The Choice (Lancaster County Secrets 1)

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  It was that gloaming time of day, nearly dusk, when Andy and Abel returned home, wearing cat-in-the-cream smiles. Her brother’s face, with its windchapped cheeks, shone with happiness. Andy preened like a starling, Carrie saw, feeling her heart swell.

  “Took all day but we got the ramp,” Andy told Carrie, sounding like a man of the world. “Happened upon Abel’s gloves too.” He handed Emma a string of trout and tracked mud onto her freshly cleaned linoleum floor.

  Carrie went out in the barn to help Abel with Strawberry. “Andy said getting the ramp took all day.” She picked up a bucket of oats to toss in Strawberry’s manger.

  “The ramp took five minutes,” Abel said, slipping the bridle out of the pony’s mouth. “The fishing took all day.” He led the pony into the stall and grabbed her water bucket to fill it.

  Carrie wanted to tell him how grateful she was that he spent time with Andy and helped him with his bird rescues. She knew Andy could be vexing. More than a few times, he had driven Esther to the brink of exasperation with his careless ways. She wanted to express all of her appreciation for what Abel did for them, but all that came out was, “Denki, Abel.”

  He grinned. “A day like this is so good, it makes you want to praise God for his goodness, and thank him for giving you the life to enjoy it,” he said, watching Strawberry’s throat ripple as she drank. He turned around and leaned against the bars, crossing his arms against his chest. “Nicht wahr?” Don’t you agree?

  She looked at him, unclear about what he meant. “About what?”

  “About God’s goodness.” He pulled the stall shut, latched it, and swiveled to face her. “Carrie, do you believe God is good?”

  “Of course,” she replied without hesitating, hoping to stave off a preaching. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders. “I’ll see to warming your dinner.”

  Abel put a hand out to stop her.

  Oh no, Carrie thought. Too late. Here comes the sermon.

  “For all of my growing up years, I only knew that hard side of God. His wrath and punishing ways, but I never really knew about the other side of God. The good side.”

  “If he is so good, then why does he make us suffer so?” As soon as the words spilled out of Carrie’s mouth, she wanted them back, but of course it was too late. That was the risky thing about words—once said they couldn’t be unsaid. She closed her eyes, ashamed. How dare she question the mysterious ways of the Lord?

  “Carrie, God doesn’t cause the suffering. He helps us bear it.” Abel spoke with such gentleness that it almost hurt to hear it. “There was a chaplain in the jail who taught me about the parts of God I had missed. He showed me how to study the Scriptures and learn about God for myself.”

  Abel dropped his hand and crossed his arms again. He turned and looked straight at her, leaning one hip against the railing. They stood together in silence for a long moment. “That’s why I’m here. I want Yonnie and you and Andy to know about this side of God. I don’t want you to miss out.”

  “Miss out?”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and softly said, “On the part about life being hard but God being good, and not confusing the two.”

  Her stomach did a flip-flop, with Abel standing so close and giving her such an intense look. Nervous, she said the first thing that popped into her head: “And Veronica McCall?” she asked in an accusing tone. “Do you want her to know about this too?”

  He dropped his hands and tilted his head, genuine puzzlement on his face.

  Instantly, Carrie regretted her words. What was the matter with her today, with her mouth flying ahead of her brain? What Abel did with Veronica McCall was none of her business. “She was here today, looking for you,” Carrie said in a kinder tone. “She was awful mad you weren’t at work today.”

  He didn’t answer right away. Finally, he said, “God cares about Veronica, if that’s what you mean.”

  But Carrie saw that look flash across his eyes again, the look that said he was hiding something.

  Spring training had started well for Sol, but once the season began, things had spiraled south. Other teams had wised up to his fastball pitch, and he was losing his effectiveness as a closer. He hadn’t struck anyone out in three straight games. The pitching coach had told him he was relying too heavily on one pitch. The problem was, he didn’t have another pitch. He hadn’t grown up spending years on Little League and school teams, like the other players did. He studied the pitchers to try to pick up their junk ball or curveball tricks, but when he would ask about their grip or delivery, they avoided answering him. He couldn’t really blame them. They were competing for the same playing time.

  Rody, the catcher, had been his only true friend, often staying late to help him practice. Tonight, Rody finally threw down his mitt and took off his catcher’s mask. “I’m done for the day. I’m gonna go hit the showers. Let’s go meet up with the guys and grab a beer.”

  Sol shook his head. “Thanks, but no.” When he first joined the team, he had gone out with the guys after practice, but the clumsy way he had played at practice the next day brought a quick end to late nights and beer. Plus, the players were like magnets for girls—fancy girls. Forward girls, who sat too close in their tight little dresses. One girl, Alicia, latched on to him and called or text messaged him on his cell phone a couple of times a day. When he got the bill that month, he couldn’t believe it! He had to pay a dime for every time she text messaged him, whether he wanted to read it or not. Amish girls would never act in such a brazen way.

  He had quickly discovered that the party life of the English wasn’t all that different from Amish Rumspringa parties, and he soon tired of it. Anything that interfered with baseball just wasn’t worth it to him. He knew he had this one opportunity. The other guys had jobs to fall back on if they didn’t make the cut. Sol had an eighth grade education and one fastball pitch. If he lost this chance, it was back to the farm, mucking out stables.

  Sol spent the evening in his sparsely furnished apartment, eating cold pizza, icing his shoulder, and reading a book about training tips for pitchers. He fell asleep in a chair, with the book splayed across his chest.

  In the dark of an early dawn, Carrie went downstairs and set the coffeepot to brew. Abel liked to come in for a quick cup before breakfast to warm his hands. She found she looked forward to those moments she had with him, before Andy and Emma and Yonnie came downstairs and the day had started. Abel would discuss with her what needed to be done on the farm and ask her opinion before making a decision. She’d never had a relationship like that with a man before, not with her father, or Sol, or Daniel. She would catch herself, though, whenever she found herself relying on Abel, and pull herself back from the edge.

  She put some eggs in a bowl and peeked out the kitchen window. The snow was falling thick and heavy. She saw Abel climb up the kitchen steps, stamping snow from his feet, his cheeks and ears raw from the cold. She met him at the door with a mug of steaming black coffee.

  “Thank you,” he said, pulling off his gloves. He wrapped his hands around the mug and took a sip. “Best taste in the world.”

  Carrie held three eggs in her hand. “How do you want your eggs cooked?”

  Just then Andy galloped past Emma heading down the stairs and went straight to last night’s dessert, cutting off a hunk of cake. Seamlessly, Emma grabbed the knife out of his hand and used it to slice pieces of bread to toast in the oven. As Emma went to the table to get butter for the toast, she reached over to pinch some curls back into Carrie’s cap. “Those curls that keep escaping aren’t becoming, Carrie.”

  “Actually, they’re quite becoming.” Abel promptly turned a shade of plum as he realized what had blurted out of him.

  Carrie felt a little flutter of pleasure from what he’d said, though she knew such thoughts were vain. A deep flush spread up her neck and over her cheeks so she spun around to face the stove, clumsily knocking the hand that held the eggs. One by one the eggs landed, cracking on the linoleum, yolks a
nd whites and broken pieces all running together. There was a moment of stunned silence, until Andy let out a hoot of laughter.

  Abel stared down at the cracked eggs, then looked at Carrie. “Scrambled would be fine.”

  A few days later, Carrie woke to the strong, sour stench of smoke in the air. As she prepared breakfast, she saw no sign of Abel in the barn like she usually did—no glow of a lantern light, no wisp of smoke from his woodstove chimney, no opening or shutting of the barn door, no wave when he saw her through the kitchen window.

  For one brief moment, she thought he had left them without saying goodbye. The notion sent her into such a panic that she could barely stop her hands from trembling as she filled the coffeepot with water. But then she spotted Abel riding into the yard on Schtarm and let out a sigh of relief that surprised her with its depth.

  Abel tied the horse’s reins to the post and came directly into the kitchen. “Stoltzfuses’ barn burned down early this morning,” he said, looking concerned. “I smelled the smoke so I rode over to see if I could help, but the barn was nearly gone.”

  “Oh no! They’re in Indiana, aren’t they?” Emma asked. “Ada was over here the other day, talking about it, so excited to see her new grandbaby. They go every year about now, as soon as they close up their roadside stand for the year.”

  “The deacon is trying to reach them,” Abel said. “I’m going to go back over there and help clear out the debris.”

  “I’m coming too!” Andy said, jumping up from the table to head to the door.

  Carrie reached out and grabbed his arm. “Slow down. You’re going to school.” She smiled. “Perhaps Abel wouldn’t mind seeing that you get there.”

  Crestfallen, Andy sat back down at the table to finish his oatmeal, sighing deeply.

  “Any idea how the fire started?” Carrie asked.

  He shrugged. “The police were there, looking for signs of arson.”

  “What?” Emma asked, alarmed. “Why would they think such a thing?”

  Before Abel could answer, a car pulled into the driveway. Emma peered outside. “There’s two English women, an old one and a young one.”

  “They’re here for me,” Carrie told Emma. “I’m going into town today to help the girl who . . . caused the accident.” She took her black bonnet off of the wall peg. “She’s having an . . .” She couldn’t remember the word.

  “An arraignment?” Abel said.

  Carrie nodded, wrapping her cape around her. Going into a crowded courtroom scared her to death; she was already anticipating the bold stares of curious English. She felt like a fish out of water, but she had made a promise to Grace to come. “I hope to be back long before Andy returns from school,” she told Emma.

  “Grace told me what you did for her, Carrie,” Abel said, as he reached to open the kitchen door for her. “About forgiving her. She said you changed her life.”

  Carrie tied the strings of her bonnet and kept her head down. “You did a fine thing.” He spoke quietly, so Emma wouldn’t overhear.

  Carrie kept her eyes downcast. “It was the right thing.”

  “Forgiveness is always the right thing,” Abel said softly.

  By ten in the morning, Carrie and Mrs. Gingerich, Grace’s foster mother, were seated closely behind the defense table at the Stoney Ridge District Court. Arraignments were a rubberstamp process, the lawyer explained to the women. The prosecutor riffled through a big box of files as defendant after defendant was brought in. Carrie’s eyes went wide as one woman was arraigned for stealing a blender from Wal-Mart. A boy was brought in for possession of drugs. Carrie shivered. He wasn’t much older than Andy. Seeing the wickedness of the world made her long to return to the safety and security of her apple orchards. It made her grateful for her people and their gentle ways.

  Carrie had been relieved when she saw Grace’s appearance earlier in the car. Someone—probably Mrs. Gingerich—had made her look more like a normal teenager. Her hair color had changed from platinum blond to a color that actually existed in nature. She wore a white blouse and a dark skirt. Gone were the combat boots too. In their place were dark, plain shoes and nylon stockings. Grace felt self-conscious in her clothing, Carrie noticed. She kept scratching her legs as if they itched. She could only see the profile of Grace’s face, but she felt a tenderness toward her. She could see so much pain in Grace’s eyes. In a way, she reminded her of Daniel. Carrying a burden.

  Just as the bailiff was calling out Grace’s docket number, Abel slipped into the seat next to Carrie, startling her.

  “Strength in numbers,” he whispered.

  The courtroom doors opened again, disrupting the proceeding. Carrie turned and saw Veronica McCall, followed by Emma. Behind Emma trailed Mattie, one arm around Yonnie for support. When the judge glanced up, his jaw dropped at the sight: a row of Amish women settling into a bench, black bonnets lined up like a row of crows on a telephone wire. Bookended on the bench were an Amish man and an English woman with carrot red hair.

  After the judge shook off his surprise, he acknowledged the show of support for Grace. “But the defendant admits she was speeding on a foggy night. A careless thing to do which resulted in the needless death of a young man. Because of your request for leniency, Mrs. Miller, I’ll disregard the prison time.” He gave a nod toward Carrie. “It was a gracious thing for you to do, considering this accident caused your husband’s death. However, the defendant must serve 300 hours of community service. And, her driver’s license is revoked for three years.” He banged the gavel. “Next.”

  Grace jumped up from the table and leaned over the railing to hug Carrie. “Thank you, Carrie. It could’ve been a lot worse if it weren’t for you.”

  “So you’re not disappointed?” Carrie asked, over Grace’s shoulder. Grace pulled back and crossed her arms. “No. I mean, my license getting revoked bites, but the service hours were lighter than I expected.” Shyly, she added, “Thanks to you.” She looked at the row of Amish people. “And to all of you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Veronica McCall said, claiming credit. She tapped her watch. “But now, you need to get to work. You’re on the clock. You too, Abel.” She took both of them by the elbow and steered them to the door.

  Carrie saw Abel try to turn back to her, but Veronica slipped her hand into Abel’s and pulled him along, much like someone would lead a cow to a stall.

  11

  The church leaders planned to build the new barn for the Stoltz-fuses while the land was resting and farmers had more time, a commodity usually in short supply. When the day came, sunny and mild for a winter day, Andy was the last one in the buggy after breakfast and chores, stepping carefully around Abel’s tools, paper bags full of nails, and baskets of food. They waved to Yonnie, who preferred to stay home and quilt in the warm kitchen.

  The four walls of the barn lay flat on the ground, getting assembled, by the time Old-Timer trotted into the Stoltzfuses’ driveway. Andy hopped out of the buggy before it came to a stop and ran to join his friends, practicing their hammering on blocks of wood. Abel reached for his tools, gave Carrie a nod, jumped down, and hurried to the site where the barn gables were being assembled. Emma and Carrie watched as he looked for an empty spot among the men. Then Emma grabbed a basket and hurried to join the ladies in the kitchen. Carrie picked up the reins to lead Old-Timer where rows and rows of buggies and wagons were parked in the pastures.

  “Carrie!”

  She turned in the direction of Abraham’s voice. Abraham gave her a warm grin and reached up to shake her hand. He whistled for a boy to come and take the buggy. “Put the horse in the paddock with the others,” he told the boy. He helped Carrie down and picked up the two remaining baskets of food. “Our Andy gets bigger each time I see him.”

  “And you probably see him squirming in church.”

  The deacon laughed. “And why not? The good Lord never expected a growing boy to be able to sit still for hours.”

  The good Lord might not, but Esther certa
inly did. At last Sunday’s gathering, she sent Carrie dark looks from across the bench whenever Andy got restless, which was often.

  “Just look at those colts over there.” Abraham tipped his head toward the field. A mother horse was grazing, heavy head hung low, while a foal danced around her, jumping and kicking his heels in sheer joy. “God understands the young.” He put the baskets on the table. “Even the young at heart.”

  Abraham headed back to the building site, pulling out his hammer and nails from his canvas waist pouch. For a moment, before going inside to join the women, Carrie gazed at the bare bones of a barn, flat on the ground, waiting for life to be breathed into it. A barn raising was the most beautiful sight in the world to her. The sounds, a symphony of pounding by dozens of hammers, took her breath away. It always had, even when she was a child.

  “Hello, Carrie,” said a voice behind her.

  Carrie stiffened, instantly recognizing Solomon Riehl’s voice. She kept her gaze fixed on the barn. “Why are you here?”

  Sol took a step to stand next to her. “I heard about the Stoltz-fuses’ barn burning down and wanted to do my part.” He kicked a stone on the ground. “They’ve always been good to me.”

  “Everyone has been good to you,” Carrie said, her glance sliding at him. Maybe too good, she thought. She turned to go to the kitchen, but he blocked her path.

  “I’m sorry, Carrie. About Daniel.”

  “What’s done is done,” she said, but it came out scratchy and uncertain. She felt her eyes prickle with tears. She didn’t want to cry. Softly, he said, “Please. Let’s talk.”

  “Not here, not now,” she whispered, more to herself than to Sol. She straightened and took a step back, putting even more distance between them.