She screamed and brushed it off. “Andy, you shouldn’t be climbing so high up! You’ll fall!”
“Nah. I’m nearly there.” With that, he swung one leg onto the branch by his head. There was a huge crack! as the limb broke. Andy spilled on top of Mattie, knocking the breath out of her.
“Oh Andy, are you all right?” Mattie asked, as soon as she stopped feeling dazed. She tried to get up, but he was smashed on top of her like a pancake. “Say something!”
“I think I’m dead,” he said, rolling off of her as he held up his arm. His wrist looked as crooked as a snapped tree twig.
“Oh no!” Mattie said as she sat up, eyeing his wrist. “Another visit to the emergency room.”
Andy smiled weakly. “At least they got television.”
Mattie managed to wheel Andy to Carrie’s on the scooter, slowly and awkwardly. While she hitched up the buggy to take Andy to the hospital, Carrie wrote a note to leave on the kitchen table for Daniel.
After the X-rays had been developed, Andy waited on a bed in the far corner of the emergency room, close to the television. Carrie had just turned the channel to a cartoon when the doctor came in and sat on Andy’s bed.
“Popeye! My favorite!” he said, after glancing up to see what Andy was watching. “I yam what I yam,” he said in a funny voice. “My mom let me watch it so I would eat spinach. But I still can’t stomach spinach.”
Andy looked up at him, wide-eyed, surprised by his casualness. The doctor picked up Andy’s chart, reviewed the notes, and peered at the X-ray pinned against the light. “I’m Dr. Zimmerman. Doing my internship here at Stoney Ridge.” He smiled at Carrie and Mattie. “So, Andy, you broke your wrist and you’re a hemophiliac. Just to be sure, we’re going to give you a dose of Factor IX.” He looked at Carrie and Mattie. “So which one of you broke his fall?”
“That would be her,” Carrie said, pointing at Mattie. “She has a knack for being in the right place at the right time.”
Mattie’s cheeks reddened at the praise. “I’m going to the cafeteria to get Andy something to eat.”
Dr. Zimmerman gave instructions to the nurse to get the IV drip for Factor IX set up for Andy, then he opened the cupboard to get the supplies for the cast. “Let’s see if I can remember what they taught me in medical school.” He looked at the supplies as if he’d never seen them before.
“So you’re new at doctoring?” Andy asked, a little worried.
“Well, I think a day-old degree is good enough, don’t you?” Dr.Zimmerman answered, eyes snapping with good humor. Andy’s eyes, as wide as saucers, made Dr. Zimmerman burst into laughter at his own joke. He started unwrapping the gauze. “What color cast do you want?” he asked Andy. “Neon green would make the school kids think you’re a super action figure.”
“White,” Carrie interrupted.
Andy groaned.
The doctor looked at Carrie with a question.
“We don’t like things showy or loud,” she said. “We don’t want anything that draws attention.”
“What’s so wrong with drawing attention to yourself?” the doctor asked.
Carrie wrinkled her brow. “What’s so right about it?”
The doctor shrugged. “Good point.” He turned to Andy. “White would be my choice too.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “That way, you can tell kids that it’s really leprosy.”
“What’s leprosy?” Andy asked.
“It’s a highly contagious disease that eats away at your skin,” he said, mixing up the plaster to spread over the gauze. “Looks pretty disgusting. Very effective way to gross out your friends.”
Watching him with fascination, Andy brightened considerably at that news.
After an hour’s wait in the waiting room, Solomon Riehl had just been admitted into the Emergency Room. His shoulder was throbbing and he wasn’t sure what was wrong with it. It had been bothering him for a few weeks now, but aspirin usually took the edge off of the pain. Not today, though. He didn’t want to talk to the team’s trainer; if he did, it would be noted on his records. That could tip off the pitching coach to a problem. The coach was conservative like that. Sol just had to get through another few weeks, then he could give his shoulder a good long rest. He was hoping he could get a cortisone shot or something, like the other guys on the team did.
On the far side of the room, past the nurse’s station, the silhouette of an Amish woman caught his eye. He put his things down on the bed, then looked closer to see if he might know who she was. He knew most of the Amish in Stoney Ridge. The woman had her back to him, facing the doctor. The doctor had put the blood pressure cuff around his own head and started to pump, making the boy on the bed start to giggle, then to guffaw out loud. Sol’s heart started to pound. He knew that laugh. That was Andy’s laugh. And if that was Andy, then the Amish woman was Carrie. He hadn’t seen her since the day he had left. It still made his insides twist up, every single day, what he had done to her.
Sol watched as the doctor high-fived Andy’s good hand before he left. The nurse started an IV on Andy. Sol figured it was that hemophilia stuff he needed. After the nurse left, Sol jumped off the bed and grabbed his jacket. In that instant, an Amish man arrived, hat in hand, and stood by the door, scanning the room until his eyes rested on Carrie. In a few quick strides, the man reached her side and stood close to her. She leaned in against him, to tell him something. Sol drew back, as if touching a hot stove.
After a while, Sol saw the man head out the door into the hallway and decided to follow him. He slipped into the hallway and saw the cafeteria doors swing shut. Sol peered through the small window of the door and noticed the man, standing in front of the coffee vending machine, feeding the machine with coins.
Sol pushed open the cafeteria door. “She likes her coffee black,” he said, walking up to the man.
Daniel looked at Sol, puzzled.
“Carrie,” Sol said. “She likes it black because that’s how her father liked his coffee.”
Recognition dawned in Daniel’s eyes. “Solomon Riehl,” he stated, a fact.
“I am,” Sol said. “And you’re Daniel Miller.”
Sol and Daniel stood looking at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up.
Daniel turned back to the coffee machine and punched the buttons for cream and sugar. After the cup filled, he turned to go.
Sol blocked his path. “She loves me, you know. She’ll always love me.”
Daniel swirled the coffee in his hand, watching the warm shades of brown and cream blend together.
“I happened to be in Ohio awhile back, playing a scrimmage.” Sol watched Daniel carefully to see if there was any reaction, but he could have been describing the weather. Daniel’s face was hugely unreadable. “Met a few Amish guys who came to watch me play. Guess they had heard about me.”
Daniel lifted his head to look Sol straight in the eyes.
“They told me an interesting story about you and your cousin. About why you left Ohio.”
Daniel’s eyebrows lifted.
“Made me wonder how much Carrie knows. About you, I mean.”
Sol thought he caught a flash of something in Daniel’s eyes, then there was nothing.
Daniel lifted the coffee cup. “She likes it with cream and sugar because that’s the way her mother drank it.” He opened the door to leave, tossing over his shoulder, “My Carrie is waiting for me.”
Sol stood there for a moment, watching the doors swing shut. It was common for the Amish to call each other “my” or “our”; it was part of belonging. But that wasn’t how he meant it, Sol thought. Daniel Miller said “my Carrie” like a claim.
A young woman’s soft and soothing voice came from behind him. “Hello, Solomon.”
Sol spun around to see who was talking to him. There, smiling ear to ear, stood little Mattie Zook.
On the way home, Daniel stopped the buggy at the tree where Andy had been climbing when he fell. Andy had begged him to save the birds and bring t
he nest home.
Daniel shimmied up the tree and peered in the nest. “They’re Cooper’s hawks!”
“So?” Andy yelled.
Daniel looked down at him. “They’re predators. They steal other bird eggs. And go after small animals too.”
“You said that every creature has a purpose, Daniel,” Andy yelled back. “You told me that.”
Daniel gave an exaggerated sigh. “So I did.”
“Them birds need our help!”
Daniel untangled the nest from its crook. He tucked it under his arm and shimmied back down the tree. There were three baby birds in the nest, already near death’s door, panting and gasping, hardly moving. Andy reached into his pocket with his good hand and pulled out what was left of the worms he had caught that morning. He cradled the nest in his lap and tried to jam bits of worm into the birds’ beaks.
“They need water,” Daniel said.
“Yonnie might have an eye dropper in her medicine chest,” Carrie said. “You can try that.” But the feeble condition of those baby birds worried her. Andy was just barely getting over their father’s death, if such a thing were possible, she thought. She wasn’t really sure she’d ever feel the same way she did before Jacob died. The pain wasn’t as severe as it had been a few months ago, though it would catch her off guard sometimes. Just yesterday, she found a list with Jacob’s handwriting on it and tears flooded her eyes. Most days, though, grief wasn’t at the forefront anymore.
Still, neither was happiness.
By the next afternoon, with Andy’s vigilant care, the baby birds made a complete turnaround. They were noisy and demanding houseguests. Smelly too. Carrie insisted that the nest be moved out of the warm kitchen and into the barn. Andy objected, certain they would freeze to death.
“They’ll be fine, Andy,” Carrie said reassuringly. “The barn is protected.” She pointed to the barn. “Go.”
Just as soon as Andy disappeared into the barn with the nest, Mattie came to the door bringing a box wrapped up in warm scarves. She unwrapped the box on the kitchen table. Inside were five creamy white eggs. “They’re Canada geese eggs. Dad ordered a batch to restock the pond. You’ll need to keep them incubated for about a month. I thought, in case the hawk babies don’t make it, well, this way he’d have something else to take care of.”
Mattie packed the eggs up again to keep them warm.
Daniel took the box out of her arms to take to the barn. Solemnly, he looked at her and said, “You have a good heart, Mattie Zook.”
5
It was just about a year ago, Carrie realized, on a beautiful fall day just like today—crisp and cold, with leaves on the trees in shades from red to yellow—that she had made her last batch of sweet cider with her father. She had watched Jacob closely as he mixed juices from different varieties of apples to make his sweet cider. He was very particular about his cider.
“Folks count on my cider, Carrie girl, to help them get through the long winter, so we got to make it just right.”
Together, they sampled blends before deciding on the perfect combination. “Thirty-six apples, not one more or one less, make a gallon of cider,” he had said, counting them out.
Even then, she felt a shiver of precognition, to seal that memory— a perfect moment, a perfect day.
After Daniel sold the fancy-grade apples from this year’s harvest to a packing house, Carrie decided to use the leftover apples to re-create her father’s cider. In the carriage house, Daniel had found an old cider press and cleaned it up for her. All week, she had been trying to match the taste of her father’s cider—sweet and tart. Carrie didn’t think the taste of her cider rivaled Jacob’s— her apple varieties differed from his—but it was close enough for the neighbors. At church on Sunday, Carrie told one person, the right person—Emma—that she was making Jacob’s cider, and by Monday morning, neighbors were lined up at the farmhouse with empty plastic gallon milk jugs.
One of the first customers was Annie Zook, a school friend of Carrie’s who married one of Mattie’s cousins and was pregnant with twins.
“That girl is about ready to pop,” Emma said, waving to Annie as she drove off in the buggy. Emma had come for the day, to help, she said, but she spent her time talking with visiting neighbors. She glanced curiously at Carrie’s flat midriff. “Seems like we should be getting an announcement pretty soon, doesn’t it?” Then she frowned. “Though Mother said that you might take after your own mother, who had trouble having babies. She said your mother was a frail and sickly thing. She said your mother was a carrier of hemophilia and that’s why it was a double whammy with Jacob being a bleeder and Andy being a bleeder. She wondered if you might have trouble too.”
Carrie stiffened but wasn’t surprised. The Plain had a saying: a new baby every spring. “If Esther seems to know so much about me,” she asked Emma, “why don’t you just ask her?”
These days, Esther barely said more than a few words to Carrie other than to point out Andy’s shortcomings. Yesterday at church, Esther had picked up Andy by the back of the collar, like a coat on a peg, and told Carrie that he needed a haircut.
Emma planted her hands on her hips. “There’s no need to get huffy. I just figured you’d be—”
“Cinnamon rolls are burning, Emma,” Daniel interrupted, passing the women on his way to the barn.
“Himmel! No! I told Yonnie to take them out thirty minutes ago . . .” Emma hurried to the kitchen, her legs pumping hard as if she were being chased by a swarm of yellow jackets.
Carrie turned to Daniel. “I saw Yonnie take those rolls out of the oven awhile ago.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Ach? Ich bin letz.” Oh? My mistake. Into his mouth he popped the last bite of a cinnamon roll he had hidden behind his black leather apron. A smile flickered over Daniel’s lips, so quick, so faint, that Carrie thought she might have imagined it.
The first snowfall of winter dusted Stoney Ridge on Christmas. Before dawn, Daniel woke Andy to show him the sight of moonlight casting shadows on the white earth. Afterward, the two went into the barn to feed the animals. Andy flew out of the barn and let out a thunderbuster bellow that shook the air. Carrie rushed down, thinking something terrible must have happened.
Instead, it was something wonderful.
Daniel had surprised Andy with a pony, Strawberry, and a cart of his own. When Carrie saw the look on Andy’s face as he stroked the roan-colored pony in the stall, her eyes filled with tears.
“Aw, it’s not so much, Carrie,” Daniel said, but he looked pleased. “Just a way to get him to school and back.”
The Zooks had invited Carrie’s family over to share Christmas dinner, so later that day Eli readied the buggy. Carrie looked forward to being with Mattie, but she worried about the turn of weather. The day had grown dark and cold, and snow was starting to pile up. Carrie fussed over Yonnie in the buggy, covering her with blankets warmed by the kitchen stove. Daniel wanted to train Andy to manage Strawberry, so they followed behind in the cart. Carrie peered through the back window of Eli’s buggy at the sight of them. Daniel stood with his arms wrapped around Andy, partly to block the wind and partly to help him control the reins. Andy’s hat had blown off, his coat was open, his red cheeks looked windchapped. But the look of pure joy on his face warmed Carrie’s heart like a summer day.
Winter storms hit twice in January, just enough to keep things interesting, Eli said, without making life too difficult. In the middle of the month, the skies were blue, but a cold snap kept the ground frozen solid, so Eli and Daniel decided the time was right to prune the orchards. If the weather turned too warm, the slushy snow would turn to mud, slowing them down.
Midmorning and midafternoon, Carrie brought a warm drink and snack out to Daniel and Eli in the orchards to keep them fortified. As they finished pruning the last few acres of apple trees, she noticed that Eli had to stop frequently. He had trouble catching his breath, like he was at the top of a mountain and couldn’t get enough air. She thought
he was just having a hard time climbing up and down the ramp, dragging heavy saws, but she could see that Daniel was concerned.
One day at lunch, Eli felt so worn out that he decided to lie down in his room for a few minutes. After watching Eli slowly make his way up the stairs, Daniel asked her if she knew of any heart doctors in town, but she only knew of blood doctors.
“Has your father had trouble with his heart?” Carrie asked.
Daniel didn’t answer right away, so Yonnie filled in. “Terrible trouble. He has a bad heart. Doctor had to open him up. Doctor said it was like . . . like fixing a leaky sprinkler.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. “Surgery to fix a valve.”
“I’ll ask around and see if someone knows of a heart doctor to recommend,” Carrie said.
“Doctor can’t fix it,” Yonnie said sadly. “His heart is just broken to pieces.”
Slowly, like a weathervane, Daniel turned and stared at her. All the world’s sorrow, all the world’s pain, filled those troubled blue eyes.
“Oh Daniel, I didn’t mean . . .” Yonnie’s hands flew up to her mouth, as if trying to stop the flow of words.
He dropped his head, then lifted it. When he turned to Carrie, his blue eyes went still again. She’d never seen a person’s face change so fast.
“Tell Eli I’ll wait for him in the workshop,” he told her, plucking his broadbrim off the wall peg before heading outside.
Carrie wondered what had just been said between Yonnie and Daniel. Or not said, as seemed to be Daniel’s way. She closed the kitchen door, watching him. She couldn’t crack that man open with a sledgehammer.
Suddenly, Yonnie’s fork clattered on the floor as she clapped her hands together and started whispering, “Gottes wille. Gottes wille.”
Not a moment later, a loud tumbling sound came from overhead. It was followed by an eerie silence.
Carrie ran to the kitchen door and called out to Daniel. Nearly at the barn, he spun around and bolted to the house, almost as if he had been expecting Carrie’s call. He burst into the kitchen and flew up the stairs, two at a time, and threw open the door to his father’s room. By the time Carrie reached them, she found Daniel cradling his father in his arms, a stricken look on his face as he called out, “Dad! Dad!” Eli’s mouth moved silently, like a fish out of water. His hands were gripping his shirt, in great pain. Then he went still.
The Choice (Lancaster County Secrets 1) Page 6
