Simple Secrets (The Harmony Series 1) (2 page)

Papa Joe lived in a nursing home and was in the last stages of Alzheimer’s. Mama Essie had passed away almost five years ago. They’d never been able to understand why Benjamin had turned his back on the family and stayed in Harmony. Now it was too late for them to reconcile. At least in this world.

Harmony. Strange name for a place that had brought so much destruction to the Temple family. Would this gift from my uncle help to heal the past, or would it bring even more pain? It was impossible to know the answer to that question by just sitting in my office.

I smiled down at the sketches of Pizzazz Pizza’s new logo. Let Grant figure out what conversational cuisine says.

I was going to Harmony.

With a promise from my best friend, Allison, to look after my cat and a warning from Grant that I had to be back in two weeks for an important client meeting, I took off Friday morning for Harmony, Kansas. After leaving Wichita, the only towns I saw along the way were small, rural places where life looked much slower and more relaxed than it did in the city. I was reminded of life in tiny Fairbury, Nebraska, where I’d been raised. As a teenager, I felt as if I lived behind a big picture window, destined to watch the world go by without actually being a part of it. Getting a job and moving to the big city had been a dream come true. Surprisingly, as I watched the countryside rush by, I felt a twinge of nostalgia for the way things used to be. My reaction surprised me. I had everything I wanted in Wichita—a job with an ad agency, an apartment downtown, and more friends than my entire high school class in Fairbury. I dismissed my errant feelings as a case of homesickness. It had been almost two months since I’d seen my mother and father. After I returned from Harmony, I’d schedule a weekend trip to Nebraska.

I stopped for lunch in a place called Walalusa. As with many small towns, the local diner had two distinct qualities you could count on—curious stares from the regulars and a burger loaded with grease, fried onions, and dripping cheese. Thirty minutes later I left with a full tummy, a bag of homemade peanut butter cookies, a pat on the back from a waitress named Floreen, and a vow to stop by again on the way home.

After about an hour and several wrong turns, I finally found an old, crooked, weathered sign that pointed the way to Harmony. I kept the notes I’d written from my father’s verbal directions on the seat next to me and drove slowly, watching street signs so I wouldn’t get lost. Homes with modern farm machinery were interspersed with older farmsteads that had horses, ancient tractors, and plows.

I rolled my car window down and breathed in the aroma of wet earth and burgeoning fields planted with wheat, alfalfa, and corn. I’d almost forgotten what the country smelled like.

Eventually I found a signpost that announced my entrance into Harmony. Instead of heading straight to Benjamin’s, I decided to drive around a little. I turned onto what seemed to be the main road, a wide dirt street dotted with buildings. On the corner sat a large white building with a bell tower and a sign that read BETHEL MENNONITE CHURCH. A group of people stood in the front of the church, laughing and talking together. Most of them wore the kind of clothing I’d expected to see. The men had on dark pants, solid-colored shirts, and black or dark blue jackets along with the large brimmed hats that made them recognizable as Mennonites. The women wore dresses that reached almost to their ankles. A couple of them had added another covering—almost like a jumper or apron. A few sported the traditional head covering. But to my surprise, there were also women and men in more contemporary outfits. Jeans, sweatshirts, flannel shirts—even one young woman who wore shorts and a T-shirt.

Several of them looked my way. At first I wondered if it was because of my car, a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle. But a quick look around revealed I was mistaken. Along with the black buggies and horses I’d expected, quite a few cars were parked on the streets. Some plain and dark with painted bumpers and others quite modern—even new.

On the other side of the huge church was a park with a massive stone water fountain, a small lake, various types of colorful flowers that reached up from well-tended garden plots, freshly painted shelters, and wooden picnic tables large enough to hold an entire family. The landscaping and careful maintenance showed extreme care and concern. I promised myself a visit some afternoon during my trip, accompanied by one of the novels I’d packed away in my suitcase.

As I drove farther down what was obviously the main drag, I couldn’t help but notice the street signs. Although I was currently on the obligatory Main Street, the other interconnecting roads had interesting names like Bethel, Resurrection, and Charity Lane. I wondered if Hope Road was ahead somewhere since Uncle Benjamin had lived north of Main Street and Faith Road.

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
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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 possible, 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.”