Tags:
Fiction,
General,
Romance,
Man-Woman Relationships,
Christian fiction,
Religious,
Christian,
Secrecy,
Kansas,
Mennonites,
Harmony (Kan.: Imaginary Place)
lamp proved difficult, and my uncle’s cramped script wasn’t easy to read. His words filled me with a sense of dread. Either I was about to find out something I was pretty certain I didn’t want to know—or I would discover that my poor deranged uncle had fallen way off his wooden rocker. With a sense of misgiving I turned the letter over and once again held it near the flickering lamplight.
Many years ago, an evil man lived in Harmony. Maybe you think I am being dramatic by using the word evil , but I assure you that this man epitomizes the term. On the night my brother, Daniel, your father, planned to leave town with Beverly Fischer, the young woman who would become your mother, Jacob Glick was killed. No one in Harmony knows this. They believe he left town because he was so disliked. All these years I have been the only person who knew the truth. Now I must pass it on to you. Sadly, it is yours to bear alone.
You see, I found Jacob’s body that night. He’d been struck on the head with a large rock that still lay near his feet. The force of the blow took his life. I buried his body, the bloody rock, and a suitcase filled with his belongings amid the grove of trees on our property. His body lies there still.
I had to read the last paragraph several times to be certain I understood its meaning. My uncle had buried a body—here? A feeling of cold fear moved through me. I tried to tell myself that he was sick and that this letter was the result of his illness. But the thoughts seemed so well constructed and clear of confusion. With dismay, I continued to read.
You are probably asking yourself why I would do something like this. Why would I bury the body of a man who obviously lost his life by the hand of another and spend the rest of my days separated from my family, afraid to leave this property because the truth might be revealed? The answer will shock you, my dear niece, but I cannot keep the matter hidden any longer. It is because the man who killed Jacob Glick was my brother—your father, Daniel.
I put the letter in my lap. “This isn’t true,” I whispered into the dark corners of the room. “My father would never do something like that.”
Of course, there was no response. What kind of a man would leave a poisonous letter like this behind him? What was he trying to accomplish? I knew my father. He was a man of peace—of forgiveness. The idea that he would take a human life was ludicrous. I had no desire to read another word of the hateful letter, but something compelled me to pick it up again. My hands shook, causing the paper to quiver beneath the amber-tinted glow of the lamp. I pulled the second page to the front and continued to read.
Please understand that I love my brother. I know this sin of murder was not planned. Jacob must have done something to provoke Daniel. Jacob was reprimanded many times for conducting himself inappropriately with several of the town’s young women. Perhaps his conduct toward your mother was the impetus for my brother’s reaction. I will never know the answer to this question in my lifetime. And please understand this: I am confident my brother did not know of Jacob’s death. I came upon them when they were having words, arguing about something. I have no idea as to the nature of their disagreement. I left them to their contentious confrontation and went home. I found Jacob a couple of hours later. I am certain Daniel had no idea his blow had taken the man’s miserable life. If my brother had been aware of the result of his anger, he would have stayed and paid for his crime. But I, in my desire to protect him and the girl he loved, took matters into my own young hands. I wanted Daniel and Beverly to get away from Harmony and have the life I knew could be theirs. So I took care of the problem and spent the rest of my days protecting our secret.
There are days when I regret my actions, even though I still love my brother. There are days when I hate him for what his
Learning to Kill: Stories