Simple Secrets (The Harmony Series 1) Page 2

  Harmony certainly had a small town atmosphere, but unlike so many of the abandoned and dying rural communities throughout Kansas, this place was vibrant and alive. I checked out some of the various businesses. Among the rows of neat, colorful buildings with hand-painted signs, I discovered a meat market, a bakery, a candle shop, a clothing store, and a secondhand emporium. Ruth’s Crafts and Creations caught my eye, and Mary’s Kitchen looked to be doing a brisk business, even though it was three in the afternoon. Lights sparkled from inside several buildings, and a bearded man in dark clothes and a wide-brimmed straw hat was using a phone attached to the wall outside. Old-fashioned streetlamps lined both sides of Main Street, and benches sat along the boardwalk, each one filled with men deep in conversation or women doing needlework while they talked and laughed together.

  Harmony bustled with activity, and the residents certainly weren’t the dour, grim people I thought I’d encounter. This wasn’t the town my father had described at all, but a charming place full of happy people. Spring flowers blossomed in window boxes. Honeysuckle bloomed over handrails and climbed up the sides of buildings. Children ran up and down the covered, wooden sidewalks, giggling and playing just like children anywhere else. I had the strangest feeling I’d stepped back in time and landed inside a Norman Rockwell painting. The real world seemed far away from this place—as if Harmony had found a way to banish it outside its borders.

  I drove all the way through town, continuing to draw stares from people I passed. Just like every other small town, everyone knows when a stranger is among them. Feeling a little uneasy with the attention, I headed for Uncle Benjamin’s. At the place where the businesses ended and houses began, I found the handpainted street sign that read Faith Road. At the corner of Faith Road and Main Street stood another church, this one much more modern. The square redbrick building sported a sloping roof and a large metal cross attached to its front face. A sign sat a few feet from the road that read Harmony Church. Two churches in a town this size just added to my list of surprises. Dad had only mentioned Bethel—the Mennonite church my family had once attended.

  Following my father’s instructions, I turned north and drove for about a mile, leaving the town behind. This area was much more rural with only a few simple houses nestled in the middle of fields planted with newly budding crops. Before reaching my final destination, I came upon a huge, red Victorian-style house with white trim. It sat back from the road and was surrounded by a large orchard. I slowed my car and stared. It had a wraparound porch with a creamy white railing. Two gleaming ivory rockers sat on the porch, and baskets of flowering green plants hung from the roof. The effect was striking—almost breathtaking. I noticed a very modern tractor parked next to a large red barn and an old beat-up truck in the driveway. I’d anticipated stark houses without beauty or style. Either my preconceived notions were wrong, or the people who owned this house weren’t Mennonite.

  I continued down the dirt road until I found Uncle Benjamin’s. His house had the plain white paint I’d expected, but the two-story structure was actually quite charming. A nice-sized porch was attached to the front of the home. Large yellow tulips bloomed next to the steps, and beautiful purple irises, surrounded by a circle of stones, graced the middle of the yard. Purple irises. Mama Essie’s favorite flowers. Had she originally planted the garden? Since it was late April, the flowers were anointed with the joie de vivre of spring, and as I stepped out of the car, their aroma greeted me. An old oak tree sheltered the porch, and a lone, cream-colored rocking chair sat waiting for an owner who would never return. I’d seen quite a few wooden rockers on Main Street. It was a safe bet they’d been crafted in Harmony.

  As I approached the steps, I noticed two sparrows sitting on the railing. I thought they’d take flight when they saw me, but instead they stared at me with interest until I put my foot on the first wooden stair. As I watched them fly away and land on a branch in the oak tree, I discovered the reason for their lack of fear. Dangling from the branches was a brightly painted bird feeder. There were also several birdhouses hanging nearby, along with a large, multiholed house attached to the trunk of the tree. I’d never seen birdhouses like these. Each was solidly built out of wood and adorned with pictures of birds and flowers. Beautiful and colorful cardinals, blue jays, and sparrows decorated each structure. Tiny heads poked out of the houses while the birds from the porch sat on branches near the large feeder. They were obviously used to being cared for.

  I fumbled around, trying to find the key that had been sent with Benjamin’s papers. I’d just grasped it when the sound of a loud, gravelly voice split the silence. I almost dropped my key.

  “Hey, just whatcha think you’re doin’ there, lady?”

  I turned around to find a woman staring at me suspiciously. A round orb of a human being, she wore faded denim overalls over a dingy, torn T-shirt. Her feet were encased in old ratty sneakers caked with dirt. A lack of makeup and graying hair pulled into a messy bun made it hard to determine her age, but I guessed her to be somewhere near sixty.

  She took a few steps closer. “I asked you just what you was doin’ at that door, lady,” she said, her face screwed up like a prune. “I knowed the man who lived there, and you ain’t him. You ain’t even his ghost.”

  After my initial shock, I recovered my voice. “I–I’m Benjamin Temple’s niece. He—he left this house to me.” I cleared my throat and forced myself to calm down. “I’m Gracie Temple,” I said more forcefully. “And you are?”

  Unfortunately, she took this as some kind of invitation and clomped her way up to the porch. She squinted as she looked me up and down. I met her gaze without flinching.

  “Well, I guess you might actually be lil’ Gracie,” she said finally, her face cracking a smile that showed some gaps in her teeth. “You sure look a lot like old Benny. He was a nice-lookin’ man, your uncle. Even more important, he was a good man. We was close friends. I been watchin’ for you ever since he passed away. Promised Benny I’d keep an eye on this place.”

  “My uncle told you I was coming?”

  The old woman leaned over the porch railing and spat on the ground. “Yeah, he did. It sure was important to him. In fact, it was all he talked about toward the end.”

  “Well, thank you for watching the house.” I flashed her a smile and put my hand on the doorknob, hoping she would take it as a dismissal. I wanted to get inside, unpack, and settle in.

  Instead of taking my hint, she extended her grimy hand. “I’m Myrtle Goodrich, but folks call me Sweetie. Pleased to know ya. I live just down the road a piece. I’m sure we’ll be good friends.”

  I couldn’t help but stare at the hand she held out. She noticed and pulled it back, wiping it on her overalls. “Sorry. Been workin’ in my orchard.” After transferring most of the dirt on her hand to her clothes, she reached out again. This time I took it, forcing myself not to check it for cleanliness. Her grip was firm and her hands rough and calloused.

  “Nice to meet you, Myrtle.” I looked my new neighbor over carefully. Besides the fact that I didn’t like cutesy names, if I was ever knocked senseless and a name like Sweetie fell out of my mouth due to severe brain damage, I still wouldn’t apply it to this odd woman. I couldn’t even call my cat “sweetie.” Of course, with a name like Snicklefritz, he’d already suffered as much indignity as any one cat should have to. He’d acquired his name as a defensive maneuver on my part. Hopefully, the next time my father called me by that loathsome nickname, I could claim he had dementia and had confused me with my feline friend.

  She flashed me another strange grin. It reminded me of a baby with gas. “Yep, when I was born, my mama took a gander at me and said, ‘Will you look at that little sweetie?’ And that was my name from then on.”

  “Well, that’s interesting.” I tightened my grip on the doorknob. “It was nice to meet you. But I really need to get unpacked. Maybe we’ll see each other again before I go.” Feeling as though I’d handled my escape the best way possib
le, I began to fiddle with the key, attempting to fit it into the keyhole. Instead of taking the hint, Myrtle advanced again.

  “It’s a good thing you finally got here,” she said, looking around as if someone was hiding around the corner, listening. Of course her loud, rather rough voice pretty much made any attempt at secrecy useless. “Your uncle had a troubled mind, Gracie girl. I ’spect I never seen a man so full of worry. He sure was countin’ on you comin’ here. Toward the end it was all he talked about.”

  I took my hand off the doorknob, disturbed that my uncle was afraid and focused on me before he died. “I thought Uncle Benjamin died of a heart attack. Are you saying he knew he was going to die?”

  Myrtle shrugged her rounded shoulders. “His heart was bad for years. He got worse and worse this last year. Then a couple of months ago, he started gettin’ real weak and sickly. Couldn’t stay on his feet for long. He figgered his time was finally up. Guess he was right.”

  “I—I didn’t realize he had a heart condition. He didn’t keep in contact with his family.”

  She nodded vigorously. “It’s a cryin’ shame, too.” She swiped at her eyes with her muddy hand, leaving a trail of grime on her face. “He was a good man, Gracie girl. A good man.”

  “Thank you.” I put my hand back on the doorknob. “Now if you’ll excuse me...”

  “Sure, sure.” She frowned and took a step back. “Well, if you need anything, alls you gotta do is set this pot of petunias on the porch rail.” She bent down to pick up a large pot of flowers sitting near the steps and handed it to me.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if I called you?”

  She exploded with coarse laughter, and her face turned beet red. “You’re gonna have to get used to livin’ like the old Mennies,” she sputtered after regaining her voice. “There ain’t no phone here.”

  No phone? I hadn’t counted on that. “I have a cell phone...”

  “I wouldn’t count on it workin’ out here,” she said, interrupting me. “But you can go down to one of them shops in town. There’s phones there. Not all these Mennies live by the old rules like your uncle. Only a handful of those kind left now.” She grinned at me like a deranged Cheshire cat. “You got lucky and inherited one of the few houses around without no electricity or a working phone. For a city girl like you, it’ll be quite an adventure, I reckon.”

  I stared at the woman as I set the flowers on the porch. Even though I found her irritating, it occurred to me that she might be one of the only people who really knew my uncle. Although I abhorred the choices he’d made, seeing the house where my father had grown up sparked a desire to learn what I could about Benjamin. “You know, I am rather curious about my uncle. Maybe while I’m here you could answer some questions I have about him.”

  “Well,” she said, staring up at the sky, “it’s gettin’ pretty late. I got a roast in the oven that’ll be burnt to a crisp if I don’t get a-goin’.” Myrtle waved once and jumped off the porch. Then she headed down the road like her overalls were on fire.

  I shook my head as I watched her scurry away. Had I scared her off? Maybe it was best not to question my good fortune. I had to consider that maybe old Sweetie was a few bricks shy of a full load. Besides, I was determined to stay focused on my goals. I fully intended to sell the house, grab a few things for my mom and dad, and leave well within my two-week deadline. Trying to learn more about my uncle would probably only sidetrack me.

  Before opening the front door, I glanced up and down the road. Besides the big, red home in the distance, I spotted a couple of other houses on Faith Road. They sat like silent sentries in the middle of crop fields. It didn’t make any sense, but I suddenly had the strange feeling they were watching me—wondering what I was going to do next. A curious sense of uneasiness filled me, and I couldn’t stop my fingers from trembling as I slid Benjamin’s key into the lock.

  Chapter Three

  I had to jiggle the ancient key several times before the front door creaked open. Anticipating the worst from a lifelong bachelor, I was pleased to find a clean, orderly, and rather attractive living room. A bright rag rug lay on the polished hardwood floor, adding a splash of color to the surroundings. To the right of the entryway, a carved wood staircase led to the upstairs. The massive cherry secretary next to the window was beautifully carved and intricate, with a drop-down lid that doubled as a desk. The makeshift desktop held paper, pens, and a large leather Bible. Another wall was lined with bookcases. A rocking chair, a close cousin to the one on the porch, sat in the corner, and against the farthest wall, I was surprised to find a lovely couch upholstered in a rich gold brocade fabric. The material had been well cared for but appeared somewhat faded by time. Someone had carefully folded a colorful handcrafted quilt and laid it across its back. In another corner of the room, next to a cast-iron stove, was a brown leather upholstered chair, and next to it stood a tall grandfather’s clock made from some kind of dark wood. Perhaps mahogany. The pendulum sat unmoving. I fumbled around on top of the clock and found the key that unlocked the front piece. Same place we kept our key at home. After checking my watch, I set the time, pulled up the weights, and started the pendulum moving. The slow ticking filled the silent room, making it feel as if life were coming back into the abandoned house.

  The furniture surprised me. Rather than being plain and without character or design, I found well-crafted pieces that had obviously been created with excellence.

  I checked out the old potbellied stove that was probably used to supply heat to the main room during the winter. Good thing it was spring. I didn’t relish the idea of having to gather wood and start a fire on a frigid Kansas morning.

  Two paintings hung in the living room. One was of horses standing near a fence. The other, a landscape depicting a field of golden wheat under gathered storm clouds. Both displayed a high level of talent, and I wondered about the artist. Against the far wall a large cross-stitch sampler declared “Fear not for I am with thee.” The scripture touched my heart, as if God were speaking directly to me, reassuring me that even in this rather strange situation, I wasn’t alone.

  As I began my search through the rest of the house, I felt happy beyond words to find a fairly modern bathroom. The large claw-foot tub was different than what I was used to. I found the lack of a shower rather annoying, but I could make do. I’d been expecting an outhouse. I still remembered the summers my family went camping and fishing at a lake not far from our home. The only available facilities left much to be desired. Not much more than holes in the ground, I visited them only when absolutely necessary. My cousin, Jonathon, used to tell me stories about big, hairy spiders that lived at the bottom of the toilets. Needless to say, any outing to the bathroom was made in great haste and with severe trepidation. Thankfully, I wouldn’t be having nightmares about spiders while I was here.

  I liked the kitchen with its lemon yellow paint and handmade oak cabinets. A small oak table with two chairs sat near a window that looked out on the property behind the house. The table was covered with a green-and-white-checked tablecloth, and matching valances hung over the windows. A large tublike sink with a water pump sat directly under one of the windows. Two colorful rag rugs lay on the floor. A white hobnail hurricane lamp hung from one of the wooden beams that stretched across the ceiling. The stove and refrigerator bordered on antique, but at least they appeared to be clean. A stainless-steel teapot waited on the stove. As Myrtle warned, I couldn’t find any electrical outlets. I peeked out the window and discovered that a propane tank had been set up next to the house. That explained how the appliances worked.

  A sudden knock on the front door startled me, and I sighed with frustration. So far, my visit to what I’d pictured as a peaceful Mennonite community had turned out to be something quite different. Hoping Sweetie hadn’t made an unwelcome return, I cautiously opened the front door. A nice-looking man stood on the porch, dressed in jeans and a blue-checkered shirt. I guessed him to be not much older than me. He flashed me a crooked
grin.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said, “but I wonder if you’re Benjamin’s niece, Grace?”

  For crying out loud, did everyone in this town know me? “Yes, I’m Gracie Temple. And you are?”

  He brushed a lock of sun-bleached hair out of his face. “I’m Sam. Sam Goodrich.”

  “Goodrich? Any relation to...?”

  “Yeah,” he answered a little too quickly, his face flushing. “I’m her nephew. Don’t tell me she’s been here already.”

  “Yes. In fact, she introduced herself before I even got inside the house.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry about that. My aunt was pretty close to your uncle. She took his death hard. I think she’s still trying to look out for him.”

  I couldn’t leave this man standing on the front porch much longer. It was becoming evident he wasn’t going anywhere. Reluctantly, I pushed the screen door open. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Thank you, I would. But first let me get something from my truck. I brought you a housewarming gift.”