sallow-faced young woman now had color in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. And she’d lost quite a bit of weight. Of course, working at the restaurant probably helped.
I have real respect for people who serve food to the public. I’m not sure I’d be able to last through an entire day on my feet, running orders back and forth. In Harmony, though, if one of Hector’s waitresses runs behind, it’s not the least bit unusual to see a patron jump up, go back to the kitchen, and fetch their own food or get their own drink. In fact, most of the time, they’ll even check with other customers to see if they need anything. Life in Harmony is a lot different from what I was used to in Wichita. Frankly, after being gone for a while, it takes a few days to adjust to the way things work here.
One of the women taking orders shuffled up to the table. “What would you folks like to drink?” She didn’t bother to ask about food since chicken was the only thing on the menu today. Sam and I both ordered coffee with cream.
After she walked away, Sam crooked his head slightly to the right. “Something you don’t know. Not long after you left, Bill Eberly started dating.”
I looked toward the area Sam indicated. Bill Eberly sat alone in a booth against the wall. I caught his eye and waved to him. He smiled and returned the gesture. Bill Eberly is one of my favorite people—a kind man whose wife died several years ago. Sam’s statement surprised me though, because I’d been told Bill was a one-woman man who would probably never marry again.
“Who?” I asked, turning my attention back to Sam.
His right eyebrow arched in amusement. “Guess. Go ahead, you won’t believe it.”
“I’m not going to guess. Either tell me or don’t. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Okay, never mind.”
I reached across the table and lightly slapped his arm. “Okay, okay. Um, he’s dating Ida. Is that it?”
“Well, if you’re not going to be serious …”
My friend Ida Turnbauer is over eighty years old and an Old Order Mennonite. Sam was right. I wasn’t being serious. “Would you just tell me? You know I hate guessing games.”
“All right, but you sure take the fun out of stuff.”
I guess the look on my face caused him some concern because he finally blurted out, “Thelma McAllister. He’s dating Thelma, and it looks pretty serious.”
“Thelma McAllister?” I gasped. “Jessie’s mother? Rand’s wife?”
“Well, she’s not actually his wife now, you know. She would be his widow. But yes, that Thelma McAllister—like there are two of them living in Harmony.”
At first, I could barely believe it, but as I considered the idea, it began to make sense. Thelma was a good woman who’d been beaten down by years of abuse by Rand. Just as Jessie had changed after Rand’s death, Thelma had also come out of her shell. Well, maybe shell wasn’t the right word. Perhaps cocoon described it better. When Rand was alive, she always carried herself like someone who’d given up on life—and on herself. Before I left for Wichita, though, I’d caught a glimpse of her one day in the restaurant, and I hadn’t recognized her at first. She had a totally different countenance. Even her personality had transformed. She’d begun to open up and talk to people. In fact, she seemed to enjoy social interaction. And she was funny. I could see someone like Bill being drawn to her.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Thelma and Jessie aren’t supposed to date anyone outside of their faith. Bill isn’t Mennonite.”
Sam paused while the waitress brought our coffee. When she walked away, he smiled triumphantly. “That’s changed, too.” Seeing my frown, he chuckled. “Do you think you have to be born into a Mennonite home to join the church? Well, you don’t. Bill’s been taking some instruction from Abel. When he’s finished, he’ll officially become a member. He and Thelma are already going to church together.”
“Wow. Sounds like they’re pretty serious.”
Sam nodded. “I think they are. You should see them together. I’ve never seen Thelma so happy, and Bill reminds me of the man he used to be when Edith was alive.”
I poured cream into my cup and stirred it. “How’s Jessie taking their relationship?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. She doesn’t act thrilled about it. I think she needs some time to get close to Bill, though. After the way Rand treated her, she will probably be a little hesitant about accepting him right off the bat.”
I started to respond, but our waitress came over with a large tray full of food and began to fill our table. I thanked her, and she asked if we wanted anything else. I looked at the huge plate of fried chicken, the bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, a basket of homemade rolls, and chuckled. “I can’t think of one more thing we could possibly need.”
She smiled and walked away. “Who is that woman?” I asked Sam.
“She’s Carmen’s sister, Connie. And the other woman is Connie’s daughter.”
“They don’t live here, do they?”
“No. They both live in Council Grove. They just started coming to the restaurant on Sundays to help out. Carmen was running herself ragged without Leah and Jessie.”
“That’s nice of them.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “Let’s pray. I’m starved.”
I felt certain Sweetie had cooked her usual Sunday morning pancakes and sausage and that Sam had partaken liberally, but I didn’t tease him. He worked hard, and his lean, muscled body was a testament to the fact that he needed fuel to get all the necessary chores done on his large fruit farm. He prayed, thanking God for the day and for the food on the table. Then we dug in. I glanced around the restaurant and noticed several other people praying over their food. I hadn’t witnessed much public praying in Wichita, but it was par for the cou
rse in Harmony.
As always, the chicken was crisp and buttery tasting, the whipped potatoes and gravy thick and creamy, and the green beans with bacon and onions were delicious. I took several bites while I built up the courage to ask Sam the question I’d wanted to ask ever since I got home.
“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.”
