Simple Choices

by Nancy Mehl

  “Has Sam talked to Pat about his mother?”

  I shook my head. “No, and he doesn’t like to talk about her with anyone. I’ve learned not to bring up the subject.”

  “Sounds like he’s carrying some unresolved problems into your marriage.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. But look at the mother- and father-in-law I’m giving him. I figure we’re even.”

  Dad wrinkled his nose at me. “Ha, ha.” He sipped his coffee. “Mmmm. Very good. Why is it everything tastes better in the country?”

  “I have no idea, but I know exactly what you mean.”

  My dad stared into his cup for a moment. “One other question about Sam, then I’ll leave it alone.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him. “And that would be?”

  “Why does he always call you Grace? I’ve never heard him call you Gracie. Not once.”

  “Sam believes God’s grace brought me into his life. Calling me Grace is meaningful to him. A way of letting God know he’s grateful for His gift.”

  My father sighed dramatically. “Well, if that isn’t the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Dad!”

  We both burst out laughing, and my father almost spilled his coffee.

  “Oh my,” he said when we settled down a bit. “I couldn’t pass that up. You set me up so perfectly.”

  “Glad I could assist your attempt at humor,” I said grinning.

  “Actually, I really appreciate that he sees you that way. Your mother and I named you Grace for a reason. After doctors said we might never have children, we prayed that God would do what medical science couldn’t. And a couple of months later, you were conceived. That’s why we named you Grace. Sam’s got it right.”

  “Oh Dad.”

  “I love you, Grace Marie,” he said, his voice full of emotion. “I want you to be confident of that every moment of your life.”

  “I am, Dad. I really am.”

  My father picked up his cup. “I noticed you talked to Pat for quite awhile outside the restaurant today. Is everything all right?”

  “No. No, it’s not.” I told him about the police finding the body of the girl in Topeka.

  “That’s terrible. Does Pat think the cases are related?”

  “No, he doesn’t. He still thinks Hannah ran away.”

  My thoughts turned back to my conversation with Pat, and my attention drifted away until Dad said, “Gracie, you’re twirling your hair again.”

  I let go of the strand of hair wrapped around my finger. “Sorry. I just don’t know what to think. I mean, according to Pat, Hannah’s situation doesn’t match the profile of the other cases.”

  “Other cases. What do you mean?”

  “I guess there are some similarities between this murder and several others. The police think the killing in Topeka is the work of a serial killer.”

  My father frowned. “I just can’t believe something like that could touch Harmony.”

  “Why? There have been two murders in Harmony. Living simply doesn’t keep evil away, Dad. It takes more than that.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just …”

  I smiled. “Evil doesn’t belong here?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, I guess that’s what I mean. There’s something different about Harmony. Something …”

  “Yes, I know. Something special. That’s why I moved here. You seemed so upset when I made that decision, I figured you’d never understand.”

  My father ran a finger around the rim of his cup. “Oh, I understand, Gracie. You know, when your mom and I left Harmony, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I’ve been so angry …”

  “Because of the way you were treated?”

  He stopped and stared past me, out the window again. I couldn’t blame him, it’s a beautiful sight. Deep-green grasses sprinkled with colorful wildflowers and lush trees that line a crystal-clear lake. After pausing for several seconds, he shook his head. “You know, I thought that’s why I had such negative feelings toward this place. But now I don’t know. I’m starting to wonder if I was more upset about what was happening to Harmony than how your mother and I were being treated. Funny I didn’t see that until we came ho … back.”

  “You started to say ‘home.’ Wow, Dad. After all these years and all the negative things you’ve said about this place, you still see it as home?”

  He was quiet as he stared at his coffee cup for a while. “Isn’t it silly? Yes, I guess I do. My bitterness toward some of the people here made me forget all the wonderful things about this place.” He rubbed his hand across his face. “Funny how we do that to ourselves. A couple of unpleasant memories can drive out all the good ones if we let them.”

  I started to agree with him when a shout from the living room stopped our conversation cold. We both jumped up and hurried out of the kitchen just in time to see Papa standing at the top of the stairs, his eyes wild and his hair messed up.

  “I can’t find it!” he yelled. “I can’t find it anywhere! Essie will be so upset …”

  Before either one of us could rush to his side, Papa stepped out as if he were standing on a solid floor. We watched in horror as he tumbled down the stairs.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thanks again for coming over here,” I said to John. “I know it’s an inconvenience.”

  He put his stethoscope back into his medical bag. “Like I said, it’s no problem. My only other patient was Franklin Marshall. Lancing the boil on his foot can wait a bit.”

  “The life of a doctor is really glamorous,” I said, grinning.

  John smiled. “No kidding.”

  “So my father will be all right?” Dad asked.

  “He’s fine,” John said. “He’ll probably be a little sore. Just make him rest for a couple of days. If he complains of any unusual pain, let me know, but I can’t find any broken bones.”

  “What a stupid thing to do,” Papa said, adjusting the quilt I’d tucked around him as he lay on the couch. “I can’t imagine what I was thinking.”

  Papa had no memory of even getting out of bed, and he had no explanation what it was he’d been attempting so hard to find. Ever since he’d arrived, he’d been trying to find something—a wedding present from Mama. My father believed it was something lodged in his memory from long ago and triggered by all the talk of my upcoming wedding.

  “Don’t worry about it, Papa,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Must have been a bad dream. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  Papa mumbled something unintelligible, and his eyes closed.

  “I gave him something for the pain,” John said. “He’ll be a little sleepy.” He held out a bottle to me. “You might give him one of these every four to six hours for a day or two. Then just if he complains of pain.”

  “Will they make him more confused?” my mother asked.

  “Maybe a little, but he’ll be comfortable and relaxed. Alzheimer’s patients can get agitated quickly. You shouldn’t have any more outbursts for a while.”

  “I shouldn’t have brought him to Harmony,” Dad said slowly.

  John shook his head. “Look Daniel, it’s not my job to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. But do you think your father would be happier in a nursing home or here with his family? Yes, there will be some confusion. Some problems. But he really wants to be in Harmony. I guarantee you he’s more at peace here than he would be back in Nebraska.” He slapped my dad lightly on the back. “You can do this. Someday when he’s gone, you’ll be glad you made the effort. Regrets are poisonous. Trust me. I had to learn that the hard way. Living with them is tougher than enduring the problems you’re having now. As long as you keep him safe—make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or wander off—he’ll be fine.”

  “Someone will have to stay down here with him if he can’t be upstairs,” Mom said. “What if he gets up in the middle of the night and tries to go outside or something?”

  I chuckled. “Mom, this is Harmony. Even if that happened,
he’d have to walk twenty miles to the highway. There’s nothing out here that can harm him.”

  “Still …” she said, her face twisted with worry.

  “I’ll put my sleeping bag in the living room and camp out on the floor. It’s no problem.”

  “You don’t need to do that, Snicklefritz,” my father said. “I’ll do it.”

  I snorted. “Oh sure. You lying on the floor with your bum leg. Mom and I will end up with two patients.”

  My father started to respond, but I held up my hand. “Just give it up. I don’t mind a bit. In fact, it will give me more time with Papa before you all go home. I’d really like that.”

  My mother grabbed my father’s arm. “Quit fighting your daughter, Daniel,” she scolded. “You don’t have to be the one to do everything. Let us help sometimes.”

  “Very good advice,” John said. “Gracie, call me if you need anything. I think I’d better head back to the office. A boil awaits.”

  I laughed and walked with him to the door. Before he left, he gave me a hug. “You’ll be fine,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

  I stood staring at the front door after he closed it. John Keystone was so different from the cold, angry man I’d first met. I suspected his love for Sarah was the main reason. Love can certainly change people.

  “Nice man,” my father said. He came up and put his arm around me. “You certainly have made a home for yourself here. I wish …” His voice trailed off. I started to ask him what he was going to say when my mother interrupted.

  “My goodness, it’s almost five o’clock. Do you need help with dinner?” she asked.

  “No. You two relax awhile. I’ll get busy.”

  “And just what are we supposed to do?” my father grumbled. “No TV, except for that sad little set in your room.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Well, for crying out loud. What did you do for entertainment when you lived in Harmony?”

  My father got a mischievous look on his face. “I used to sneak out into the woods with your mother and neck.”

  “Daniel Christopher Temple!” my mother exclaimed. “I was a proper Mennonite girl. I never, ever necked!”

  I burst out laughing. “Why, Mom. I’m shocked. Here you made me think you never even kissed Dad until you were married.”

  “Oh you two,” she said, her face red, “I never said anything like that.”

  I started to fire back a smart-alecky answer when someone knocked on the door. “John must have forgotten something.” I quickly swung the door open and was surprised to find the infamous Mrs. Murphy standing on my front porch. I was so shocked I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said frowning. “I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes if you don’t mind.”

  Mrs. Murphy’s dark hair, pulled back in a tight bun, gave her an almost oriental look. The severe hairstyle seemed to match her uptight personality.

  “I—I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. “If you’re trying to find dirt on Abel and Emily Mueller, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

  She sighed and her stern features softened a little. “Well, that’s just it. I’ve talked to the Muellers, and I’ve spoken to several other people in town. I’m not getting any information that makes me think Hannah Mueller ran away because she was being abused. I still don’t understand the rigid rules these people live by, but I don’t find any reason Hannah should be removed from her home once she’s found.”

  “Well that’s a relief. But what is it you want from me?”

  She glanced at her watch. “I wonder if I could buy you dinner in town? I’d like to talk to you a bit so I can wrap this case up.”

  I just stared at her, not knowing what to say. I needed to fix supper for my family, yet I was willing to do anything I could to send this woman packing. Maybe getting her to ease up on Abel and Emily would help to make up for the trouble I’d caused them.

  “You go ahead, Gracie,” my mother said from behind me. I turned to find her standing a few feet away, listening to our conversation. “I can cook for us tonight. You fix supper another night.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly. I looked at Mrs. Murphy. “Can I meet you at Mary’s in about twenty minutes?”

  “That would be fine.” She turned, went down the stairs, and headed out to her car without saying good-bye. Her brusque manner was certainly intact even if her suspicions about Abel and Emily had abated some.

  I closed the door and turned to look at Mom. “I don’t trust her. What if this is some kind of trap? What if she tries to make me say something awful about the Muellers and then uses it against them?”

  “Do you actually know anything awful about them?” my father asked as he watched the exchange between my mother and me from the rocking chair.

  “Well … no.”

  “Then I think you’re safe.”

  My mother grabbed my hand. “Now show me what you were going to make for supper. I may not fix it quite the way you planned to, but I’ll try not to poison anyone.”

  “You’re a great cook,” I said with a smile. “I think the chances of doing bodily harm to this family is much more likely with me standing over the stove.”

  “Wow,” Dad said. “I think I’m grateful to Mrs. Murphy for showing up when she did.”

  My mother giggled. “Come on.” We walked hand in hand to the kitchen where I showed her the ingredients I’d put together for Sweetie’s famous meat loaf recipe.

  “No problem,” she said. “And I’ll make sure there’s something left in case you and your grandfather decide you want to make a meat loaf sandwich in the middle of the night.”

  I’d actually forgotten about our late-night forages into the refrigerator when I was young. Mama and Papa would come to visit, and Papa would wake me up after everyone had gone to bed. He’d make us meat loaf sandwiches, and we’d watch TV together until we were both too sleepy to stay up any longer. Papa and meat loaf sandwiches. The best sleeping pill in the world.

  I went to the bathroom and freshened up a bit. Then I decided to change my blouse since I’d sweated much more than was ladylike that afternoon. It only took a few minutes to run upstairs, pick out a clean blouse, throw the sweaty one in the laundry hamper, and hurry back down to the living room. I checked on Papa who was still fast asleep, then said good-bye to my parents.

  When I got to the restaurant, I discovered that Mrs. Murphy had already gotten us a booth in the corner. I assumed she wanted as much privacy as possible. I tried to quell the nervousness I felt. This was my chance to help the Muellers. I prayed God would give me the right words and keep me from saying anything stupid.

  “I hope this booth is okay,” Mrs. Murphy said as I approached.

  “It’s fine.” I scooted in across from her. “I’m still not sure what you want from me, though. The Muellers are wonderful parents. If you think I’m going to disagree with the other positive things you’ve heard about them, you’re mistaken.”

  She shook her head and started to say something when Leah, another one of Hannah’s friends, came up to the table. A beautiful, delicate girl with deep-chestnut hair, she’d caught the attention of most of Harmony’s young men. But Leah was very devout and not easily impressed by anything except a heart committed to God. I admired her. She’s definitely the kind of young woman a mother would like to see her son marry.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

  Mrs. Murphy and I both ordered iced tea.

  “Do you need a few minutes to decide what you want?”

  “Well, I think it might be nice if I had a chance to look at the menu before I give you my order,” the social worker snapped.

  To her credit, Leah didn’t respond. She walked over to where the menus were kept and grabbed a couple, handing them to us. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said softly. I could see the hurt in her eyes.

  “People here aren’t rude to each other,” I said when
Leah walked away. “Most of us have memorized the menu and don’t need to see it.”

  Mrs. Murphy shook her head. “I’m sorry. Guess I’m used to things working a little differently. I can be impatient.” She gazed around the room. There were a couple of Conservative Mennonite families eating supper together, dressed in plain clothing, the women and girls with prayer coverings over their buns or braids. Other patrons wore overalls or jeans and T-shirts, having just come in from harvesting. The room was filled with the aroma of sweat and grain dust mixed with the great smells emanating from Hector’s kitchen. “I just don’t get this place. This is the first time I’ve ever been in a town that was so … so …”

  “Peaceful?” I interjected helpfully.

  She glared at me. “I was going to say backward.”

  “I’m sorry, maybe I misunderstood you. I thought you said you were forming a positive opinion about this town—and the Muellers. Am I mistaken?”

  She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re right. Sorry again. I spend so much time interviewing the world’s worst parents, when I find good ones, I’m still suspicious.”

  I raised my eyebrows with interest. “So you’re admitting Abel and Emily are good parents?”

  Leah came up to the table with our drinks. She put them down and then hesitated.

  “Sorry, Leah,” I said. “Give us a couple more minutes. I don’t think Mrs. Murphy has looked at her menu yet.”

  She nodded and started to walk away.

  “Wait a minute,” the social worker said. “I–I’m sorry I was rude. It’s been a bad day, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Forgive me.”

  Leah gave her a beatific smile. “I already did that, ma’am. Please don’t worry about it. I’ll be back in a bit.” She left to tend to another table.

  “Now see? That’s just what I mean,” Mrs. Murphy said, exasperation showing in her expression. “What’s up with that? The people here aren’t … aren’t human!”

  I couldn’t stop my mouth from dropping open. “Surely you’ve met Christians before. It’s not like we live on another planet.”