The Choice (Lancaster County Secrets 1)

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Mattie listened quietly, wondering what he was really asking. It seemed as if Sol was measuring things out lately, trying to convince himself that what he was doing was the right thing. He had been asking her a lot of questions about being Amish. After praying, she decided it wasn’t up to her to convince him whether to join the church or not. That would be up to God.

  “So, what do you say to that?” he asked, almost accusingly, after he finished. “About how the English give people a margin of error? About how unforgiving the Amish can be sometimes?”

  “The Amish aren’t perfect. And there are certainly flaws in our culture, just like there are flaws in the English culture.” She looked at him. “You know the flaws of the Plain way, you’ve thought them out. So now, Sol, what are its good points?”

  Sol spent his days working at the construction site where he had been hired a year ago, before he left for the Barnstormers. After he was cut from the team, he spoke to the foreman who said he’d be glad to take him on. Today he finished putting away his tools in the foreman’s truck as he heard someone yell out “quittin’ time.” He tossed the rest of the tools in the truck and hurried to his car; Mattie would be expecting him.

  For the last few weeks, Sol picked Mattie up after work whenever she was working at Central Market. It saved her bus fare and allowed them extra time together before her folks expected her home. He wasn’t sure how her folks would feel about her spending time with him, but he trusted Mattie’s judgment. If she wasn’t worried, he wouldn’t worry either. He just knew that he looked forward to their time together. They talked about all kinds of things, important things, and he was always a little sorry when she said she had to go.

  Ever since Mattie had asked him the good points about being Amish, Sol found himself flooded with memories. At the time, though, he had looked at her, unable to answer.

  “But you’ve always known what is truly good, Sol,” she had finally said. “Our families and the church.”

  And how could he answer—that those things weren’t good? He knew they were.

  But her simple words revealed a piercing wisdom. He couldn’t stop thinking about his family, meals, barn raisings, hay making with the neighbors, even Sunday gatherings. It stirred something in him, deep inside; he felt something vital was missing. He was less than himself, missing an arm or a leg or a hand. But he always felt better when he was around Mattie.

  The last time he dropped her off, he asked her, half teasing, half serious, “Mattie, why do you even bother with me?”

  She looked at him in her solemn, frank way. “I’ve always thought you had so much potential.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Right about now, I think you’re the only one who does. I doubt my dad would even think I could run the manure spreader in a straight line.”

  Then she said something that took his breath away. “Not that kind of potential, Sol. Not for farmwork. Not even for baseball. But this kind of potential.” She rapped on her chest. “This kind. In the soul.”

  Finishing her morning chores earlier than usual, Carrie hurried over to Mattie’s to help the Zooks prepare to host Sunday church. Once a year, each family in the district took a turn hosting church and the fellowship afterward. Every female relative and neighbor would come over a few days ahead to clean and sweep and dust and scrub and cook and bake.

  She found Mattie alone in the kitchen, getting things ready for when the women arrived to prepare for the noon meal on Sunday. She was trying to warm up honey in a large honey jar, placed in warm water. The honey had crystallized and she needed it to make pies.

  Carrie came over to look in the pot on the stovetop. A spoon stood straight up. “Hopelessly stuck,” she said.

  Mattie laughed. “I was just thinking about how it seems as if people get stuck just like this spoon in the honey.”

  “What?” Carrie asked, starting to fill the sink with warm water so she could wash the dishes Mattie had piled in the sink. She was only half listening.

  “Think about it.” Mattie tried to loosen the spoon in the honey jar. “Folks think they’re traveling on the right road and something happens to stop them—something big, like a mistake they made, or a sin. Then, even though they feel so bad, they just stay stuck.”

  Carrie added the soap to the hot water and swished it around as bubbles started rising up.

  Softly, Mattie said, “Daniel was like that, Carrie. Daniel was stuck.”

  Carrie stopped what she was doing, and slowly turned to Mattie, not even aware that her hands were dripping bubbles on the floor.

  “Eli was trying to help him move forward, so was Abel. Without realizing it, so were you. But he just stayed stuck.” Mattie was quiet for a moment, then added, “Sol’s another one. He’s just stopped in his tracks.” The spoon loosened a little. She released it and turned away from the stovetop to face Carrie. “If you don’t mind my saying so, sometimes I think you’re stuck too, Carrie. Unable to move forward, just filled with regrets about the past. About things you can’t change.”

  As tears started prickling Carrie’s eyes, she turned back to the sink.

  “I don’t think that’s what God is wanting from us. I think he wants us to get on with things.” Mattie looked out the window at Abel and Andy, who had just arrived to help move furniture out of the downstairs so the benches in the church wagon could be set up. “Take Abel. Now there’s a fellow who isn’t stuck. He’s faced some hard things, but he just keeps moving forward, doesn’t he?”

  Then she reached over to the honey jar and pulled out the spoon. “Well, look at that!” she said triumphantly, holding it in the air.

  “No one will want me there,” Sol told Mattie after she had encouraged him to come to church held at her home on Sunday.

  “That’s not true.”

  “No, Mattie. They’ll only want me there if it means I’m coming home.”

  “The church is your family, Sol. They only want the best for you.”

  He frowned at her. “You make it sound so simple. But you know it’s not.”

  For some reason he agreed to go. Afterward, he decided it was the worst idea he had ever let a woman talk him into. The only place to sit was on the edge in the back row, a bystander. From that vantage point, he was able to notice how often Abel Miller’s gaze roamed to Carrie during the service. Carrie never even glanced Sol’s way, and he knew that for a fact because he kept himself slightly turned so he could watch her. Plenty of other folks were snatching a look at Sol, eyebrows raised in disbelief. Why weren’t they measuring that Abel Miller? he wondered. He’s the new bird in the flock. He’s the one they should be raising an eyebrow over.

  Sol’s mind drifted to the first time he laid eyes on Carrie, when Jacob had moved his family to Stoney Ridge to marry the starchy widow Esther Blank. Carrie was only twelve, but the sight of her snatched his breath away. She held her back as straight as a plumb line, her chin lifted slightly in the air. It was one of the reasons Esther accused Carrie of being proud, but she wasn’t proud. She was just being Carrie.

  When Carrie finally turned sixteen, it took Sol two full years of asking before she agreed to go home with him in his courting buggy. She told him he was a flirt and not to bother her until he was done making eyes at other girls. He couldn’t help flirting with the other girls; it was just too much fun. But he never really thought about anyone but Carrie, not seriously.

  Today, Carrie sat next to Mattie on the women’s side, chin to her chest, as if concentrating carefully on what the minister was preaching about. Once, she reached up and tucked a ringlet of honey blond hair that had slid loose back into her prayer cap. The gesture, one he had seen her do hundreds of times, brought Sol a bittersweet ache. The only time he saw her look across at the men’s side was when Andy dropped his hymnal after nodding off, causing a startling bang when the heavy book hit the floor. Carrie raised her eyebrows at her brother in exasperation, then quickly looked at Esther, who was scowling at Andy. Mattie, he noticed, had to bite her lip to k
eep from laughing.

  On the other side of Mattie was Carrie’s spinster stepsister, Emma, sitting with her chest lifted high, as if she’d just sucked in a deep breath and didn’t dare let go. Sol’s gaze drifted to Mattie. He had never noticed Mattie in church before, though of course she’d been there. She’d always been there. He saw that her eyes were closed and her face was lifted, her lips were moving silently, as if praying to God. He marveled at the depth of her faith, almost envying her. Watching her, he wondered how he had ever considered her plain. She looked so filled with joy and the glory of the Lord, she could have nearly burst with it.

  As soon as the service was over, everyone poured outside to help set up for lunch. Sol saw Abel Miller make a beeline toward Carrie. She was lifting a tablecloth high in the air to spread over the table and didn’t notice him until he was a few paces away. When she saw Abel, Sol’s belly clenched with a sick dread.

  She looks at him the way she used to look at me.

  Nearly everyone ignored Sol, or kept conversations with him quick and to the point, even his friends. His mother asked when he was coming home, but when he hemmed and hawed, she turned away sadly.

  He felt irritated with Mattie for encouraging him to come. She didn’t understand what it felt like to have those you’ve known and loved all your life treat you with distance. They knew he was there, he felt their curious glances. But most acted as if he were a stranger they’d met once but couldn’t remember who he was or why he was here.

  And he wasn’t even under the ban.

  Afterward, it occurred to him that might have been the very reason Mattie had wanted him to attend.

  14

  Carrie returned to the farmhouse late one afternoon after taking the last of their frozen cider to the Zooks to sell at their Central Market stand. She tied Strawberry and his cart to the post and hurried inside to see if Emma had started dinner. She found a note from Emma on the kitchen table, saying she had gone on an errand and not to worry if she missed dinner.

  “I wonder why she went to town so late in the day,” Carrie said to Yonnie, after crumpling up the note. “Usually Emma will only go into town in the morning. She’s always said that any Englisher who is drunk and hungover from the night before will still be asleep in the morning and off the streets.”

  Yonnie gave a slight smile. “Sounds like our Emma.”

  Carrie started making a batch of brownies for Andy’s after-school snack. “Any idea where Abel went to?”

  Yonnie looked baffled. “I don’t recall him saying where he was going. Or when.” She pressed her fist to her mouth, as if willing herself to remember. “I think Veronica McCall swooped in. Maybe she left with him. I think I nodded off.”

  Carrie glanced at her, a little worried. Yonnie had been sleep-ebook- ing an awful lot lately. Carrie noticed how thick and swollen her ankles were. Sometimes it seemed as if she was like a clock winding down. Carrie looked around the kitchen to see what Emma had started for supper, but she couldn’t find any fixings. “Yonnie, what did Emma do today?”

  Yonnie looked to the ceiling, as if the answer was written up there. “She was ironing her cap.”

  “Oh, Emma and those pleats,” Carrie said, grinning. Making dinner would be up to her today. She went over to the refrigerator and opened it, loading up her arms with lettuce and cheese and hamburger meat. As she whirled around to set things on the counter, she happened to notice a curl of black smoke coming from the back of the barn, where Abel’s workshop was. Her heart started to pound. Trying to sound calm, she said, “Yonnie, I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Carrie flew out of the house and down to the back of the barn. First she tried to get into Abel’s workshop but the door handle was too hot. She ran to the barn door and slid it open, as smoke poured out. She heard terrible noises inside, noises she knew would be etched forever in her mind: Schtarm’s frightened neighing, Hope and her calf ’s bawls of panic. She unhooked Hope from her stanchion, pushed on her to back up and then led her out the door. Her calf had enough sense to trot behind her.

  “Geh!” she screamed as she opened Schtarm’s stall door, stepping back as the horse lunged forward and galloped out of the barn. The other stalls were empty. She could see flames lick the stacked hay bales and knew she had to get out. She tripped over a rope and tried to get to her feet, but bent over coughing and wheezing from the thick smoke. Her raw eyes ached. She felt her way out of the barn and gasped for fresh air.

  Soon neighbors started to arrive, one after another, signaled by the smell of smoke in the air. Men and boys formed two bucket lines from the water pump, where Carrie pumped until her hands were raw with blisters. The fire department turned up the driveway and took over with their long hoses. Within an hour, the fire was extinguished, but all that was left were smoking timbers, blackened beams, stone and metal. She was amazed to see the waterwheel remained untouched.

  Carrie stood there, stunned by a fire’s power.

  The deacon came up beside her. “Go on in the house, Carrie. Let Yonnie know all is well. A few of us will stay to make sure the fire is out.” He shooed her away. “Go, get some salve on those hands.”

  As she turned to go inside, Andy rushed up the driveway on his scooter, his eyes wide and frightened. “Where are the horses? And Hope and Lulu?” he asked, staring at the fire truck.

  “Strawberry’s there,” Carrie said, pointing to the frightened pony, still hitched to the post with his cart attached. “The others ran off, Andy, but they’re not harmed. You might be able to find Hope and Lulu in the orchards. Maybe Emma could help you look for them when she returns.” Where was Emma, anyway? And where was Abel?

  “I’ll help him,” Abraham said.

  Carrie went inside to assure Yonnie that the fire was out. Her nose and throat kept stinging and she couldn’t stop coughing. She finally went upstairs to take a long shower, to get the ash out of her hair and smoke smell off of her body. It was dark when she heard Old-Timer trot the buggy up the driveway, Steelhead’s motorcycle on its heels. From the bathroom window, she saw Emma step down slowly from the buggy, stunned, staring at the blackened hole where the barn used to be. “Die Scheier is ganz verbrennt,” Emma kept saying, over and over, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. The barn is completely burned.

  Steelhead looked like Carrie felt: dazed. He just stared at the smoldering barn site.

  She saw Abraham walk up to them, so she closed the window and went to her room to lay on the bed, exhausted, just wanting to close her aching eyes for a moment. She put a cold cloth over her eyes to stop them from burning. At first she thought she was dreaming when she heard the clop of Schtarm’s hoofbeats pound up the driveway. Awhile later, she woke again when she heard Abel’s voice, calling out frantically to the men who remained around the blackened structure, asking where Carrie and Andy and Yonnie were and if all of the animals had been accounted for. Satisfied that they were all safe, she heard him holler, “What on earth has happened to the barn?” Drifting back to sleep, it struck her as strange that he didn’t ask about Emma.

  The next morning, Carrie was woken by a ray of sun that filtered through her window. She eased out of bed and pulled a fresh dress off of the peg, then stopped suddenly as her tender, blistered hands reminded her of yesterday’s fire. Pinning her dress as quickly as she could, she peeked out the window and saw Abel and Abraham emptying out the carriage house. Abel didn’t have his sling on, she noticed. She was relieved to see Hope and Lulu tied to stakes, munching hay. Her eyes wandered to the charred remains of the barn. She shuddered at the sight.

  By the time Carrie went downstairs, nearly thirty Amish men had arrived. They walked carefully around the blackened structure, tapping on the timbers to see if any could be saved, raking through the ashes. Mattie was in the kitchen, having come over early to help with her father and brothers. She and Emma had prepared hot coffee and made cinnamon rolls, knowing neighbors would be coming soon. Even Esther had arrived; she was folding mayonnaise and chopped cel
ery into a large bowl of shredded chicken to make sandwiches for lunch.

  When Emma saw Carrie, she turned her hands over, looking at them, clucking like a mother hen. “Wie entsetzlich!” How painful! “Let me bandage them for you.” Emma looked as if she hadn’t slept well, her eyes were troubled and worried.

  “Let me,” Yonnie said. “I have some special ointment.”

  “They don’t really hurt that much. I was so tired last night I hardly noticed,” Carrie said, holding her palms up as Yonnie covered the blisters with ointment.

  “Schtarm came back last night, all on his own,” Emma said. “And Andy found Hope and Lulu in the orchards.”

  “The deacon decided to wait until spring planting is over to have a barn raising,” Mattie said, stirring a batch of cookie dough, “so he thought the men could convert the carriage house for the animals. That’s why we’re all here today.”

  It warmed Carrie’s heart to hear those words. Already, her neighbors were helping her move forward. Life was meant to be lived as it came. It wasn’t their way to dwell on hardships; instead, they carried on.

  As Yonnie finished wrapping the gauze around her hands, Carrie asked, “Emma? Where were you yesterday afternoon? And where was Abel?”

  Emma’s head snapped up. She shot a glance at Esther, then looked out the window at Abel. “He said to say he was awful sorry he wasn’t here.”

  Carrie looked out the kitchen window. She saw Abel lugging a piece of lumber off of a wagon. Andy was alongside of him, chattering the whole time. “Yes, but Emma, where were—”

  Just then, Yonnie started chanting, “Gottes willes, Gottes willes.” When Carrie spun around to look at her, she saw Yonnie hugging her arms around her middle. Carrie’s insides seized, knowing trouble was coming but not sure from which direction.