The Choice (23 page)

Carrie jerked her shoulders out of his grip. “Stop telling me what I need! Nobody knows what I need.”

Emma stared at Carrie with her mouth gaping wide open, like a hooked fish.

“What do you need, Carrie?” Abel looked at Carrie with such sweet sorrow it took the fight clean out of her. Gently, he added, “How can we help you if you don’t tell us?”

Suddenly exhausted, Carrie’s fists unclenched and she turned to go upstairs.

Abel’s words echoed in her head as she tried to sleep. She felt terrible for treating Veronica so rudely. It was so unlike her— unlike any Amish woman, except for Esther and Emma—to snap at someone like that, especially an Englisher. And then she was rude to Abel too, who was only trying to help.
What do I need? I
don’t have an answer. I don’t know. I just feel weary and lonely and
scared.
She shuddered as if a cold wind had blown through the room.

What do I need? Something for my soul that I can’t seem to find.

The next day, Veronica McCall drove up as Carrie was hanging laundry to dry. For the first time, she didn’t start talking a blue streak the minute she laid eyes on Carrie. She just quietly picked up some clothespins and started hanging things.

“I’m sorry I spoke sharply to you yesterday,” Carrie said. “You were just being kind.”

“I was, and you did,” Veronica answered crisply.

“You see, we don’t wear makeup.”

“Maybe you people should be a little more open-minded.”

Carrie decided to not pursue that particular territory with her. “Just make sure you hang similar things together on the line.”

“Why?”

“It’s much more orderly to hang all the dishcloths together in a row, and Yonnie’s aprons, and Abel’s trousers.”

“Dry is dry, if you ask me.”

“It’s just our way.”

“It’s faster if you just hang them.”

Carrie stopped, exasperation growing. “I’m not in a hurry. A task takes as long as it takes.”

“It’s supposed to rain this afternoon. If you don’t speed it up, you’ll end up with laundry as wet as when you started.”

Clothespins in her mouth, Carrie suddenly remembered a day with her mother, hanging the laundry out on a windy winter day, just a few weeks before her mother had died bringing Andy into the world. The clothes came in so stiff, frozen solid, that they could stand up by themselves when they brought them inside. Her mother took a pair of frozen pants, topped it with a frozen shirt, then topped that with her father’s straw hat, and suddenly they had a scarecrow in the kitchen. Within minutes, that frosty scarecrow melted in a heap, like a snowman on a sunny day. Carrie and her mother had laughed and laughed.

Veronica McCall shook Carrie out of her muse when she reached for a clothespin. “You people make such a big deal about the silliest things.” Veronica secured a towel to the third clothesline without any more arguing. When she finished, she picked up a dropped clothespin and handed it to Carrie. “I want you to teach me all about being Amish.”

Carrie’s eyes went wide. “Why?”

“I
told
you. I live near the Amish. I need to know more about them.”

Veronica looked very sincere as she said it, but somehow Carrie thought this sudden interest had nothing to do with being Amish and everything to do with Abel. She had an image in her mind of a picture she’d seen in a book once: a lion tracking a gazelle.

Poor Abel. He doesn’t stand a chance.

10

John Graber turned his attention to courting Emma, who was thrilled to have a suitor. Carrie was even more pleased not to be the object of John Graber’s affection. He had taken Emma for a buggy ride one afternoon and home from a hymn singing on another.

In the night sky was a Hunter’s moon, round and creamy that, Emma said, beckoned her to take a walk. Carrie thought that perhaps John Graber was outside doing the beckoning. Esther would be pleased to think the bishop’s grandson might become part of the family, after all.

Yonnie, Abel, and Carrie were in the living room; Andy had gone to bed. Abel was oiling his carpentry tools, Carrie was mending Andy’s britches, and Yonnie had fallen asleep in her rocking chair, like she always did, mismatched quilt pieces spread on her lap.

When the clock struck nine, Abel and Carrie put their things away. Abel pulled out that Bible he carried with him. Carrie had stopped worrying about Abel’s Bible reading and out-loud prayers. In fact, she looked forward to them. Abel’s deep voice had a soothing effect. He read just like he prayed, like God was right in the room with everyone.

“This passage is from the book of Lamentations,” Abel said. “Jeremiah was a prophet, a very emotional guy, who was called to speak for God during the siege and fall of Jerusalem. When he focused on the terrors around him, Jeremiah felt personally assaulted, even abandoned by God: ‘He shot me in the stomach with arrows from his quiver.’ ”

Those words echoed in Carrie’s mind.
He shot me in the stomach
with arrows from his quiver.

Suddenly, her heart started hammering. “That’s it!” Her hands flew to her cheeks. “That’s what I need! I need to have God stop piercing my stomach with his arrows.”

Yonnie startled awake, but then drifted back to sleep.

Embarrassed by her outburst, Carrie jumped out of her chair. Why did her mouth always run ahead of her brain?

Abel jackknifed to his feet. “Carrie, wait.” He whispered loudly, throwing a glance at Yonnie. “Please wait.” He made her sit back down in the chair and crouched in front of her. She was trembling and didn’t really know why. “Listen to me, Carrie. When Jeremiah focused on those circumstances surrounding him, he felt assaulted, even abandoned by God. But when he focused on God’s past mercies, he found strength and encouragement.” He opened up his Bible and hunted for the passage. “ ‘I remember it all—oh, how well I remember—the feeling of hitting the bottom. But there’s one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope: God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over). He’s all I’ve got left.’ ”

Abel took Carrie’s hands in his, and as he did, she felt the peace of the moment settle into her soul, like a leaf slowly making its way to the bottom of a pond. “Carrie, Jeremiah had it all wrong. God wasn’t slinging arrows at Jeremiah. It was God who was helping him through his troubles.”

Carrie lifted her head and searched Abel’s dark eyes. She wanted desperately to believe him.

During the off-season, the Barnstormer players were required to participate in community events—speaking at schools and Scout meetings, cutting the ribbons at new store openings. “It’s all part of building community spirit,” the manager said. “And Sol, we want you at every event. We think you’re the reason for a surge in attendance last summer. Everybody loves this Amish spin.”

Sol was happy to do anything he could to solidify his worth to the coaches. He didn’t end up snagging that All-Star spot, after all. In fact, it worried him a little that he didn’t close the last two games of the season. He didn’t even play a single inning. He knew that things changed fast on the roster. He’d already seen a number of players come and go.

The comment the manager made about fans’ interest in Sol’s Amish upbringing was spot-on. During the question-and-answer period at every event, Sol was hammered with questions about what it was like growing up Amish. It always amazed him that the English had been living among the Amish all of their life— sharing the roads with the buggies—but knew so little about them. And what they did know was usually wrong. One kid at a Cub Scout meeting even asked him if the Amish were a cult.

“No,” Sol told him, surprised by the question. “The whole thing about being Amish—going all the way back to the 1600s—is to be an adult when you get baptized. Church leaders want each person to make their own decision before God. Being Amish has nothing to do with cults. Being Amish means you’re trying to live a simple life that pleases God. Being Amish is about being part of a family, a big church family. It’s having people care about you and look out for you, all of your life.”

“So then,” the kid asked, chewing a big wad of gum, “why’d you leave?”

Sol stumbled, not knowing how to answer, not wanting to say a word against his people. It surprised him to see how tightly his upbringing held him, even now. The Scout leader used the pause to wrap up the meeting because the janitor wanted to sweep up the gym and go home.

One afternoon, Carrie climbed up the ramp to the hayloft in the barn to throw down a bale. With one eye looking out for mice, she dragged a heavy bale from the far corner as she heard Andy run into the barn. She heard him say to himself, “Box, twine, gloves. Gotta remember gloves.” Then there was some scuffling and the sound of something being dragged outside.

Looking out through the small barn window, she saw Andy load the ramp to the loft onto the back of his pony cart and head down the driveway to the street. She shouted to him, but he didn’t hear her. She finished pushing the bale over the loft’s edge, then sat on the edge, debating her options, wondering how long a wait she would have until Andy returned home, when Abel came into the barn.

“Um, Abel?”

Abel turned in a circle, trying to locate her voice, before looking up. “What are you doing up there?” He looked around. “What did you do with the ramp? How’d you get up there?”

“Andy took the ramp.”

Abel nodded. “I did hear something about a rescue.”

Carrie narrowed her eyes. “What kind of a rescue? Is he bringing home another stray?”

Abel scratched his head. “How are you planning to get down?” “I don’t have a plan. I need help.”

“I see, I see.” He walked around the barn, arms folded against his chest, deep in thought. He kicked the hay bale she had thrown down over on its side. “Tell you what. I’ll stand on the hay and try to catch you.”

“It’s too far. I’ll break something!
You’ll
break something!”

Abel ignored her protests and jumped up on the hay bale. “I’ll catch you.”

“Abel, that’s crazy! I’ll hurt you!”

“No you won’t. Just jump.”

“Abel, be serious.”

He shrugged. “Guess you don’t mind waiting for Andy to return.”

Carrie bit her lip. She knew that could mean waiting for hours, if he even remembered to bring the ramp back. “Okay, fine. But you have to promise to break my fall.”

“Trust me, Carrie.”

She looked down at Abel, about eight feet below her, held her breath and jumped. She tumbled onto him and he fell off the hay, breaking her fall as promised, but banging his head on a barn post.

“Abel, are you hurt?” She scrambled off of him and onto her knees. His eyes were closed and he didn’t respond. He started moaning, as if in great pain. She leaned closer to see if his head was bleeding. “Say something.”

He groaned again and whispered in a weak voice, “I’m so . . . so . . . glad it was you falling on me like a ton of bricks and not Emma.” Then he broke into a grin.

She sat back on her knees and threw some hay at him for teasing her. He sat up, laughing, then stopped abruptly as a strange look came over his face. She could almost feel his gaze moving over her hair, like the touch of a gentle breeze. Her hair! In the fall, her bandanna had slipped off, pulling hairpins out along with it. Her hair had fallen thick and loose over her shoulders and down her back. She looked around for her bandanna and scrambled to get it. Abel pulled himself up to stand. As she tried to gather her hair to tie in a knot, she dropped her bandanna. Abel reached down and picked it up, then crouched down to gently tie it around her head. He tied a knot and let his knuckles slide down her jawline, brushing his fingertips lightly over her mouth, his eyes locked on hers the whole time. Then Abel went utterly still, but the air around them seemed to vibrate.