The Choice (Lancaster County Secrets 1)

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Daniel looked up at Carrie with a horrified look. “Er is nimmi am scharfe.” He’s gone.

  Carrie was grateful Andy wasn’t home when Eli passed. She thought she would meet him at school to prepare him for the sight of Eli’s body, laid out in the front room.

  As she took her bonnet off of the peg, Daniel stopped her. “I’ll go. Need the fresh air.”

  Carrie’s heart felt heavy as she saw Daniel walk down the driveway, hands jammed in his pockets, head dropped low. He seemed so alone. The deeper the feelings, she was discovering about him, the more he withdrew into himself. She didn’t know how to help him.

  No sooner had Daniel disappeared down the street but Veronica McCall arrived, banging on the front door as if Carrie were deaf as a fencepost. When Carrie opened the door, Veronica squeezed past her to enter the house. When Veronica’s eyes rested on Yonnie’s quilts, stacked up in the corner of the front room, she gasped. She rushed over to the quilts, pulling them out to admire them.

  “These are masterpieces! They’re stunning! They should be hanging in a museum!” She yanked them open as if they were sheets for a bed. “Did you make these, Carrie?”

  “No. Daniel’s grandmother made them. She’s upstairs, resting—” “Well, you just hop upstairs and wake her up! I have a proposition to make her.”

  “This isn’t a good time for a visit—”

  “Carrie, I want these quilts for the inn when it reopens! Name your price!”

  Carrie sighed. “They’re not for sale. Yonnie makes the quilts for her family to use. There are other quilters in Stoney Ridge who want to sell quilts.”

  “I know. I’ve been looking. But there are none like these. I’ve never seen any like these.” Veronica McCall planted her hands on her hips and tilted her head at Carrie. “For an Amish woman, you drive a hard bargain.”

  “But I’m not trying to bargain.”

  “Everyone has a price, Carrie. Everyone can be bought. Even you.”

  Carrie was losing patience. “It’s not our way,” she said firmly, hoping to end the discussion.

  Suddenly, Veronica McCall’s eyes grew as large as dinner plates. She had just noticed Eli’s still body lying on the table behind Carrie.

  “Um, uh,” Veronica McCall sputtered, at a rare loss for words. “Perhaps this isn’t the best time for a visit.” She handed Carrie a business card. “Call me later.”

  Carrie lacked the energy to explain to her that there was no phone so there would be no call. But she did ask her for one favor: to drive to Esther’s farm and tell her and Emma that Eli had passed. She tried to explain the way to find the farmhouse, describing landmarks, as was the Amish custom in giving directions. But Veronica grew impatient, tapping her toes and frowning. She wanted specifics—street names and house numbers.

  Mattie appeared at the open front door, somehow knowing they needed her. For a moment she stood listening, observing Veronica’s growing frustration. “The Lord will guide you there,” she said at last, steering Veronica out to her car.

  Daniel grew even quieter in the weeks after Eli passed. Carrie would catch him deep in thought at odd moments, his mind a million miles away, like the time he stood on a ramp in the barn leading up to the hayloft, hayfork in his hands, just staring off into the distance. Or when she found him standing beside his horse Schtarm, holding the harness, forehead bowed against the gelding’s big neck. Either way, it seemed as though he was living in a world she couldn’t reach.

  One night in mid-March, Carrie woke suddenly. Something was wrong. Daniel’s bed was empty. She heard Hope’s bellow, calling from the barn, in great pain. This yearling heifer, given to Andy by Jacob when he turned eight, was not just an animal to them. She was an extension of the family. Hope was the first of the herd on their farm. I’m counting on her, just like she is counting on me, Carrie thought as she quickly threw on warm clothes, wrapped a shawl around her head, and hurried out to the barn.

  When Carrie slid the barn door open, she saw Daniel in Hope’s stall.

  He looked up at her, surprised. “How’d you hear her with that wind howling?”

  Carrie shrugged, her eyes fixed on Hope. She was in trouble. A tiny hoof stuck out between her hind legs. Swiftly, she reached for the thin chain hanging on the wall.

  “No. Let me,” Daniel said, taking it out of her hands.

  He reached a gloved hand into Hope, catching the little hoof with the chain, before a contraction started that nearly squeezed his arm off. Carrie gasped when she saw his face contort, matching Hope’s pain.

  When the contraction subsided, he asked her to crank the chain as he gently tugged.

  “Careful, Daniel, careful.”

  Carrie cranked, Daniel tugged, Hope pushed and bellowed. Slowly the calf began to ease out of the canal. Daniel motioned to have Carrie come next to him. He gently guided her hands into Hope’s canal, under the calf ’s warm and slimy body.

  “You make the delivery,” he said.

  So Carrie began to tug and tug, and ever so gently the calf began to come out. First the hoofs, then the shoulders. Then the neck. Before she knew it, a miniature white face emerged. Then the entire body slipped out, like shooting down a waterslide. Carrie collapsed to the hay-covered floor, the calf half in her lap and half on the floor.

  “A girl!” Carrie said, relieved. Had it been a male, she would have to sell it soon to a farmer who raised steers.

  Daniel and Carrie watched with wonder as the little white nose wrinkled, sneezed, and took in her first breath. Hope turned and began to rasp her rough tongue along the wet whorls of her baby’s hide. With this stimulation, the calf began to struggle to get to her feet, wobbling toward her mother. They touched noses, a first meeting. Then the calf nuzzled to nurse as Hope continued cleaning up her newborn.

  It was that quiet time of a new day, when the earth seemed to be holding its breath, gently turning from darkness to daylight. “The circle of life, once again completed,” Carrie said softly.

  Hope swung her heavy head at Carrie with big, soulful brown eyes, blinking her long white eyelashes as if in agreement with the assessment.

  Carrie laughed and hooked her arm through Daniel’s. “It’s a sign, Daniel. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Think so?”

  “I do. I’m sure of it,” she answered, sounding more confident than she felt.

  He gave her a soft, slow smile. They looked at each other, sharing a mutual thought, a fragile hope. Gently, he leaned over to kiss her, grazing her lips with his. Then his arms slid around her waist and he pulled her to him, pressing his lips against hers as if a kiss could tell her what words would not.

  That first kiss from Daniel made Carrie think about the last kiss Sol had given her. About how different they were. A beginning and an end.

  As Carrie thought about Hope’s new calf and the way Daniel had held on to her, as if he was a drowning man and she was throwing him a long branch to drag him to shore, she made a decision.

  Ready or not, it was time that Daniel got off of that cold floor. He had never complained, but she knew he would jump at the chance if she invited him into her bed. More than once, she caught the hungry look on his face, watching her as she got ready for bed, combing out her hair. Not long ago, she had even put aside her modesty and talked it over with Mattie. Her response jolted Carrie. “Daniel is a man, not a saint. What are you waiting for?” Mattie told her, sounding like a seasoned woman of the world.

  So what was Carrie waiting for?

  It wasn’t love. She was practical enough to know that she would never feel for Daniel what she had felt for Sol. She hadn’t married Daniel with any schoolgirl notions. Still, she was growing fond of Daniel and his quiet, kind ways. She appreciated how patient he was with her brother, how tender he was with his grandmother, how thoughtful and caring he was to her.

  So what was she waiting for?

  After giving that question some serious thought, she realized she was waiting to feel as if she knew D
aniel, really knew him. She remembered how she used to hear her mother and father talk with each other at the kitchen table after she had gone to bed. That’s what she hoped for in a marriage, that kind of closeness. In that way, she wanted Bund. Intimacy. A bond.

  But sometimes, she thought Daniel would never really let her know him any better than she did. He seemed so closed up, so private. He rarely spoke more than a few words at a time—even his sentences seemed economized.

  Later that afternoon, Daniel and Andy went to the feed store in town to buy bird food for the Cooper’s hawk babies. At the last minute, Yonnie decided to go too. Carrie put some hot water in empty milk jugs to keep Yonnie warm, and covered her with extra blankets in the buggy.

  After they had left, Carrie went out to the barn to check on Hope and the new calf. She sat on the milking stool beside Hope, milking her for the first time. This first milking, filled with colostrum, would be put in a bottle for the calf ’s first meal.

  She rubbed the indented spot between Hope’s two ears. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

  Hope licked and huffed and looked at her with large, peaceful eyes. As Carrie bent over to pick up the bucket, she heard the barn door slide open and fill the room with afternoon sunlight. Carrie looked up to see who it was, but the sun, behind the barn’s door in a blaze of glory, dazzled her eyes so that all she saw was a black silhouette.

  “Hello, Carrie,” a man said.

  At the sound of that deep voice, Carrie’s heart started pounding so loud she was sure Solomon Riehl could hear it.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Sol said, taking a few strides into the barn. “I just want to talk to you, face-to-face.”

  As her eyes adjusted to the light, she took in the changes in Sol. His hair was shingled and short, like an English man. His face seemed a little older, tired. He had dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t rested well.

  “We have nothing to talk about.” Her words came out harsh, coming from an old and festering anger that she still felt.

  “Carrie,” he said, coming closer, “I made a mistake.”

  He was close enough now that she could smell him. It was a familiar smell to her, a smell she had once loved. She took a step back, nearly knocking over the milk bucket.

  “I had to give baseball a try. When your father died so unexpectedly, and you wouldn’t come with me, I panicked. I never should have left without you. I never should have left without telling you I was going. That I’d be back for you.”

  He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. She crossed her arms and looked away, just to avoid his gaze. She was afraid if she looked at him, she’d be drawn in, unable to resist him. She wasn’t even sure she could get any words around the knot in her throat, a knot made of tangled threads of anger and hurt.

  He took a step closer to her. His voice dropped to a whisper. “But how could you have married him? Why couldn’t you have waited for me? You knew I loved you. You knew I’d be coming for you.” Her chin lifted a notch. Defiance surged through her. “You gave me no reason to think you’d be back.”

  He put his hands on her arms. “Carrie, we can still be together. It’s not too late. And you can bring Andy. I’ll take care of both of you.”

  She jerked his hands off of her. “I was baptized into the church. And I’m . . . I’m married now.”

  He gave a slight shrug, but he kept his eyes lowered to the ground. “People leave. They leave all the time.”

  He didn’t really believe that, she thought. He couldn’t be so far removed from their ways that he would think she would leave. “You made your choice, Sol. I made mine.”

  “But that’s what I’m saying, Carrie. I made a mistake.” He reached out for her hands and tangled his fingers with hers, the way he used to. “It doesn’t have to fashion into a crisis.”

  “It’s not a crisis. But it is decided.”

  “You just married him to spite me.”

  Carrie gave a short laugh. “You don’t have any idea why I married Daniel.”

  Sol released her hands. “Carrie, you don’t really know him.”

  “And you do?”

  “I know things you don’t know. He hasn’t been honest with you. There’s something in his past—”

  She raised her hands to stop him.

  “Carrie, listen to me.”

  “No. I stopped listening to you at my father’s funeral.” Anger spilling over, she took a step closer to him. “You want to know why I married Daniel?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Because he was there.”

  And you were not, echoed silently through the barn.

  She picked up the milk bucket. “And you wouldn’t be here today if you had a baseball game to play.”

  Sol blocked her path. “I’m here today because of you. I have never stopped loving you. Not ever. I have regretted leaving without you every single day. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I’m here to make it right. Carrie, I want you more than baseball. It’s nothing without you by my side.”

  She stepped around him to leave, but he blocked her path again.

  “At least read this. Then you’ll know more. About him.” He thrust a paper into her hands.

  She left the barn and broke into a run, despite sloshing milk all around her, so that he wouldn’t see the tears splashing onto her cheeks.

  Carrie didn’t say anything to Daniel during supper, but after they’d eaten and she’d cleaned up the dishes, she went out to the barn to find him. Daniel always went out to check on the animals one last time before evening prayers.

  When she slid open the door of the barn, Daniel glanced at her from one of the horse’s stalls. He had been filling the bucket with water, but put it down when he saw her. He closed the horse’s stall, turned the latch, and approached her, a question in his eyes.

  She handed him the paper that Sol had given her. “It’s about your cousin Abel, Daniel. I know he caused a fire that killed some people. I know he’s in jail.”

  Daniel unfolded the paper and quickly scanned it.

  Softly, she asked, “Was she the girl you loved, Daniel? Is she the reason you carry such a burden?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “It hurts that you felt you had to keep this secret, instead of telling me. I would have understood.”

  He closed his eyes. He seemed to be searching for words. Then he lifted his head and quietly said, “The two women who were killed in that fire were Katie Yoder and my mother.” He looked past her, out the open barn door. “Katie and I were to be married.”

  “That’s what I—”

  Daniel put up a hand to stop her. “There was another fire. Two other people were killed.” He took a deep breath. “A man and . . . ,” his voice broke on the word, “. . . and a child.”

  “Daniel—”

  “Abel didn’t cause the fires that killed them, Carrie.” He held up the paper, a copy of a newspaper clipping. “It seems that way from this article, but the truth is that Abel was innocent. I caused the fires. I did it.” He lowered his head. “Abel went to jail in my place. But I’m responsible for the fires. For the deaths. I’m the one.”

  She felt all fuzzy headed as if her head was wrapped in her wooly shawl and she couldn’t hear him clearly. As understanding started to dawn, a panic rose within Carrie. She suddenly felt as if this man whom she thought was safe wasn’t safe at all. She didn’t really know Daniel. Or what he was capable of doing.

  Carrie knew what she should do. She should stay. She should get Daniel to tell her the whole story.

  Instead, she turned and ran.

  Carrie didn’t return home for hours. When she walked up the kitchen steps, Yonnie was waiting by the door.

  “What are you doing up?” Carrie asked, as she hung her shawl up on the wooden peg.

  “We were worried about you,” Yonnie said.

  “I’m sorry to cause you concern. I was over at Mattie’s.” Carrie had spilled everything out to Mattie, about Sol showing up and the ne
wspaper article, about what Daniel had said. Mattie listened carefully, then told Carrie to stop making up her mind ahead of the facts. She told her to go home and ask Daniel about the fires, to give him the benefit of the doubt, to trust what she knew to be true about him.

  Yonnie glanced at the grandfather clock. “Is Daniel still in the barn?”

  “No. Isn’t he asleep?”

  Yonnie’s chin jerked up. “No! He went looking for you about an hour ago. He took Schtarm because Old-Timer has a sore leg.”

  “Schtarm? He used Schtarm in the buggy?” At an auction last fall, Daniel bought Schtarm, a young racehorse that didn’t cut it on the tracks. He wasn’t buggy broke yet and had such a skittish nature that Carrie doubted he would ever be a good buggy horse, but Daniel had confidence in him. She glanced out the kitchen window. “I wasn’t on the road. I cut through the orchard. We must have missed each other.”

  All of a sudden Yonnie clasped her hands together and started her chanting, “Gottes willes. Gottes willes.”

  Not a minute later, Schtarm galloped into the gravel driveway, skidding to a halt at the barn. Carrie ran outside and saw that he was lathered up, buggy traces hanging by his side. His eyes looked wild and she had trouble getting close to him. She spoke calmly to him and was able to grasp one rein, just as a police car turned into the driveway. Mattie was in the backseat. She opened the door and ran over to Carrie, throwing her arms around her. For a split second, Carrie thought that Mattie seemed as frantic and wild-eyed as Schtarm. She looked over Mattie’s shoulder at the police car, expecting Daniel to come out the other door. Instead, it was a police officer. He approached Carrie and Mattie, standing a few feet back.