The Choice (10 page)

“They need water,” Daniel said.

“Yonnie might have an eye dropper in her medicine chest,” Carrie said. “You can try that.” But the feeble condition of those baby birds worried her. Andy was just barely getting over their father’s death, if such a thing were possible, she thought. She wasn’t really sure she’d ever feel the same way she did before Jacob died. The pain wasn’t as severe as it had been a few months ago, though it would catch her off guard sometimes. Just yesterday, she found a list with Jacob’s handwriting on it and tears flooded her eyes. Most days, though, grief wasn’t at the forefront anymore.

Still, neither was happiness.

By the next afternoon, with Andy’s vigilant care, the baby birds made a complete turnaround. They were noisy and demanding houseguests. Smelly too. Carrie insisted that the nest be moved out of the warm kitchen and into the barn. Andy objected, certain they would freeze to death.

“They’ll be fine, Andy,” Carrie said reassuringly. “The barn is protected.” She pointed to the barn. “Go.”

Just as soon as Andy disappeared into the barn with the nest, Mattie came to the door bringing a box wrapped up in warm scarves. She unwrapped the box on the kitchen table. Inside were five creamy white eggs. “They’re Canada geese eggs. Dad ordered a batch to restock the pond. You’ll need to keep them incubated for about a month. I thought, in case the hawk babies don’t make it, well, this way he’d have something else to take care of.”

Mattie packed the eggs up again to keep them warm.

Daniel took the box out of her arms to take to the barn. Solemnly, he looked at her and said, “You have a good heart, Mattie Zook.”

5

It was just about a year ago, Carrie realized, on a beautiful fall day just like today—crisp and cold, with leaves on the trees in shades from red to yellow—that she had made her last batch of sweet cider with her father. She had watched Jacob closely as he mixed juices from different varieties of apples to make his sweet cider. He was very particular about his cider.

“Folks count on my cider, Carrie girl, to help them get through the long winter, so we got to make it just right.”

Together, they sampled blends before deciding on the perfect combination. “Thirty-six apples, not one more or one less, make a gallon of cider,” he had said, counting them out.

Even then, she felt a shiver of precognition, to seal that memory— a perfect moment, a perfect day.

After Daniel sold the fancy-grade apples from this year’s harvest to a packing house, Carrie decided to use the leftover apples to re-create her father’s cider. In the carriage house, Daniel had found an old cider press and cleaned it up for her. All week, she had been trying to match the taste of her father’s cider—sweet and tart. Carrie didn’t think the taste of her cider rivaled Jacob’s— her apple varieties differed from his—but it was close enough for the neighbors. At church on Sunday, Carrie told one person, the right person—Emma—that she was making Jacob’s cider, and by Monday morning, neighbors were lined up at the farmhouse with empty plastic gallon milk jugs.

One of the first customers was Annie Zook, a school friend of Carrie’s who married one of Mattie’s cousins and was pregnant with twins.

“That girl is about ready to pop,” Emma said, waving to Annie as she drove off in the buggy. Emma had come for the day, to help, she said, but she spent her time talking with visiting neighbors. She glanced curiously at Carrie’s flat midriff. “Seems like we should be getting an announcement pretty soon, doesn’t it?” Then she frowned. “Though Mother said that you might take after your own mother, who had trouble having babies. She said your mother was a frail and sickly thing. She said your mother was a carrier of hemophilia and that’s why it was a double whammy with Jacob being a bleeder and Andy being a bleeder. She wondered if you might have trouble too.”

Carrie stiffened but wasn’t surprised. The Plain had a saying: a new baby every spring. “If Esther seems to know so much about me,” she asked Emma, “why don’t you just ask her?”

These days, Esther barely said more than a few words to Carrie other than to point out Andy’s shortcomings. Yesterday at church, Esther had picked up Andy by the back of the collar, like a coat on a peg, and told Carrie that he needed a haircut.

Emma planted her hands on her hips. “There’s no need to get huffy. I just figured you’d be—”

“Cinnamon rolls are burning, Emma,” Daniel interrupted, passing the women on his way to the barn.

“Himmel! No! I told Yonnie to take them out thirty minutes ago . . .” Emma hurried to the kitchen, her legs pumping hard as if she were being chased by a swarm of yellow jackets.

Carrie turned to Daniel. “I saw Yonnie take those rolls out of the oven awhile ago.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Ach? Ich bin letz.”
Oh? My
mistake.
Into his mouth he popped the last bite of a cinnamon roll he had hidden behind his black leather apron. A smile flickered over Daniel’s lips, so quick, so faint, that Carrie thought she might have imagined it.

The first snowfall of winter dusted Stoney Ridge on Christmas. Before dawn, Daniel woke Andy to show him the sight of moonlight casting shadows on the white earth. Afterward, the two went into the barn to feed the animals. Andy flew out of the barn and let out a thunderbuster bellow that shook the air. Carrie rushed down, thinking something terrible must have happened.

Instead, it was something wonderful.

Daniel had surprised Andy with a pony, Strawberry, and a cart of his own. When Carrie saw the look on Andy’s face as he stroked the roan-colored pony in the stall, her eyes filled with tears.

“Aw, it’s not so much, Carrie,” Daniel said, but he looked pleased. “Just a way to get him to school and back.”

The Zooks had invited Carrie’s family over to share Christmas dinner, so later that day Eli readied the buggy. Carrie looked forward to being with Mattie, but she worried about the turn of weather. The day had grown dark and cold, and snow was starting to pile up. Carrie fussed over Yonnie in the buggy, covering her with blankets warmed by the kitchen stove. Daniel wanted to train Andy to manage Strawberry, so they followed behind in the cart. Carrie peered through the back window of Eli’s buggy at the sight of them. Daniel stood with his arms wrapped around Andy, partly to block the wind and partly to help him control the reins. Andy’s hat had blown off, his coat was open, his red cheeks looked windchapped. But the look of pure joy on his face warmed Carrie’s heart like a summer day.

Winter storms hit twice in January, just enough to keep things interesting, Eli said, without making life too difficult. In the middle of the month, the skies were blue, but a cold snap kept the ground frozen solid, so Eli and Daniel decided the time was right to prune the orchards. If the weather turned too warm, the slushy snow would turn to mud, slowing them down.

Midmorning and midafternoon, Carrie brought a warm drink and snack out to Daniel and Eli in the orchards to keep them fortified. As they finished pruning the last few acres of apple trees, she noticed that Eli had to stop frequently. He had trouble catching his breath, like he was at the top of a mountain and couldn’t get enough air. She thought he was just having a hard time climbing up and down the ramp, dragging heavy saws, but she could see that Daniel was concerned.

One day at lunch, Eli felt so worn out that he decided to lie down in his room for a few minutes. After watching Eli slowly make his way up the stairs, Daniel asked her if she knew of any heart doctors in town, but she only knew of blood doctors.

“Has your father had trouble with his heart?” Carrie asked.

Daniel didn’t answer right away, so Yonnie filled in. “Terrible trouble. He has a bad heart. Doctor had to open him up. Doctor said it was like . . . like fixing a leaky sprinkler.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Surgery to fix a valve.”

“I’ll ask around and see if someone knows of a heart doctor to recommend,” Carrie said.

“Doctor can’t fix it,” Yonnie said sadly. “His heart is just broken to pieces.”

Slowly, like a weathervane, Daniel turned and stared at her. All the world’s sorrow, all the world’s pain, filled those troubled blue eyes.

“Oh Daniel, I didn’t mean . . .” Yonnie’s hands flew up to her mouth, as if trying to stop the flow of words.

He dropped his head, then lifted it. When he turned to Carrie, his blue eyes went still again. She’d never seen a person’s face change so fast.

“Tell Eli I’ll wait for him in the workshop,” he told her, plucking his broadbrim off the wall peg before heading outside.

Carrie wondered what had just been said between Yonnie and Daniel. Or not said, as seemed to be Daniel’s way. She closed the kitchen door, watching him. She couldn’t crack that man open with a sledgehammer.

Suddenly, Yonnie’s fork clattered on the floor as she clapped her hands together and started whispering, “Gottes wille. Gottes wille.”

Not a moment later, a loud tumbling sound came from overhead. It was followed by an eerie silence.

Carrie ran to the kitchen door and called out to Daniel. Nearly at the barn, he spun around and bolted to the house, almost as if he had been expecting Carrie’s call. He burst into the kitchen and flew up the stairs, two at a time, and threw open the door to his father’s room. By the time Carrie reached them, she found Daniel cradling his father in his arms, a stricken look on his face as he called out, “Dad! Dad!” Eli’s mouth moved silently, like a fish out of water. His hands were gripping his shirt, in great pain. Then he went still.

Daniel looked up at Carrie with a horrified look. “Er is nimmi am scharfe.”
He’s gone.

Carrie was grateful Andy wasn’t home when Eli passed. She thought she would meet him at school to prepare him for the sight of Eli’s body, laid out in the front room.

As she took her bonnet off of the peg, Daniel stopped her. “I’ll go. Need the fresh air.”

Carrie’s heart felt heavy as she saw Daniel walk down the driveway, hands jammed in his pockets, head dropped low. He seemed so alone. The deeper the feelings, she was discovering about him, the more he withdrew into himself. She didn’t know how to help him.

No sooner had Daniel disappeared down the street but Veronica McCall arrived, banging on the front door as if Carrie were deaf as a fencepost. When Carrie opened the door, Veronica squeezed past her to enter the house. When Veronica’s eyes rested on Yonnie’s quilts, stacked up in the corner of the front room, she gasped. She rushed over to the quilts, pulling them out to admire them.

“These are masterpieces! They’re stunning! They should be hanging in a museum!” She yanked them open as if they were sheets for a bed. “Did you make these, Carrie?”

“No. Daniel’s grandmother made them. She’s upstairs, resting—” “Well, you just hop upstairs and wake her up! I have a proposition to make her.”

“This isn’t a good time for a visit—”

“Carrie, I want these quilts for the inn when it reopens! Name your price!”

Carrie sighed. “They’re not for sale. Yonnie makes the quilts for her family to use. There are other quilters in Stoney Ridge who want to sell quilts.”

“I know. I’ve been looking. But there are none like these. I’ve never seen any like these.” Veronica McCall planted her hands on her hips and tilted her head at Carrie. “For an Amish woman, you drive a hard bargain.”