by Nancy Mehl
I’d promised Ida I’d drive her to Topeka to see Sarah that afternoon. The drive would take us around an hour and a half each way. I was happy to have some time to spend with Ida, and frankly, I needed a break from Papa. He seemed to be having more and more confused episodes. His insistence about finding a wedding present from Mama had grown stronger. It was all we could do to talk him out of it. My father finally told him we’d found it, and everything was all right. I didn’t like lying to Papa, but Dad said it was the kindest thing to do. At first it seemed to calm him down, but last night, he woke up about three in the morning, worried once again about this imaginary gift. Although his delusion bothered me and losing sleep didn’t thrill me, I was touched that he longed to give me something for my wedding. And though he was doing better physically after his fall, the decision was made to keep him downstairs so we wouldn’t have a repeat of his previous accident. Besides the 3:00 a.m. episode, my concern for Hannah and Sarah kept me tossing and turning at night. Hannah had been gone five days now. After a visit with Jessie yesterday when I went to lunch with Sam, my concerns about Bill had returned. When I’d asked her about her mother’s new relationship, her response reignited my suspicions.
“Mom seems happy,” she’d said, “but I don’t know. Bill makes me uncomfortable. I get the feeling he’s hiding something.”
That was enough to send me over the edge and hound Pat until he did some checking up on Bill. Although he did have a child who lived in the area where a couple of young women had been abducted and killed, he hadn’t been there during the time it happened, and had never been to Arizona or New Mexico in his life. Ever. Turned out Jessie’s “uncomfortable” feelings were nothing more than that, probably a leftover reaction to the abuse she suffered at the hand of her father. Pat reminded me after spending time following up another useless lead that Rufus still wasn’t speaking to me—and might not for quite some time.
“For crying out loud, Gracie,” he’d said in a tone that didn’t invite further discussion, “just because this guy might have struck in Topeka, and we’re still not sure of that, it doesn’t mean he lives around here. You’re imagining things, and it’s causing me a lot of trouble.”
“I never said he lived here,” I’d answered hotly. “But Hannah is gone and whoever picked her up was in this area. It’s entirely possible that he’s been here before.”
His answer, mumbled under his breath, wasn’t something his mother would be proud of. I’d pointed that out to him, but it didn’t do any good. He’d just hung up on me.
After everything that had been happening in Harmony, going to Topeka sounded like a vacation. And although it was almost impossible since there was an APB out on Hannah and no one had spotted her, in the back of my mind, the thought that I might find her on the road between here and Topeka was overwhelming, even if it was unlikely.
Every day that Hannah was gone gave Abel and Emily more opportunity for stress. But the supernatural assurance they’d received when we’d read the ninety-first Psalm seemed to hold them up. I could see the battle to believe in their faces, but I also observed the peace of God sustaining them. They were determined to trust God with their daughter’s safety, and my respect for them grew immensely. Faith is easy when the stakes are small, but to see them walk in assurance when the life of their beloved child was on the line showed their true devotion to their God.
A little before three o’clock I said good-bye to my parents and left to pick Ida up. She wanted to stop by and see Abigail before we left town, and I’d gladly agreed to take her. I’d been planning to ask C.J. to the wedding, and I looked forward to seeing the progress he’d made on his mother’s house.
Ida was ready when I pulled up to her place. She sat on her porch with a basket in her lap. I got as close as I could so she wouldn’t get too wet. Then I jumped out of the car to assist her.
“What have you got in the basket?” I asked when I reached her.
“I made us a nice supper,” she said with a smile. “I thought perhaps we could stop along the road and eat.”
“I’d planned to take you out to a restaurant. There are some great places to eat in Topeka.”
“Oh my, Gracie,” she said, getting to her feet while holding the basket in her hands. “That is not necessary even though I appreciate it very much. I have two roast beef sandwiches, and two tuna salad sandwiches, homemade pickles, apples from Sam’s trees, and some of Mr. Menlo’s baklava. We will not need to buy anything when we have such good food with us.”
I reached out for the basket. “Sounds delicious, Ida. We’ll put it in the backseat so it will stay cool. We might want to eat before the hospital so nothing will spoil.”
Ida took my other arm, and I helped her down the steps. “I think that is a good idea. I am so excited about our trip. I can hardly wait to see Sarah. I have been praying for her.” She leaned her head against my shoulder for just a moment. “Thank you so much for taking me today. It blesses me so.”
We stepped carefully through the puddles on the ground while the rain fell steadily. “I’m looking forward to it, too,” I said. “Sweetie is coming to my house today to talk wedding plans with my mother, and frankly, I need a break. I know it’s my wedding, but I just want to walk down the aisle and say, ‘I do.’ I want to be Mrs. Sam Goodrich, and I wish I could do it without all the fuss.”
Ida waited until I opened the car door. She carefully folded her long skirt beneath her and positioned herself into the passenger seat. I closed the door and went around to the other side of the car, placing the basket in the backseat before I got behind the wheel.
“I know it feels that way now, Gracie,” she said when I got inside the car, “but someday you will cherish the memories of your wedding. Even though my ceremony was very simple by today’s standards, it was very special to me, and I think of it often.” Her voice grew soft, and she looked away from me and out the window. “Especially when I lost Herman. Then the memories came rushing back like a flood. Herman looking so young and handsome in his black suit. The look on his face when we were declared man and wife. The joy we shared with our friends and families. It was one of the best days of my life.” She turned to look at me. “It will be this way for you, too. Please do not take it lightly, ja?”
I nodded. “I won’t, Ida. Thank you. I think everything else that’s going on is stressing me out. My mind is on Hannah and Sarah. And Papa has gotten worse the last few days. It’s hard to concentrate on anything else.”
Ida was silent for a moment. When she spoke, there was hesitancy in her voice. “Perhaps this will bring you some comfort, liebling. I had a dream last night about Hannah.” She smoothed the thick material of her dress with her aged-spotted hands. “She was in a dark place, but there was an angel standing beside her, and the light from the angel began to drive away the blackness that surrounded her. And there was peace, Gracie. Great peace. The angel looked at me as if I stood in that place with them, and he said, ‘Fear not. God is watching over Hannah and she will come home soon.’” The old woman looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Many people believe that God no longer speaks through dreams and visions, but this is not so. ‘And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams.’” She touched my arm. “I believe this dream is inspired, Gracie. I believe our Hannah will come home.”
Something rose up inside of me after hearing Ida’s words and strengthened my faith. Her dream confirmed what the Muellers and I believed God had already told us. I’d learned to trust this elderly Mennonite woman who knew God in a way many people didn’t. “Oh, Ida,” I said. “I also believe God still speaks today, and I’m so glad you shared this with me. This is the second time He’s sent reassurance of Hannah’s return.”
“Ja, ja,” she said, “but this is not all.”
“There’s more? What is it?”
“T
he angel said one more thing. He said, ‘Tell Grace she must have eyes to see and ears to hear.’ And then I awoke.”
I was so surprised, I swerved the car before gaining control and slowing down. Thankfully there was no other traffic on Faith Road. “Th–the angel mentioned me by name? What does that mean?”
“I believe it means God will use you to bring this precious girl back to us,” she said simply. “You must remember what he said and make sure your eyes see and your ears hear.”
“I have no idea what that means, Ida.”
“Ach, Gracie. You must just pay attention. God will show you what He wants you to know. You must stay open to Him.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “And do not let your mind fill up with worry and fear. I find it is harder to hear what God has to say when these two emotions crowd out my peace.”
Ida and her peace. Her peace guided her constantly, and I’d begun to understand that her peace was the voice of the Holy Spirit living inside her. She’d taught me to look for my peace and follow it. And something inside told me her dream and the words she’d shared with me were very important. I turned them over in my mind until we pulled up into Abigail’s driveway. The difference in the house in just the short time C.J. had been working on it was impressive. The yard was cleaned up, and the porch had been rebuilt. Other repairs had been made, and the house was being painted.
“Oh my,” Ida said when she saw it. “This is so wonderful. So many people have tried to help Abigail, but her pride turned them away. I guess it took her son to accomplish what an entire town could not do. And just look at the wonderful results.”
“Yes, he’s done a marvelous job, hasn’t he?”
She nodded. “I know we cannot stay long,” Ida said, “but perhaps Abigail will at least see us for a few minutes.”
As if on cue, the rain began to come down in torrents. “Wait here,” I told her. “I have an umbrella in my trunk. I’ll get it.” I popped the trunk latch, got out of the car, and hurried to the back. Thankfully, the umbrella was still there. I’d been worried I’d taken it in the house when I’d cleaned out my car. I slopped around to Ida’s door, opened it, and helped her out. We both tried to stay under the large umbrella Allison had given me on my last birthday. Clear plastic with colorful dots, I felt a little ludicrous holding it over Ida’s bonneted head. I’d always thought the umbrella was cute, but now it just seemed silly. Although it was slow going, we finally made it to the porch. With the rotting wood replaced, the floor felt sturdy and safe. I knocked on the new door that had been installed, and a few moments later, it swung open.
“Gracie!” C.J. said with a smile. “I’m so glad you stopped by. Come in, please.”
I helped Ida inside first. There was a rug near the door and we both carefully wiped our wet feet. C.J. looked at Ida oddly and hesitated. Then recognition showed in his face. “Mrs. Turnbauer?” he said. “Is that you?”
Ida smiled. “C.J., it is so good to see you again. It has been a long time, ja?”
“Yes, yes it has.” He held out his arm. “May I take your cape?”
“Ja, ja. It is very wet though. I do not want to make a mess.”
“That’s no problem. I’ll hang it up on the coatrack. There’s a rug underneath to catch the water.”
“Thank you, young man,” she said gratefully.
I quickly scanned the room. The furniture was old and worn, but the room itself was neat. A metal fan whirred from a corner. Since I knew Abigail had no electricity, I was surprised. C.J. noticed.
“It runs on batteries,” he said. “It’s been so hot working here without air-conditioning, I went to Council Grove and bought a couple of them. The other one is in my bedroom.”
The rain outside had lowered the temperature quite a bit, and with the fan running, the inside of Abigail’s house was quite pleasant.
“Where is your mama?” Ida asked. “I don’t want to bother her, I would just like to say hello. We are on our way to Topeka to visit a friend in the hospital, so I thought we would stop by for a minute or two.”
“I’m glad you did,” he said. “Mama is lying down, but if you’ll wait, I’ll be glad to tell her you’re here.”
“I do not wish to wake her,” Ida said hesitantly. “Perhaps we should come back another time.”
“No, she’s not sleeping. Sometimes she gets uncomfortable in her wheelchair and likes to stretch out for a while. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you.”
“C.J.,” I said, “before you get your mother, I—I wanted to explain something. Why Papa Joe didn’t recognize you. He–he’s ill. It’s Alzheimer’s.”
His face fell. “I’m so sorry, Gracie. I guess that explains it. I mean, it’s not as if we were close when I was young, but I really thought he’d remember me. Joe wasn’t too crazy about me back then, and I certainly don’t blame him. I was rather rebellious, I’m ashamed to say.”
“Well, I just wanted you to know. I didn’t want you to be offended.”
He shook his head. “I’m not offended, but I’m certainly sad to hear about his condition. Joe Temple is one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”
“Thanks,” I said sincerely.
He nodded. “I’ll get Mama.” He pointed toward an old couch that had seen better days. “Please have a seat. She’ll be out in a minute.”
Ida and I sat down gingerly on the faded piece of furniture. I brushed something that looked like cookie crumbs from one area, and we had to avoid a spring that had pushed its way through the material.
“I know you and Abigail believe in a simpler life,” I whispered to Ida, “but does that mean you can’t have decent furniture?”
She shook her head. “We try not to make material things too important, but perhaps Abigail needs furniture that will not cause injury to her or those who visit her.” She leaned in closer to me. “Help has been extended to her, but she refuses it.” She put her hand on mine. “Real humility isn’t found in living a life of poverty, Gracie. Outside expressions do not reveal the heart. True humility comes from believing and obeying God above our own thoughts and feelings. I am afraid Abigail thinks that if she looks poor it is proof she is humble. I believe it is actually misplaced pride. She is too proud to let others bless her. I do not think this is pleasing to a God who wants to provide for His children through the love of His people. How can we fulfill His mandate to give when people like Abigail will not receive?”
She put her hand back on her lap, and I thought about what she’d said. There was a man in our little church back home in Fairbury who made a big show of being poor. Because he had so little in worldly goods, to him it signified that he was more spiritual than the other people in the church. One day when his car broke down and couldn’t be repaired, my mother and father, who’d just purchased a new car, decided to give the man their old one, which was still in very good shape. My father took it to a mechanic and had him go over everything, spending almost three hundred dollars in repairs. When my parents gave the man their car, he seemed to accept it gratefully. But the next Sunday, when he pulled into the church parking lot, the once-beautiful vehicle was a complete mess. The windshield was cracked and the body was covered with dents and dings. My father was horrified, thinking the man had been in an accident. He rushed over to see what had happened, my mother and I following behind him.
“Were you in collision?” Dad asked. “Are you okay?”
“Oh no,” the man said, his chest swelling with a sense of importance. “I took a sledgehammer to it so I wouldn’t become proud of driving something that looked so nice.” The man’s wife and child stood behind him. The wife stared at the ground while the man’s ten-year-old son just looked embarrassed.
My father was so angry he couldn’t speak. He turned around, grabbed my mother’s arm, and ushered us into the church building. That was the last time my parents ever tried to help him. Eventually his wife left him and took their son with her. I’d wondered for years what had happened to them, but ever since I
continued to pray that they would discover who God really is and wouldn’t be permanently scarred by this man’s strange behavior. Eventually, the pastor confronted him about his confused ideas, but this so-called humble man didn’t take kindly to the correction. He left the church after standing up in a service and railing against the “pride and arrogance” of the pastor and the other members. Then he left to find another church where he could play his game of false humility.
“You are very quiet, child,” Ida said. “Have I offended you?”
“Not at all,” I answered. “In fact, you’ve just explained a situation that I hadn’t thought about for a long time.” I quickly told her the story.
“Ja, ja,” she said, nodding her head. “This is a very good example of what I mean. This poor man tried to build his own righteousness through his works, and we cannot do that. Our righteousness is of God only.” She took a deep breath. “This is what I have tried to tell Abigail down through the years, but I am afraid I have been unsuccessful. As I have told you before, living the life I live is a choice. Not a judgment on others, and not a source of spiritual pride. But Abigail … Well, I do not think she believes the same way.”
A noise from the other room stopped our conversation. C.J. pushed a wheelchair into the living room. I was somewhat surprised to see Abigail up close. She wasn’t as old as I’d thought she’d be. She looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties although I knew she had to be almost seventy. Her hair was pulled back from her face, probably in a tight bun, and her head was covered with a black bonnet similar to Ida’s. She was dressed in black from head to toe, except for the white plaster cast that peeked out from under her heavy skirt. Once again, I wondered how anyone could wear so many clothes in the summer.
“Oh Abigail,” Ida said, getting up from the couch. I held her elbow as she struggled to her feet. “I am so sorry to find out about your leg. I should have checked on you sooner.”
