The Choice (32 page)

“What do you mean?” She slid her hand out of his.

“I know it wasn’t a real marriage. I know that he slept on the floor.”

She recoiled as if she’d been slapped in the face.

“I saw that fancy red-haired lady in town the other day. She told me. She said Andy told her. When I heard that, I knew. I knew for sure you still loved me.” His tone was as much a statement as it was a question, but his eyes were pleading with her.

A look of utter disbelief covered Carrie’s face. “You’ve turned my marriage to Daniel into being all about you.” Her hands tightened into fists. “Daniel and I, we were finding our way to each other. The way we were, it had nothing to do with you. Nothing!”

“It had everything to do with me! I got to thinking, why would any normal, red-blooded man agree to sleep on the floor? With a girl like you just a few feet away? Then it dawned on me . . . he knew you loved me too.”

“Again, it’s back to you! As if the whole world spins on your axis.”

Now Sol was getting indignant. “So you think making a man sleep on the floor isn’t selfish?”

An angry flush streaked Carrie’s cheeks.

“Admit it, Carrie. Aren’t you even a little relieved he’s gone?” She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then she turned to him, with a look in her eyes as if something just became clear to her. “No. I’m not relieved at all.” She got out of the car door and ran up her long driveway.

He banged his head over and over on the steering wheel, frustrated, wondering why everything he said lately didn’t seem to come out right. They were such good thoughts, they sounded so reasonable when he worked them out in his head, but when he put them into words, they sounded haughty and proud. Downright vain.

Carrie found Andy in the barn milking Hope. “Did you tell Veronica McCall that Daniel slept on the floor?”

“What’s the big deal?” Andy asked, surprised at how upset she looked. “I saw him there, sometimes, when I had a bad dream and came in to get you. I thought it was neat that he slept on the floor. Like he was an Indian or something.”

The next day, Abel took the buggy into town for an errand. When he returned, he unhooked the buggy from Old-Timer, but left the tired horse at the hitching post to tend to later. He found Carrie in the vegetable garden, filling up her apron with spring peas. He had a large manila envelope tucked under his arm. “Carrie—”

She looked at the envelope, gathered the corners of her apron, and brushed past him.

He followed behind her. “I know you’re upset. You’ve hardly said a word to me all week. Look, about this deed—”

Something inside of Carrie snapped as anger flooded through her. “Nemme dich die Baamgaarde! Nemme dich das Haus!” she shouted, choking over her own breaths. “Nemme dich alles!”
Take
the orchards! Take the house! Take it all!
She ran from him, peas from her apron scattering on the ground. When she saw Old-Timer at the hitching post, she untied his reins and jumped on his back. She rode away as fast as she could, which, considering Old-Timer’s advanced age, wasn’t much more than a steady trot.

When she reached the pond, she slid off Old-Timer and led him down to the water’s edge to drink. His throat rippled as he drank. Finally satisfied, Old-Timer lifted his head and whiffed the air with flaring nostrils. She sat down, her arms hanging loosely over her bent knees, and stared at the calm water. With one hand, she fingered the horse’s reins. She was always amazed at the ability of those narrow leather straps to control the instincts of such a mighty beast. Did God hold such reins to this strange, sad world, she wondered?

Wrapping her arms around her legs, she rested her chin on her knees and watched a golden eagle soar over the still pond. An oriole trilled sweetly as a woodpecker drilled into a nearby tree. This was where she had come during those hard days right after her father had died and Sol had left. This was where, many years before, she had played with Mattie, skipping stones over the pond’s surface. This was where she could sit and hear the music of the wild birds. This was where she could always find peace.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when Abel sat down next to her on the ground, breathless. “Took me awhile to find you.”

She frowned at him. “I didn’t want to be found.”

He ignored her comment. “Where’d you learn to ride a horse like that?”

She shrugged, her gaze straight ahead. “I used to ride bareback a lot. Made Esther mad.”

He smiled and leaned back on his elbows, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Why did you ever get baptized? Sounds like you grew up breaking every rule.”

She tilted her head toward him. “I know myself well enough to know that I need the rules.”

They sat in more silence after that, taking in the view of the eagle, hanging above them like a kite snagged in the sky. “Whatever problem you’re facing, I can help,” Abel said softly.

She turned her head slightly toward him, asking in icy anger, “Before or after you sell my home out from under me?”

He sighed. “I’m not taking your home. I’m not taking your orchards. I’m not taking anything. If you’d just let a man finish what he’s trying to say, you’d know these things.” He handed her the large manila envelope. “This is the new deed, changed to your name. Yours and Andy’s. It’s official. I had a notary witness it.”

Carrie took the envelope from him, speechless. She opened it up, slowly, and pulled the papers out. Right in the middle of the deed, in a boldly typed font, was her name and Andy’s. Gratitude welled up inside of her, choking off the words. She needed to tell him that he could never know how much this meant to her. They had always felt like visitors in Esther’s house, never family. Never truly wanted. She needed to tell him how much she appreciated this gesture, and that she knew what it cost him, but all that came out was, “Denki, Abel.”

The edges of his eyes softened, as if he understood all she was trying to say. “I told Veronica the deed has been changed. She wasn’t too happy.” He gave a short laugh. “One time in jail we were shown a TV documentary on erupting volcanoes. Kinda reminded me of that.” He grinned. “She fired me too. Said she didn’t need a one-armed carpenter.”

“I’m sorry,” Carrie said.

He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “I’ll find work someplace. Surely somebody needs a one-armed carpenter.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thin envelope. “There’s something else. There’s one more letter from Daniel. I just wasn’t sure if this letter would help or . . . well, anyway . . . seems as if you should know what it said.” He hesitated, then handed it to her.

Carrie’s heart started to pound when she saw the postmark. It was mailed on the day Daniel died. Carefully, as if it were made of tissue, she unfolded the letter.

March 18th

Dear Abel,

Spring is late this year. We had howling wind and blowing snow yesterday. Only the downy woodpecker didn’t seem to mind. He clung to the beef suet Andy and I put out on the bird feeder. He just kept pecking on the high-energy food, finding sustenance for another cold winter night.

Speaking of finding sustenance, the strangest thing happened today. After a long struggle, Andy’s cow gave birth before dawn to a new calf. Carie helped through the whole thing without complaining or fretting. Afterward, I felt so glad she was by my side. I didn’t think I would ever feel anything again for a woman, not after my Katie. I maried Carrie because Dad wanted me to, and I wanted him to stop suffering. To be honest, I just didn’t really care. But somewhere along the way, I started feeling something for her, a fondness. I guess the plain truth is that I needed her. And then came love. I love her, Abel.

I know in the next letter you’re going to be preaching me a sermon. I can hear it now, the text will be Romans 8:28, your favorite verse in the Bible, about God working things out for our good, even things that didn’t start out so good.

Maybe you’re right, Abel. Maybe there’s hope for a sinner like me.

I see the mailman coming so I’ll say goodbye and get this in the mail.

Yours, Daniel

Something broke inside of Carrie in a terrible gush of guilt and pain. Tears started to flood her eyes. “I let Daniel bleed. Just like Esther let my father bleed. Daniel told me about the kerosene fires that very day, just hours after he must have mailed this letter. And I turned and ran out on him. I was so upset, that he hadn’t told me, that Sol—of all people on this big earth—had been the one to tell me about those fires. I felt so angry and I just . . . I just had to get away from him . . . but I never dreamed he would die that night.” She took a big gulpy breath. “I failed him miserably. I’m just like Esther.”

She went through her handkerchief, then soaked Abel’s, and finally, he gave up patting her on the back. He wrapped his arms around her and told her to go ahead, have a good cry. He just held her until she had no more crying left inside of her. She cried for her father’s death, and for Daniel’s life cut short, and for her own sorry mess. In between sobs she told him about Sol leaving and about grabbing Daniel’s offer to marry.

“I didn’t love Daniel,” she sobbed. “Not the way he deserved to be loved.”

Abel rested his chin on the stiff pleats of her prayer cap and held her closer. When she was finally able to look up at him, she noticed tearstains on his cheeks as well.

“Carrie, maybe you needed Daniel as much as he needed you. I’m not sure why he died when he did. It’s just one of those mysteries God sends our way. But God has a way of fixing our messes, bringing good out of them.” He tipped her chin so she would look at him. “I do know that Daniel would never want you feeling like you failed him. You didn’t. One moment doesn’t erase all the good.”

She wiped her face with her hands. “But what if that was the last moment?”

“Even then.” Abel rose to his feet and walked to the water’s edge. He picked up a stone and skimmed it across the pond.

Carrie was quiet for a while, watching the stone skip on the glassy surface a few times before it sank deep. “I just wish I knew, for sure and for certain, that he forgave me.”

Abel turned to face her. “You knew Daniel well enough to know the answer to that.”

A loud, raucous call came from the sky, and Carrie lifted her eyes to find its source.

“Hear Mrs. Mallard honking?” Abel asked quietly, eyes fixed on the V formation of the ducks. “Three quacks mean she’s telling the ducks that all is well and it’s safe to come down.” He reached out a hand to help Carrie to her feet. “Es is alles in Addning.”
All is well.

Sol sat on a gray plastic chair in the LaundroMat, flipping through old magazines, waiting for the clothes dryer to buzz. It always surprised him to see men doing their own laundry. Amish men took a pass on laundry. And cooking and cleaning too. Sometimes, he felt like he had arrived from another planet, he had so much to learn. He watched a man separate clothes into bundles of light and dark colors and wondered why he would bother. Then it dawned on him.
That’s why my white T-shirts are
always gray!