The Choice (Lancaster County Secrets 1)

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Andy shrugged, grabbed the clean milk bucket off of the bench, and ran outside to milk Hope, who was lowing unhappily from the barn.

  As Abel washed up, Carrie set the bowl of stewed beef, carrots, and green beans on the table and passed the bread to Yonnie to slice. As soon as Andy returned, they sat down to dinner, closed their eyes, and bowed their heads for silent prayer. Abel held his hands open as if he was receiving a gift, eyes wide open, and launched into an out-loud prayer.

  “Father, thank you for all the prayers you’ve answered for me today. For bringing me safely here to Yonnie, Carrie, and Andy. Help us to trust you more with each day that passes. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.”

  Yonnie’s, Andy’s, and Carrie’s heads bobbed up in surprise. Carrie was appalled by the familiarity with which Abel prayed, as if the Lord God himself was sitting next to him. Abel was raised Amish, Carrie thought; he must know their ways. Why had he prayed aloud?

  Abel reached a hand out to the bread basket, passed it around, then picked up the butter knife and slathered a slice. “Mmm, good!” he said, after taking a bite. “They sure didn’t have food like this in the slammer.”

  Carrie was so startled by his blunt remark that her fork slipped out of her hand and onto the floor.

  Abel didn’t notice. He started asking a lot of questions about the farm—the acreage, the kinds of apple trees, the outbuildings, and the livestock, of which there was little, for now.

  “Hope just had her first calf, Lulu,” Carrie said, passing the bread and butter to Andy. “So we finally have fresh milk. Up to a few months ago, I’ve had to buy milk from the Stoltzfuses, next farm over.”

  “You named a cow Hope?” he asked, his eyes laughing.

  “Carrie named her Hope because she has high hopes for her,” Yonnie said. “Carrie likes to give things meaning with their names. Her calf ’s name is Hallelujah because we’re so happy she was born.”

  Abel grinned. “Sounds fittin’.”

  “We always name the calf after the initial of the mother.” Andy spoke in a tone of someone who was firmly in charge of this farm. “That’s the way my dad did it, so that’s the way we do it.”

  Carrie looked at Andy curiously, wondering what was running through that boy’s head. That was the first flicker of interest he showed in Abel, and it sounded nearly like an accusation.

  Unfazed, Abel nodded at him. “Sounds like a solid system.”

  “So how long were you in jail?” Andy asked, eyes narrowed, his voice cold as winter earth.

  “About a year and a half.”

  Andy’s eyes roamed up and down Abel’s arms. “Any tattoos?” “Andy!” Carrie said, frowning, but Abel only laughed and shook his head before asking Carrie more questions about the property.

  As Carrie answered Abel, she surprised herself by how much she knew about the orchards. She must have picked up more from listening to Eli and Daniel than she realized. “We only have twenty acres, but the trees were planted pretty dense. About one hundred trees to an acre, give or take a few. We have two acres of Northern Spy, three of Rusty Coat, two of Newtown Pippin, three of Smokehouse, two of Golden Russet, five of Honey Cider, and three of Pumpkin Sweet.”

  “I’ve never heard of those varieties,” Abel said.

  “They’re Mid-Atlantic heirlooms,” Carrie said. “Then we made cider from the apples that didn’t make fancy grade.”

  Abel looked confused. “Fancy grade?”

  “Eating quality,” Carrie said. “Crisp to the bite and good looking. Those get sold to the packing house for top dollar.”

  “Carrie’s known for her cider,” Yonnie said. “Some say it’s the best cider in the county.”

  “It was my dad’s cider recipe,” Andy said, without looking at Abel. “We use five kinds of apples.”

  “That’s right,” Carrie said, eyes shining. “We called it Jacob’s Cider and can’t make enough of it. On cider press day, folks line up at the crack of dawn, holding their own empty milk jugs.”

  “Saved ’em a quarter if they brought their own jugs,” Andy said, with the voice of authority.

  Abel cocked his head, watching them intently as they talked. “Well, you all sound like apple experts.”

  “There’s much still to learn about taking care of an orchard,” Carrie said, more to herself than to Abel.

  “That’s why I’m quitting school,” Andy said. “To stay home and take care of our apples.”

  Carrie pointed a finger at him. “You’ll do no such thing.”

  Yonnie turned to Andy and said, “The Lord God answered our prayers, Andy. Our Abel is home to help us.” She reached over to squeeze Abel’s hand.

  Abel seemed perplexed for a moment, as if he had something on his mind, then he smoothed out his puzzled look. “That was a fine dinner.”

  For a split second Carrie had a vague impression he was hiding something. But maybe not. What did she really know about this English man? She’d only known him a few hours.

  After dinner, Abel surprised Carrie by taking dishes to the sink, stacking them to wash. She had never seen her father, Eli, or Daniel touch a dish unless they were eating off of it.

  “Did a lot of dish washing in the joint,” he said, adding soap to the hot water. He smiled at the look on her face when he mentioned prison. “Kind of silly to pretend it didn’t happen, isn’t it? That’s where my last seventeen months, thirteen days, and two hours—or so—have been spent.” He had a dimple in one cheek that gave him a slightly crooked smile, as if he was grinning about a private joke. “Not that I was keeping track.”

  “You don’t mind talking about it?” Carrie asked as she dried a wet dish.

  “Not a bit.” He handed her another dish to dry. “Truth is, I met the Lord Jesus in prison. And all things considered, I consider that to be a gift.”

  Carrie nearly dropped the dish when she heard him say that. She stole a look at Yonnie who had stopped her chair mid-rock, leaning forward as if she wasn’t sure she heard him right. Even Andy, who had crammed so many cookies into his mouth that his cheeks puffed out, looked wide-eyed at Abel’s declaration.

  Abel laughed at them. “Now, ladies, pick your jaws up off the ground. I’m telling you the gospel truth. I found the Lord in a jail cell. I’m mighty grateful he saved my sorry hide.” He grinned at both of them. “Sort of sounds like a country song, doesn’t it?”

  Abel Miller was a strange one, Carrie decided.

  Abel insisted on sleeping out in the barn instead of in the house. The storm had passed mostly by, leaving the air fresh and sweet smelling. Abel carried a lantern, lighting the path ahead of Carrie. When she nearly slipped, he insisted on holding her elbow to steady her. In her arms were a stack of Yonnie’s quilts, topped with a pillow for him.

  “I’d forgotten how dark it can be in the country,” he said, looking up at the heavens. The sky was a thick, cloudy soup. The only visible light came from a tiny slice of moon.

  Carrie showed him where the workshop was, at the back of the barn, and the cot he could sleep on, and how to get the woodstove started. One of the horses whinnied from his stall.

  “That’s Schtarm, saying hello,” she said, handing a pillow to Abel.

  “You named him Storm?” Abel asked.

  Carrie nodded. “Daniel named him. His name suits him. He’s a retired racehorse that Daniel bought at an auction. A little high-spirited. He’s too much for me to handle, but Daniel was trying to gentle him for the buggy when he . . .” She found she didn’t know quite what to call it. Had an accident? Before he died? She pointed to the other horse’s stall. “I use Old-Timer for the buggy. He’s old, very, very old. Sometimes I think if he went any slower we’d be going backward, but at least he doesn’t shirk in his traces like Schtarm.”

  Abel smiled. “Daniel had a keen eye for horseflesh.” He took the quilts out of her arms. “Folks in Ohio used to ask him to go to horse auctions, just to offer his opinion.”

  Carrie wondered what magic those Ohio f
olks had used to pull an opinion out of Daniel. “In the far stall is Strawberry. Daniel bought her, along with a pony cart, for Andy last Christmas.” She spread some sheets on the cot and tucked in the edges. “Andy hasn’t ridden her since . . . Daniel passed.”

  Abel turned his head slowly and gave Carrie a long, steady stare.

  “Tomorrow I’ll take you out to where they—Eli and Daniel— are buried.” She shuddered when a clap of thunder, lingering from the storm, sounded close to the house. “I hope the lightning doesn’t hit the house or barn.”

  “I noticed you have lightning rods on the house,” Abel said. “But not on the barn?”

  “Leftover from the English owner. He didn’t keep any livestock in this old barn so he didn’t have lightning rods on it. We haven’t taken them down yet from the house. Been too busy with . . .” With funerals, Carrie realized. She changed the subject. “Sure this will suit you?” she asked, looking around the room. “It’s not much more than a workshop.”

  “A big improvement to my former surroundings,” he said with that crooked grin of his. Something about his smile made it impossible not to smile back.

  She watched him for a moment as he cracked some kindling over his knee to spread on top of the fire he had started. She would never have known he and Daniel were related. If a man could be called beautiful, that would have been the way to describe Daniel. Abel wasn’t as fine boned and handsome as Daniel, but he moved with a confidence and assurance that Daniel had lacked. Abel had a toughness about him, like a boxer in a ring that she had seen once on a trip to town. And yet, Abel’s eyes—as soft and warm as melted chocolate—belied his tough exterior. They gave him away.

  Abel glanced at Carrie, aware she was appraising him. “Thank you, Carrie. It’s good to finally meet Daniel’s wife.”

  The way he said it made her feel funny, like he knew more about her than he let on. And, in return, she knew nothing about him. She was halfway through the door when he asked, “So, Carrie, have you made a plan?”

  She swiveled around. “What do you mean?”

  “I just wondered, have you thought of moving back home with your folks?”

  She stepped out of the shadow and into the light. “This is my home. Mine and Andy’s. That’s my only plan.” She lifted her eyebrows. She suddenly realized why he had that odd look on his face at dinner, when Yonnie said he was an answer to their prayers. He wasn’t planning on staying. “What about you, Abel Miller? Do you have a plan?”

  They looked at each other for a moment, a standoff. Then lightning lit the sky and thunder rumbled loudly on its heels.

  “Let me walk you back to the house,” he said. “Don’t want you slipping and hurting yourself.”

  He had neatly avoided her question, she noticed.

  Later, after turning off the switch on the gas lamp next to her bed, Carrie peered outside from her bedroom window at the soft moonlight of the apple orchards. She saw the buttery glow of lantern light coming from the small windows of the barn. It felt strangely comforting.

  In the pale dawn of the morning, Carrie woke, half expecting Abel to be gone, but she saw he was up, coming in and out of the barn like he’d been up for hours. When she went out to the barn, she found that he had shoveled manure out of the cows’ and horses’ stalls, fed them, filled the egg basket with fresh eggs, and milked Hope.

  “Denki, Abel,” she said when she found him sweeping out the workshop. She handed him a cup of hot coffee.

  He gratefully accepted the cup and took a sip. “For what?” He looked genuinely surprised.

  “For your help.”

  That odd look passed over Abel’s face like it did last night, the same look Andy got whenever she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “I should be thanking you,” he said. “Best sleep I’ve had in years. I’ve nearly forgotten what it was like to fall asleep to the sound of night birds instead of prison gates clanging shut. Or closing my eyes in a room that was dark. Cells are never completely dark. The lights in the hallways stay on so the guards can make their rounds.”

  Carrie’s eyes went wide. And what could she say to that?

  After breakfast, she told Abel she would take him to the cemetery as soon as she had finished hanging the laundry. He gave her a brief nod and went back out to the barn. Awhile later, she found him out in the barn, Schtarm’s right front hoof up on his thigh; he was scraping caked dirt and dung out of it with a hoof pick. He straightened up as soon as he saw her.

  “This horse is a beauty.”

  She came around to the horse’s left side and patted Schtarm’s velvet nose. “True, but I can’t handle him,” she said. “Been thinking about selling him. He has a skittish nature.”

  “There’s usually a reason why a horse acts so nervous. He just doesn’t know how to say what’s troubling him,” Abel said, gently rubbing his hand along Schtarm’s glossy cinnamon hide. “So, he misbehaves. But the truth is he’s just trying to be heard.”

  His gaze fell away from hers and he picked up a curry comb to brush Schtarm, running it over his neck and withers. The way Abel touched the horse gave Carrie a shiver. It was so gentle and tender. “Are you skilled at blacksmithing?”

  Abel gave a hard, short laugh. “No, ma’am. I’m no horse pedicurist. Left that particular skill set to Daniel and Eli. I prefer to keep my distance from the back end of a horse.” He unhooked the halter from the post and led Schtarm back into the stall.

  Abel had no trouble hitching up Old-Timer, Carrie noticed. He did it in the same careful pattern as all Plain folk did, like he’d been doing it all his life. He helped her up on the buggy and took the reins without asking, holding them loosely in his hands. The sky was bright blue, washed clean from last night’s rain. Large puffy clouds chased each other in the sky. Abel pointed out the different farms along the way and asked about each of her neighbors.

  At the cemetery, Abel’s lighthearted mood dimmed, like a cloud passing over the sun. After showing him the graves, Carrie left him alone and walked over to her father’s small tombstone, identical to all of the others; a sign of humility. Carrie stood by her father’s grave for a long while, remembering. Then she went back to wait in the buggy and distract herself from dwelling on loss. Esther’s voice echoed in her mind, “Overgrieving is a complaint against the Lord.” But it was so hard, so hard to accept the mysterious will of God.

  From the buggy, Carrie watched Abel. He sat down on the damp ground in between Eli’s and Daniel’s graves. He held out his hand, gently running one hand over the rounded edge of the stones, the same gentle way that he had touched the curve of Schtarm’s neck. She could see his lips moving, as if he was talking to them. After a long while, he wiped his face with both hands and brushed off his pants.The damp ground had soaked the knees of his pants in large dark patches. He looked a little embarrassed, but relieved too, as he climbed in the buggy.

  “So glad that six feet under isn’t the end of things,” he said. “Their souls are with the Lord Jesus.”

  “That’s our hope,” Carrie said, automatically.

  He shifted in the buggy seat to look at her. “The Bible says that when we’re absent from the bodies, we’re present with the Lord. Second Corinthians 5:8.”

  Carrie didn’t want to argue with him. He knew his Bible better than she knew hers, she could see that. He spouted off a few verses last night like he had the whole thing memorized. Besides, she had another question burning inside of her. As forward as it seemed, Carrie felt she had to ask, especially once she figured he didn’t seem likely to be sticking around.

  She slapped the reins to get the horse moving. With her eyes fixed on Old-Timer’s rhythmic back quarters, she said, “There’s something I need to ask you. About Daniel.”

  “Ask me anything,” Abel said, regarding her with inquiring eyes, his head slightly tilted.

  “Daniel said he caused the fires.”

  Abel made a small sighing sound, as if he’d heard this story before. “Is that what he told you
? That he caused them?”

  She nodded. “He said he was responsible for them.” Her gaze returned to the reins. “I don’t understand why . . . how . . . he could ever harm someone.”

  “Do you know much of what happened in Ohio?”

  She shook her head, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

  Abel was quiet for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. He reached over and took the reins from her, then pulled Old-Timer over to a stop at the side of the road. He shifted in his seat to look at her. “A few years back, Daniel started a business of delivering kerosene to the Amish. I helped him out when Eli didn’t need me in the fields. Most of the folks lived down macadam roadways, and it was easier for us to make deliveries using horse and wagon than for the delivery truck. We built a shed to keep the containers clean and dry, separate from the barn. Separate from anything that could contaminate the containers. Only thing we had in the shed was a telephone, to take orders. In Eli’s district, folks were allowed a phone for business, as long as it wasn’t in the house.”

  Carrie nodded. It was the same allowance for her district.

  “You know about Katie?” he asked.

  Carrie nodded again, though all she really knew was her name.

  “A week before Daniel and Katie’s wedding,” Abel continued, “the containers became contaminated with gasoline. Kerosene and gasoline don’t mix.” He glanced over at a farmer’s field of tall corn, yellow-brown stalks rustling in the breeze. “We still don’t know how it happened. They had arrived clean as a whistle, without a trace of gasoline. Daniel signed off on them and put them in the shed. Later that day, he made the deliveries. By that evening, two households had explosions. Lena, Daniel’s mother, happened to be at Katie’s, preparing for the wedding, when the kerosene was lit. It exploded and killed her instantly. Katie was burned badly and died the next day. Another man and his son were killed too.” He stopped for a moment, as if the words had caught in his throat. “We just don’t know how it happened.”