The Choice

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  As she turned a page, her heart skidded to a stop. There was a picture of Sol, celebrating a win, with his arm wrapped around a girl. An English girl. A pang of longing pierced her heart. Carrie stared at the picture so long that she didn’t even notice Daniel, standing at the door, until he cleared his throat. Startled, Carrie dropped the newspaper.

  “Heard about Andy,” he said, pulling up a chair to sit down next to the bed.

  Carrie gathered the newspaper and tossed it in the wastebasket. It occurred to her that Daniel had a curious way of appearing out of nowhere. But she found she didn’t mind. Daniel was good at just being there.

  A few hours later, after Andy was released, Daniel and Carrie took Andy home. Carrie settled her brother into bed and read until he was asleep. Esther had gone to bed, a relief to Carrie. She still felt a mutinous anger toward Esther for harming her brother. She went out to the front porch to look at the stars and search out the tail of the Milky Way. It was something her father had liked to do. He said it gave him great comfort to see God’s handiwork in the heavens. Sorely missing him, Carrie wished she could borrow some of her father’s faith. Especially now.

  The kitchen door creaked open. “Another midnight call?” Daniel asked, holding the door open as if waiting for an invitation.

  “No,” Carrie said. “I’m not expecting any calls.” Not now, not ever again, she realized.

  He closed the door and stood beside her, arms crossed, gazing at the sky, not saying a word.

  “When is your father expected?” Carrie asked, breaking the silence.

  “When? Or what?”

  Carrie glanced at him, not understanding.

  “He’s due on Friday.” Daniel cleared his throat. “But he’s expecting that by now I’ve asked you to marry me.” He kept his eyes fixed on the stars.

  Carrie’s eyes went wide with surprise. She opened her mouth but no words came to the surface. Suddenly, an image of Sol with his arm around that girl bounced, unbidden, into her head. She wanted to hurt Sol as much as he had hurt her. What could hurt Sol more than knowing she had married? Without thinking, she blurted out, “Andy comes with me.”

  Daniel gave a nod.

  Carrie’s mind started to spin. “I’ve started baptism instructions this summer.”

  Mattie had persuaded Carrie to take the classes together. Carrie finally agreed, hoping Sol would hear that she was going to be baptized. She knew his mother wrote to him each week. Sol had been right about that one thing; it wasn’t like he was under the ban. His folks were deeply disappointed in him, but they held out hope that he’d get over sowing his wild oats and return home.

  Well, Carrie wasn’t waiting for him. As far as she was concerned, he chose baseball over her and nothing would ever change that. “I’ll be baptized in a few weeks. Then I’d like a wedding soon after.” She glanced up at the direction of Esther’s bedroom window. “As soon as possible.”

  Daniel gave another nod.

  Carrie took a deep breath. “I have to be honest about something. I don’t love you.”

  Daniel smiled, a slow unraveling. “Makes things simpler,” was all he said, leaning over the porch railing, gazing at the moonless sky.

  Carrie looked at his profile for a long time, trying to understand him. She had a feeling that she never would. “I don’t know how they do things in Ohio, but here, you need to speak to the deacon who will speak to me. About marrying, I mean. He acts like a go-between.”

  Daniel straightened up and turned to her, looking her straight in the eyes. He held out his hand. “Deal?”

  Carrie’s eyes dropped down to his large open hand and she shook it, sealing the bargain.

  Not long after the deacon’s visit, Carrie and Daniel set the day for their wedding. As Carrie pinned the top of her blue wedding dress, she felt as if she might faint dead away, caught in that horrible place between regret and resolution. She wondered how Daniel was feeling right then, if he felt as sick as she did.

  She fit the organza prayer cap over her hair bun, tying the strings under her chin, feeling as if her world had just become very narrow and she couldn’t get enough air. For one fleeting moment, as she heard the churned-up gravel made by the arriving buggies, she thought about running away. Finding Sol.

  But then she thought about her father. And Andy.

  A fierce grief welled up within her, nearly to the point of bursting. One thought spilled into another and soon Sol filled her mind again. Cold fury displaced grief, renewing her determination. She finished tying the cap and smoothed the creases on her apron. Carrie was just about to go downstairs when she heard a gentle knock on the door. She took a deep breath and opened the door to find Yonnie, Daniel’s grandmother.

  Soft wrinkles creased Yonnie’s face as she studied Carrie. Then, a satisfied smile covered Yonnie’s face, warm as a summer day. “So. Today is your wedding day,” she said, in a voice tender and shaky with age.

  In her arms was a bundle wrapped in tissue. It looked as though it weighed more than she did. Carrie took the bundle from her and helped her sit down on a chair.

  “You can open it,” Yonnie said.

  Carefully, Carrie unwrapped the tissue and found a quilt inside. “It’s called a Crazy Quilt.” Yonnie’s words were slow and faltering, her voice as thin as a trail of smoke. “It seems more fitting to have brought you a Double Wedding Ring, but for some reason, I felt as if this one was the right one.”

  Carrie gave her a sideways glance. She fought a wave of guilt as she realized Yonnie assumed she loved Daniel.

  Yonnie pointed to some blue triangles. “I used the scraps from Daniel’s clothes. They’re from his growing-up years.”

  Carrie’s chin snapped up. “You made this quilt all by yourself?” “I did.”The strings on her organza kapp bobbed as she nodded. She wasn’t being proud, just stating a fact.

  “You’re a fine quilter, Yonnie. It’s wonderful.” Carrie laid the quilt out on the bed, the place where she and Daniel would spend their first night as man and wife. Her last few nights in Esther’s home, she realized, relieved. Last night she had learned that Esther’s eldest daughter and her husband were moving in to take over the farm, dispelling any doubts that she had made the right decision. At least, for Andy’s sake.

  Yonnie’s Crazy Quilt was stunning. Deep-colored jewels of purple and green set among bright turquoise. The pattern practically popped in the room against the stark white walls and simple furniture. It snatched Carrie’s breath away, the same feeling she got after the first snowfall each year.

  “Truth be told, some people don’t like the Crazy Quilt so much,” Yonnie said, gently smoothing her weathered hand across the tiny stitches. “It’s usually made of scrap cloth. But for some reason it’s one of my favorites. Daniel’s too.” She paused to take a breath.

  “Thank you, Yonnie. I will always treasure it.” Carrie’s life felt like a Crazy Quilt right now, long before the pieces were brought together into a pattern. Would they ever?

  Carrie looked in the mirror one last time, took a deep breath, and followed Yonnie down the stairs to go marry Daniel Miller.

  All of the furniture in the front room had been moved out for the wedding to allow room for seating. The traditional celery-filled vases had been placed around the house, and a mountain of food had been prepared by the ladies in the church. As Carrie stood beside Daniel in front of the bishop, her name was forever changed from Carrie Weaver to Carrie Miller.

  The wedding lasted the entire afternoon and evening. Two meals were served for over three hundred people. Emma was happiest at weddings, Carrie thought, watching her move from table to table like a bumblebee over a field of flowers.

  Carrie and Daniel were seated for meals at the Eck, the corner table reserved for the bride and groom. She noticed that her school friends seemed childish and silly compared to Daniel. Many of them hadn’t been baptized yet and were still in the throes of their Rumspringa, sampling temptations that the world had to offer before renouncing
worldly pleasures for good. All but Mattie, Carrie realized, watching her as she talked to Andy. Mattie never seemed to need a Rumspringa to know who she was. She was born knowing. She was like the hymn sung at the wedding ceremony, always sung in the same, sure way.

  Later that night, after the last buggy pulled out of the gravel driveway and the last dish had been washed and put away, Carrie went upstairs to get ready for bed. She felt all trembly and shaky too, as if she’d been sipping on Esther’s sweet rhubarb wine. Her stomach felt like a knotted fist. This was the moment that she had been dreading, ever since she had agreed to marry Daniel. She reviewed in her mind all of the reasons she had married Daniel—that she needed a home for her and Andy, that her father had approved of Daniel and hoped for this union. In a far corner of her heart, she knew this was the right thing to do. But she had dreamed about her wedding for years now, and the man in her dreams who would be knocking on her door should have been Solomon Riehl.

  She gazed out the window at the sliver of a new moon. Not a moment later, Daniel knocked at the door. Carrie cleared her throat. “C-come in,” she said.

  Daniel came inside and closed the door behind him, hand on the doorknob. He stood there for a moment, looking at her, his expression unfathomable. She wondered if he could tell that she was shaking, though he was across the room. It seemed to her as if he was in the middle of deciding something. Then the moment passed. He walked over to the bed and grabbed a pillow and Yonnie’s quilt. As he spread out the quilt on the floor, he said, “Seems best to wait. I’ll sleep here.”

  Carrie didn’t know how to respond. “Daniel, I mean to be a good wife to you,” she finally said, lifting her chin bravely.

  He nodded. “We can wait. Till you’re ready.” He took his vest and shirt off and hung them on a peg on the wall. Then, as comfortable as if he had been doing this every night of his life and she wasn’t even in the room, he took off his shoes and pants, stripped down to his longjohns, and stretched out on the floor, pulling the quilt over him. “Night,” he said.

  Arms crossed, Carrie remained at the window, hugely relieved. She listened as Daniel’s breathing settled into the even rhythm of sleep. She realized how little she knew about Daniel Miller, this man she had married. She didn’t even know how old he was, or what his birthday was, or his favorite meal, or how or when his mother had passed. She didn’t even know he would be so kind.

  3

  A few days after Carrie and Daniel’s wedding, a group of men arrived at the Millers’ newly purchased property early in the morning to get to work on the house. There was a lot of work to do, undoing modern conveniences to make it suitable. They disconnected the electricity, unhooked telephone jacks from the wall, lugged out a washing machine and an electric dryer, pulled screens off the windows.

  About midmorning Carrie went outside to get some fresh air. She spread old quilts over the pieces of plywood resting on sawhorses that would serve as makeshift tables. Then she set out jars of coleslaw, bean salad, and applesauce that she and Emma had canned last summer. She spotted a big boulder on the lawn, soaking up the sun, so she went over to it and sat down, resting a minute.

  Carrie leaned back on her elbows, grateful for the sun’s warmth on her face. She looked up at the big house, at the white clapboard siding and the green shutters with little cut-out pine trees, at the stone foundation the house rested on. It was fancier than the simple Amish farmhouses she was used to. A pretty house, to be sure, but would it ever be a home to her? Would she ever learn to be content in this life she chose? She felt so strange inside. Sad and lonely and missing the life she thought she would have.

  A small red car without a top on it suddenly swerved onto the circular gravel driveway and parked by the front door. Out hopped a young woman, talking to herself. She had an odd black clothespin attached to her ear. She didn’t notice Carrie as she hurried to the door. She pressed the doorbell, glanced at her wristwatch, then pressed the doorbell again.

  Carrie watched the stranger for a while, amused by the woman’s growing irritation. She had red hair, long and sleek, held back by a dark band around her head. Her white shirt hugged her body, with the shortest skirt and the longest legs Carrie had ever seen. The heels on her shoes were so tall that Carrie wondered how she could walk on them without tipping over.

  Finally, the stranger turned around impatiently, scanning the yard, and noticed Carrie. “Miss? Oh miss?” She waved. “Your doorbell doesn’t work.”

  “No. I guess it doesn’t.” Carrie got to her feet, dusted off her apron, and went over to finish setting the table for lunch.

  “Are you the homeowner?” she asked, hurrying over to Carrie. Carrie looked up at the big house. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  Relief smoothed out her face. “Good! My name is Veronica McCall. Here’s my business card.”

  The woman was very pretty, Carrie thought. She had creamy white skin, even features, but her green eyes . . . they had a sharpness to them, like the glint of a frozen pond reflecting a winter sky.

  Carrie took the business card, read it, then slipped it into her apron pocket. “Hello, Veronica McCall.” She gave her a nod and started to put cups at each place setting.

  She trotted behind Carrie. “And you are . . . ?”

  “I’m Carrie Miller.” It sounded strange to her tongue to stick Miller after her name.

  “Well, Carrie, if you don’t mind giving me a few minutes of your time, I’d like to discuss purchasing your property.”

  Carrie laid out forks and plates at each spot. “Thank you, Veronica McCall, but this property is not for sale.”

  Veronica McCall was not easily dissuaded. “I can guarantee a profit for you.”

  Carrie smiled and shook her head. She had forgotten napkins, so she turned to head back into the kitchen just as Davy Zook, Mattie’s brother, burst outside, holding a big metal box.

  Veronica McCall stared at him as he hoisted the box in the wagon. “Is that a microwave?”

  “Would you like it?” Carrie asked her. “We have no use for it.” She looked mystified.

  “You’re welcome to anything in that wagon, Veronica Mc-Call.”

  Her eyes were locked on the wagon’s contents: an electric stove, two window air conditioners, a room heater, electric wall lamps. “Are you moving out? Or in?”

  “Moving in. Fixing the house up. Soon, they’ll be pulling down the walls inside to make it so we can fit a large gathering for Sunday meetings.” The confused expression on her face amused Carrie. “Are you new to our county, Veronica McCall?”

  She shook her head as if trying to remember why she was here. “Yes. I just moved here from San Francisco.”

  “Earthquake country.”

  “Well, yes, but I’d take an earthquake any day over these lightning and thunderstorms.” She scanned the skies for any threatening clouds, frowning.

  “It would take a leap of faith for me to live in earthquake country,” Carrie answered. Suddenly, she smiled. She was trying to decide on a name for her new home but hadn’t settled on any. Maybe she should call it Leap of Faith Farm. Or better still: Blind Leap of Faith Farm. That’s exactly what it felt like. Like she was taking a gigantic leap of faith. With her eyes closed shut.

  Veronica McCall laughed. “I hope we can become friends, Carrie.”

  Carrie thought she saw a glimmer of sincerity behind those cold, glittering green eyes. But maybe not.

  “Anyway, as you can see on the business card—”

  Carrie patted her apron pocket.

  “—I’m in business development for my corporation. We’re very interested in acquiring property we can convert into a golf course. Finding land around here is nearly impossible. Yours has ideal topography.” She paused for a moment, looking out across to the even rows of trees in the orchards.

  “The slopes help to minimize frost damage to the apples,” Carrie said. She had heard her father tell Eli that very thing.

  Veronica ignored her. “It’s possible that the
house could be converted to a clubhouse, and that area there”—she made a sweeping gesture with her hand—“could be torn down and used for parking. Really, it’s perfect. We’re hoping we won’t even need double fairways.” She turned to Carrie. “Safety can be a factor with double fairways, you know.”

  Carrie didn’t understand her words, or the meaning behind them, so she answered with silence.

  “Of course, we have to get rid of that old carriage house and that barn. So many rickety old barns in this area.” She made a clucking sound.

  “There’s a saying in the Plain life: ‘A farm is not a farm without its barn,’ ” Carrie said.

  Veronica opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut and tilted her head at Carrie, puzzled.

  “The Amish build their barns first. When the farm is successful, a good house follows. To the Amish, a barn is more important than a house.”

  Veronica shook that thought off, then resumed her sales pitch. “And this property holds excellent proximity to Honor Mansion, which is really why I’m here.” She spun around to face Carrie. “The hotel was recently bought by my corporation, Bonnatt’s Development Company. First, we have plans for a major renovation on the mansion. You know, day spa, tennis courts, and then, a golf course.” She flashed a brilliant smile, revealing white, even teeth. “So, Carrie, how much would you like for it?”

  Carrie admired this woman’s tenacity, but she had work to do. “Thank you, but as I said, it’s not for sale.”

  Veronica sighed. “Is there anyone else whom I could speak to?”

  “You could talk to Eli Miller. He’s just coming up from the barn now.” Eli, Daniel, and a few other men were walking toward them from the barn. They had been examining where to put the blacksmithing shop that they planned as a sideline business. Apples alone weren’t enough to pay the bills.

  “Which one is he?” Veronica asked. “They all look alike! Blue shirts, black trousers with suspenders, straw hats—”