The Choice (16 page)

“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 folks 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.”

The air had grown thick and heavy, as before a storm, though the sky was empty of clouds. Carrie’s eyes prickled with tears; she kept her eyes on her hands, folded in her lap. As he spoke the words, she knew them to be true. She had known, deep in her heart, that Daniel could never have caused harm to anyone. As the truth slipped in and pushed away any lingering doubt about Daniel, on its heels swept in an overwhelming sorrow. A single tear fell onto her lap, followed by another and another. She wiped them away with the back of her hand as quickly as they came, hoping Abel didn’t notice.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw his chest move as he drew in a breath. “The police traced it back to the shed. They found small traces of gasoline on a shelf. Since it was a business, Daniel was held liable, even if it was an accident, even if Amish families would never sue him. He was still negligent. The judge gave him a stiff fine and an even stiffer prison sentence—he wanted to make an example because there have been other problems with fuel delivery companies. He knew the sentencing would make headlines and he knew the Amish would never appeal. But he didn’t care who went to jail, so I told the judge it was my fault, and next thing I knew, I was a long-term houseguest of the Ohio State Penal System. Soon as I was paroled, my parole officer gave me permission to leave the state, as long as I check in with him.”

He turned to her. “I guess to answer your first question, Daniel
felt
responsible, but he didn’t
cause
those accidents. We’ll never know how it happened, but Daniel was innocent. I know that.” He gave her a gentle smile. “It’s good that you asked, Carrie. You deserve the truth. The Bible says that the truth will set us free.” Well, she had the truth now, but it didn’t make her feel free. It made her feel weighted down with regret. She smoothed out her apron, as if trying to push away the sadness. “Seems to me you lost over a year of your life.”

“Oh no.” Abel looked right at Carrie. “No, I didn’t. I gained my life.”

Before Carrie could even wrap her brain around that statement, a little red convertible roared past. It startled Old-Timer, who jerked the buggy off the street.

“Oh dear,” she said without thinking. “We’d better get back to the house. Gschwind.”
Fast.
She took back the reins from Abel and urged the horse forward.

When they arrived home, Veronica McCall’s red convertible was parked by the front door.