The Choice (17 page)

Abel looked amused. “Who does that car belong to?”

“A woman who works at the Honor Mansion, up the road. She keeps badgering me to buy this property.”

Abel gave Carrie a sharp look. Then he hopped down and helped her out of the buggy. “You go on in. I’ll put away the team.”

Carrie went inside and found Yonnie spreading out quilts all over the kitchen table, with Veronica McCall picking and choosing which ones she was interested in.

“Hello,” Carrie said as she took off her cape and untied her bonnet strings.

Veronica McCall spun around on her high heels. “Carrie! Where have you been? Our interior designer went berserk when he saw that quilt you brought to me. Over-the-moon berserk! Now he wants Yonnie’s quilts in all of the rooms at Honor Mansion!” She turned back to the quilts and started snatching them up, to make a pile. “He’s using them as his focal point in every room.”

Carrie searched Yonnie’s face, wondering what she thought about that plan. “Perhaps we could get back to you, Veronica McCall.”

Just then, Abel came through the kitchen door.

“Veronica, this is Abel Miller,” Carrie said quickly, hoping to distract Veronica from piling up Yonnie’s quilts. Veronica glanced quickly at him, then did a double take. It reminded Carrie of how Veronica looked when she first saw Yonnie’s quilts. And how she always looked when she talked about Carrie’s property. Like a hunter who found her prey.

Carrie looked over at Abel. Jaw wide open, he was gaping at Veronica McCall as if he had never seen a woman before.

8

The next afternoon, Veronica McCall found Carrie picking cucumbers in the vegetable garden. “Yoo-hoo, Carrie! I need to talk to Abel. Where is he?”

Carrie pointed to the barn. “In the back. There’s a room where he’s staying.”

“Thank you!” Veronica called out, spinning on her high heels as she turned to hurry to the barn.

Carrie wondered what Veronica McCall would need with Abel. Before long, she heard the car engine start up. She straightened up from bending over a cucumber bush just in time to see Veronica McCall drive off. Abel was in the seat beside her.

It was dusk when they returned. Carrie was at the kitchen sink, cutting vegetables for the stew. She saw Abel get out of the car, and Veronica McCall reach over to hand him a large manila envelope, as if he had forgotten it. He gave a sideways glance at the house before accepting it from her. For a split second, Carrie thought she saw that uncomfortable look on his face again. Then he tucked the envelope under his arm before heading to the barn.

At dinner, Abel talked and asked questions but didn’t volunteer an explanation about his outing. It still surprised Carrie to have conversation at the dinner table. Silence wove itself through most of her day; even meals were quiet. At least, it had always been so at Esther’s table, and Eli’s too. But Carrie found herself enjoying Abel’s stories. Tonight, he told about the friends he made in prison, fellows with odd names like Five and Steelhead. Andy, Carrie noticed, was trying his best to look bored. But he didn’t bolt from the table as soon as they prayed a quiet prayer after the meal was over, like he had been doing since Abel had arrived. Carrie thought Abel would make a good preacher; he seemed to have a habit of slipping Bible phrases into the conversation whenever he could, which was often.

Clearing the plates from the table, Carrie asked, “Why did his parents name him Steelhead? Was it after the trout?”

After Abel stopped laughing at Carrie, he said, “No. He actually had a steel plate put in his head after he got shot at during a botched robbery.”

Her eyes went wide. Even Andy couldn’t hold back a look of surprise. “Oh, he didn’t have a gun,” Abel said. “Steelhead would never hurt a fly. It was the store owner’s gun. It went off, by accident, when Steelhead sneezed during the holdup.”

Andy tilted his head. “What about Five?”

“Five went to jail for the five-finger discount.” He wiggled his fingers in the air.

Andy and Carrie exchanged a confused glance.

“Shoplifting,” Abel said. Realizing they still didn’t understand, he added, “He stole things from stores.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “Now those are two characters I will miss.”

After dinner, Abel joined them in the living room. Yonnie had decided that Abel needed a quilt, so she started laying out fabric pieces on the cardboard table. She asked Abel what colors he liked and which patterns and shapes. Abel patiently answered her questions, helping her come up with a final vision for the quilt.

“When you marry,” Yonnie said, “I’ll make you another one. For your bride.”

Abel laughed. “Don’t get started yet on that one, Yonnie. I’m in no hurry to find love.”

Yonnie peered at him in that knowing way she had. “But love might be in a hurry to find you.”

An image of Veronica McCall bounced into Carrie’s head.

When the clock struck nine, just like always, Carrie took out her father’s Bible and knelt down to read a chapter.

“Carrie, do you mind if I read?” Abel asked.

“No, I don’t mind at all.” In fact, she was pleased. She held the Bible in her hands, thinking back to all of the moments of her childhood, kneeling in the living room, listening to her father’s dear voice read from the Good Book. The sweet memory was as firmly imprinted on her heart as were the words of God in the worn old leather Bible.

She handed the Bible to Abel, but he shook his head and pulled a small book out of his coat pocket.

He opened his book, leaned back in his chair, and started reading, “ ‘Yahweh, investigate my life; get all the facts firsthand. I’m an open book to you, even from a distance, you know what I’m thinking. You know when I leave and when I get back; I’m never out of your sight. You know everything I’m going to say before I start the first sentence. I look behind me and you’re there, then up ahead and you’re there, too—’”

“Abel,” Carrie said. “It’s time to be reading the Bible now.”

“It is. This is from Psalm 139. David wrote it.”

She frowned at him. “That’s plain old English.”

“It’s a modern translation. It’s called
The Message
. It’s a Bible I read from in jail every day—”

Carrie’s back stiffened. “Just seems you ought not to be talking to the Lord God like that.” She looked to Yonnie for support, but she had nodded off to sleep, like she always did during the evening Bible reading. She glanced at Andy, but he had quietly returned to his puzzle when she and Abel started to talk.

Abel lifted his head and looked at Carrie with genuine puzzlement. “Like what?”

“Like . . . well, like . . . he’s one of your odd-named friends from jail.”

Abel closed the book and smiled. “But the Bible says we can talk to God like that.”

Abel’s talk about God made Carrie fidget in her chair, uneasy. She knew her father faithfully read Scripture, but he didn’t pause and ponder any of it or ask questions of anyone about what he read. And he never would have talked to God like he was . . . a . . . fishing buddy. That was thought to be grossfiehlich.
Haughty
or high-minded.

Carrie told Andy to go to bed and followed him upstairs to make absolutely sure that’s where he was headed. Just last night, she found he had crawled out his window to sit on the porch roof, searching the sky for night birds with Daniel’s binoculars. While she said goodnight to Andy, she heard the buzz of low voices downstairs, Abel and Yonnie’s. She waited until she heard Yonnie climb the stairs to bed in her cautious, creaky way. Carrie figured Abel had gone to the barn so it was safe to go downstairs, but there he was, seated at the kitchen table. She wanted to turn tail and head back upstairs, but he heard her footsteps on the stairs and stood, waiting for her.

“I wanted to finish our conversation,” he said.

Awkwardness covered her like a blanket. “I ought to be getting to bed. Dawn comes early.” She went into the living room to turn off a gas lamp.

“Carrie, I do know the Amish ways.”

She turned off one more light, then spun around in the dimly lit room to face him. “Then why don’t you follow them?”

“Because I pray out loud? Or read an English Bible? Or both?”

She nodded, but the truth was, it was Abel’s praying that rankled her the most. He talked to God like he was sitting up there in heaven, taking down notes so he wouldn’t forget what Abel wanted. She knew God was going to do whatever he wanted to do, regardless of anyone’s pleading.

“I’ve learned more about God in the last year or so than I ever did in Eli’s home. There’s so much more to God than what we’ve been taught.”

“Like what?”

“Like, there’s a difference between religion and relationship. It’s all right here,” he said, tapping his Bible.

“Christ came not for relationship, but for our will,” Carrie said. “I’ve heard the bishops and ministers preach that all of my life.”

“Maybe he came for both,” Abel answered quietly.

Carrie wasn’t sure what to say to that. She hadn’t thought these things through. It occurred to her that she had always just accepted what her father had told her, what her church had told her, then what Sol had told her. As she was finding herself doing frequently around Abel, she became uncomfortable. She crossed her arms defiantly against her chest. “So, you’re not planning on joining the church? You would leave your faith?”

An ill-at-ease look swept over Abel’s face. He went to the kitchen table and sat down, pulling a chair out for her. Reluctantly, she sat down. He put his hands together.

“Carrie, my faith is mine. I’ll never leave it. It doesn’t matter what church I go to.” He looked at his folded hands. “I’m just not sure I can act Amish.”

“You don’t ‘act’ Amish. You live it. You
are
it.” Even as she said the words, she felt the sting of her own hypocrisy. Here she was, lecturing Abel as if she had never had doubts about bending at the knee. Not much more than a year ago, she was willing to throw it all away for Sol. “You’ll turn out the kitchen light?” she asked him, waiting for his nod before she went up the stairs.

She whispered an apology to the Lord God for sounding so proud. She also hoped that God would understand that Abel Miller was a fence jumper and not blame her for bringing him into her home. Like Esther would, if she knew.

Carrie shuddered, hoping she could hold that off as long as possible.

Later that week, Mattie dropped by Carrie’s house with fabric for Yonnie. Mattie’s mother was hosting a comfort knotting the next Wednesday, and Yonnie had offered to help by cutting fabric into squares to be sewn into a comforter. The quilts would be sent to homeless shelters in Philadelphia.

Mattie set the box down on the table and pulled out
The Budget
, the Amish newspaper, for Yonnie. “Here you are. Just like I promised. Mom said she’s done reading and you’re welcome to it.”

Yonnie was thrilled. She loved
The Budget
. She spent hours sitting and reading the letters sent in by the scribes all over the country. She settled into her favorite chair, basked by sunlight, and spread out the newspaper on the quilting frame in front of her. First, she always turned to the obituaries.

“Why do you like the obituaries?” Mattie asked, watching Yonnie scan the page.

“Making sure I’m not dead yet.”

Smiling, Mattie came in to join Carrie in the kitchen, boiling jars and lids to fill with blackberry jam. “A hot day for hot work! How can I help?”

Carrie pointed to the box on the table. “Those are jars that need washing before I can sterilize them.”

Mattie washed her hands and rolled up her sleeves. “I always look for weddings in
The Budget
first. Then I read about the visiting.” She started taking the jars out of the boxes and put them in the sink to wash. “What about you, Carrie? Don’t you always look for wedding news?”

Carrie lifted the hot jars out of the boiling water and set them carefully on the countertop. “I used to. Not so much anymore.” She ladled the thick, lumpy, hot purple liquid into the jars, then topped them with a metal lid.

“Oh, it won’t be long before you’re married again. Remember when we were girls? If we held a ripe dandelion seed head and blew three times, then the number of seeds left would tell us how many children we’d have.” Mattie smiled, rinsing out the sudsy jars before handing them to Carrie to sterilize.

Carrie didn’t answer at first. “I don’t want to marry again.” She put the jars Mattie had washed into the large pot of boiling water. Drips of sweat were streaming down her neck.

Mattie looked up at her. “You don’t mean that. I thought—”

“You thought I’d be thinking about Sol?” Carrie asked. “I’m not.” Her voice sounded crosser than she intended. But it had occurred to her that Mattie might feel worried Sol would start coming around now that Daniel was gone. Carrie hadn’t heard from Sol in months. That suited her just fine. She might not know how she felt about Daniel, but she knew how she felt about Sol: zannich!
Angry!

“Did I say such a thing?” Mattie handed Carrie two jars. “I just thought you’d want to marry again. That’s all.”

The gentle reproach in Mattie’s eyes stung. Carrie turned her eyes to the filled jars. “All I want is to be able to give these apple orchards to Andy one day. If I can hang on to them.”