The Choice (25 page)
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.
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 certainly 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.
His eyes searched hers. “Then when? When can we talk?”
Carrie’s heart softened, just a little, as she saw the earnest ache in his eyes. Suddenly, a loud, persistent ringing noise came out of his pocket. A dozen white caps turned instantly toward Sol’s direction. Panicking, he pulled out his cell phone. Carrie used the interruption to step away from him. She picked up the baskets on the table and hurried to the kitchen, feeling the onset of tears burn the back of her throat.
Just stay busy,
she told herself,
so you
won’t dwell on the way things turned out.
She started emptying out the baskets, putting the desserts she had made last night on the counter with the others, as if nothing had happened. In her heart, though, she felt sore and lonely.
Mattie’s heart started pounding when she caught a glimpse of Solomon Riehl out of the corner of her eye. She was setting the table for lunch, determined not to look at him. She would not, would not, would not look at him.
She looked at him.
She scolded herself, feeling like she was back in sixth grade, Sol in eighth, when she would steal glances at him all day long.
She noticed that others were avoiding Sol. He was in that strange place in their community of straddling two worlds, Amish and English. He wasn’t being shunned since he hadn’t been baptized, but he wasn’t one of them anymore, either. She wondered how Sol felt to be among his people but standing on the fringe. How terrible, she thought, to be living on the wary edge. To never feel like you belonged anywhere, to anybody.
When Carrie’s buggy arrived, Mattie noticed how Sol put down his hammer, poising himself for a moment to find her alone. She tried to keep her eyes off of them when Sol approached Carrie, but she could tell Carrie seemed uncomfortable. Then his cell phone went off and Carrie turned abruptly to leave. Mattie’s eyes stayed on Sol. A look of stark pain crossed his face. He turned his head and caught her watching him. Their eyes met and held. Her heart started hammering so loudly she was sure he heard it, twenty feet away, but he dropped his head and went to the building site.
As Sol swung himself up on a beam, at ease in a precarious spot, Mattie couldn’t help but admire his grace. Barn raising was an activity he’d been a part of since he was a toddler. She whispered a prayer for him, asking the Lord to show him all that he was missing and to bring him back where he belonged.
