The Choice (38 page)

When Carrie returned to the farmhouse from Honor Mansion, she found Emma and Steelhead in the kitchen, seated at the table, looking solemn. Emma’s suitcase was at her side.

Carrie took a deep breath. “Where’s Andy and Abel?” she asked, hoping to stall what she knew was coming.

Steelhead answered. “Abel is down in the carriage house with the little dude.”

Carrie looked at Emma’s nervous hands, wringing her handkerchief. “Have you told Yonnie?”

Emma wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “She’s upstairs, resting. She said she’ll miss me, but she won’t be pointing a long bony finger in judgment at me. She said that she’s a sinner too, of the worst kind, and she’s too old to worry about shunning. She said I’d be getting plenty of that from . . . the others.”

From Esther
, Yonnie meant. Carrie hung her cape and bonnet on the peg. “Does Abel know you’re leaving today?”

Steelhead nodded. “Just so you know, Abel tried to talk us out of it.”

“So he said.” Carrie pulled out a chair and sat down.

“This morning we fixed up a back room in the carriage house for Abel to stay.”

“Where are you and Emma going to live?”

Emma blew her nose loudly. “Over in town. I’m going to start 280 a quilt shop with my savings from work at Central Market.” She looked at Carrie with pleading eyes. “You could stop by. Yonnie said she would come.”

Carrie’s eyes dropped to her lap. She wasn’t sure how to answer her. She needed time to sort it out.

Tears leaked down Emma’s cheeks. “And Seymour”—she nodded her head toward Steelhead—“found a job as a sanitation engineer.”

“Seymour?” Carrie asked, trying to hold back a grin in spite of the seriousness of the moment. She looked at Steelhead. “Your name is Seymour?”

Steelhead looked sheepish. “Yeah.” He squeezed Emma’s hand. “Carrie, I want you to know that I love Emma and just want her to be happy.”

Carrie pressed her hands against her temples. “If you love her so much, then why won’t you go Amish?”

Emma and Steelhead exchanged a glance.

“I offered,” Steelhead said. “She said no.”

Carrie looked at her, stunned. “Emma?”

“You know it’s nearly impossible for the English to go Amish, Carrie. Steelhead would be miserable being Plain. Look at how our Abel is struggling. He’s been living with Plain folks for years, off and on, and he can hardly string two words together of the dialect to make any sense. I can’t do that to Seymour.” Emma blew her nose. “Oh Carrie, this is my chance at love. A real, true, heartfire love. You know what I’m talking about.”

Carrie did. She knew.

Emma squeezed her hands together.“I hope you’ll forgive me. I know I’ve disappointed you, but I feel peace in my heart that I’m not disappointing God.” Emma took a letter out of her apron pocket and handed it to Carrie. “Would you give this to Mother?”

Carrie closed her eyes. “No, Emma.”

“Please, Carrie, please.” Emma was nearly begging, her voice teary.

Carrie shook her head. “I can’t. Esther should hear this from you. She deserves that.”

“She’s right, cupcake,” Steelhead said. “It’s just what I’ve been telling you. We’ll go right over and tell her together.”

Emma looked as if she was about to face the firing squad. As Carrie handed the envelope back to her, Emma grabbed her for a hug. Then Steelhead wrapped his large arms around the both of them, squeezing the breath out of them before releasing them.

“We’d better hit the road, lambchop,” he said to Emma.

As they climbed onto the motorcycle, Abel and Andy came out of the barn to say goodbye. Just as Steelhead started the engine, Abel pulled Andy by the shoulders to get him out of the way. Emma took off her prayer cap and her apron and handed them to Carrie.

Her eyes blurry with tears, Carrie said, “I’m going to keep these for you, Emma, just in case you change your mind. You can
always
change your mind and repent and be forgiven by the church. Remember that.” Then she gave Emma one last hug.

Carrie, Abel, and Andy followed the motorcycle down the driveway and watched it roar down the road until it disappeared from sight.

“You okay?” Abel asked Carrie.

Carrie looked at the cap and apron in her hands. “She’s my favorite sister.”

Abel smiled. “I know,” he said, slipping her a handkerchief.

Then a thought jolted Carrie and stopped her tears. Even if she felt confused and heartsick about shunning her own sister, she knew Esther wouldn’t think twice. “I’m guessing Esther will be rounding the corner into this driveway with a new helper by sundown.”

Color drained out of Abel’s face. Carrie felt the same way.

Andy, who had seemed stoic about Emma’s leaving, glared at Abel accusingly. “I suppose you’ll be leaving next.”

Abel looked taken back. “What makes you say that?”

“Emma told me you fixed it so the house belongs to Carrie and me.”

Abel and Carrie exchanged a glance.

“Yeah. That’s what I figured,” Andy said, running off before Abel could answer.

Within a few hours after Emma left Cider Mill Farm, Esther’s buggy clattered into the driveway. Seated next to her was Clara, a cousin thrice removed, tall, thin, and unhappy. “Clara will help you now,” Esther said in a voice that had a vinegar tang to it.

Scarcely nodding at Carrie, Clara took her bag up to Emma’s empty room and started to unpack.

“She’s the one who’s allergic to everything, isn’t she?” Carrie asked miserably. “Maybe I could find someone else.”

“For now, she stays,” Esther said, casting a mutinous look at Abel.

Carrie took a deep breath. “I just found out about Emma, Esther, same as you.”

Esther stiffened her spine at the mention of Emma’s name. Adhering to the Ordnung, she would never again utter her name. “But he knew.” She gave a brief nod in Abel’s direction.

“Yes, ma’am, I knew,” Abel said.

Arms akimbo, Esther glared at Abel. “This is your doing. Your English Bible, your talk about God being bigger than being Amish. Emma—” she shuddered, “—she told me about the things you’ve said. You turned her thinking inside out.”

That wasn’t true, Carrie knew that. Abel looked pained, but he didn’t defend himself nor did he back away. He just let Esther say her piece.

“And how long until you convince my Carrie to leave?” Esther glanced over at Andy, standing next to Abel. “And take my Andy with her?” And then, to Carrie’s shock, Esther’s eyes started to well up with tears. Embarrassed, she turned to leave.

Carrie’s heart swelled with an unexpected softness toward Esther. In her own brittle way, she realized, Esther loved them. She had lived her life hanging on to tight rules and didn’t know what to do when those rules didn’t work.

Carrie ran to her buggy to stop her before she left. “Andy and I aren’t leaving, Esther. We’re staying right here. I won’t take him from you. You can count on that.”

With one leg hoisted on the buggy step, Esther stopped and gave a quick nod. She reached a hand out to grasp Carrie’s and gave it a light squeeze. Then, she lifted herself up onto the buggy seat, her face all stern and stiff again, and slapped the horse’s reins.

Carrie watched her go, realizing she had just come to a final decision. She turned around to face Abel. Their eyes locked, filled with unspoken thoughts, then his gaze fell away from hers and he returned to the barn.

A week to the day after Emma left, Yonnie didn’t come downstairs for breakfast when she usually did. Carrie made a cup of her favorite hot tea and sent Andy upstairs to give it to her. Not a minute later, she heard him scream.

Carrie hurried upstairs to Yonnie’s bedside and could see that she was in trouble. Her breath sounds were labored, rattling, spasmodic. Her skin was cool and ashen blue. Carrie reached for her hand, the skin thin as tissue.

Yonnie grasped Carrie’s hand. “I need . . . Abel.” Her face was pale and tired and tense.

It was the tension on her face that worried Carrie the most. She knew Yonnie was dying; she recognized the signs. But she’d never seen an Amish person pass with their face tense and troubled, only with peace.

“Get Abel,” Carrie told Andy. “He’s in the carriage house.” She turned to Yonnie. “Hush, now. Don’t talk. Save your strength. He’ll be here soon.”

Yonnie’s labored breathing marked time in the somber room until a door slammed and Abel rushed up the stairs, two at a time. He stopped so abruptly at the doorjamb that Andy, following close behind, nearly ran into him.

“Should I get an ambulance?” Abel asked Carrie.

“Nee, nee,” Yonnie whispered. “No hospital. I need to make something right before I pass.”

Noticing how frightened Andy looked, Carrie said quietly, “Go milk the cow.”

The boy’s wide-eyed gaze jerked to the window that faced the carriage house, then back to her. “But I already did.”

“Go,” Carrie said firmly, pointing to the door. “Take Clara with you.” She shut the door behind him, whisper-soft, as Abel knelt beside Yonnie’s bed, holding her hands in his.

Yonnie’s voice came out in little puffs. “My sin . . . is like a cancer that spread and choked our family.”

Abel gently kissed her hands. “Yonnie, please—”

“Let me say it.” She closed her eyes as if gathering strength.

“The kerosene, contaminated with gasoline. Daniel didn’t do it. He thought he did, but he didn’t.” She took a deep breath. “I did it.”

He raised his head, startled. “You? But how?”

Tears leaked out of the corners of Yonnie’s eyes. “I needed gasoline for the washing machine.”

Abel stared at her, his eyes wide open, unblinking. “Yonnie, what are you getting at?”

“I found a red can in the barn with some gasoline still in it. I was coming back to the house and heard the phone ringing in the shed.” She took another deep breath, gathering strength. “Cousin Miriam was on the phone, calling about Daniel and Katie’s wedding. We gabbed a long time.”

Abel’s expression on his face grew absolutely still.

“I must have put the can on top of the containers when I picked up the phone. When I hung up with Miriam, I noticed the can was on its side. But nothing had spilled. Oh Abel, I was sure nothing spilled out.”

He was silent for a moment, then quietly said, “The spilled gas would have evaporated.”

Yonnie was panting, sucking in great gasps of air like she was drowning. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Lieber Gott, I didn’t know what I’d done. Not till later that day, after Daniel had come back and delivered the kerosene to the neighbors. And then, the fires.” She shuddered. “By the time I realized what had happened, the police were all over the farm. I was so frightened. That night, I tried to tell Eli. I tried, but I couldn’t. And then it was too late.”

“Yonnie . . .”

She put up a hand, heavy and swollen at the knuckles, to stop him. “Things started happening so fast. There wasn’t time to think. Oh, to lose Eli’s Lena, and Daniel’s Katie, all at once. Four funerals, four funerals in one week. And next thing I knew, you and Daniel and Eli were standing before the judge. The longer I waited, the harder it got to tell the truth.” She drew in a draught of air. “And then off you took yourself to jail. And still I didn’t tell. I let my sweet Daniel think he was responsible.” She gave out a gasp, as if in pain. “Oh Abel, I am the worst of sinners. The Lord God will punish me.”

Abel dropped his head. His fists were clenched tight, but he remained silent. Carrie could see the pulse beating in his neck, fast and hard.

“Tell her, Abel,” Carrie said softly but firmly, kneeling down beside him, resting her hand on his back. “Tell her you forgive her. You’ve got to let her know.”

Time was running out. Yonnie’s confession had sapped her energy and she was fading. Carrie saw the signs of approaching death—skin as thin as crepe paper, shallow gasps, a slowing pulse.

“Abel, we know, both of us, how secrets get started. You said it yourself . . . that we have no business throwing stones. Don’t let her down the way . . . ,” Carrie’s voice broke on the words, “. . . don’t disappoint her the way I let my Daniel down. Tell her you forgive her.”

Her words fell into an empty silence. Slowly Abel lifted his head and Carrie thought he was going to speak, but then he dropped his chin to his chest.