The Choice (15 page)

As the wagon clattered into the covered bridge, Old-Timer balked. Carrie snapped the reins but he wouldn’t budge. Government workers had been reconditioning the covered bridge and had placed sawhorses with blinking lights so people would stay clear of their equipment. She got out of the wagon and tried to lead Old-Timer, but the horse would not move forward. He was frightened by the white cuts of lightning that lit the sky, making strange shadows in the bridge.

“You old fool,” she said to Old-Timer. “Now what am I going to do?”

Out of nowhere, Carrie heard a young man’s voice. “If you trust me, ma’am, I think I can help you.” He had a gentle voice, soft-spoken, polite.

She whipped her head around to see where the man was standing. She couldn’t make him out in the darkness, only his profile, but she could tell he was English.The stranger told Carrie to hop back on the wagon. He took off his coat and covered Old-Timer’s head with it, talking to him softly. Old-Timer took a tentative step forward, then another, and finally made it through to the other side. The stranger removed his jacket and gently stroked Old-Timer’s head.

“See?” he said with a grin. “It’s as simple as that.”

“Thank you for your help,” she said. “Can I be offering a ride to you? This weather is turning bad.” She looked up at the bruised, dark sky.

“I’m looking for the Miller home,” he said.

Carrie felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “Millers abound among the Amish. Any idea which Miller?”

“I’m looking for the home of Daniel Miller. Moved here from Ohio last summer. Father’s name was Eli.”

She snapped her head up to look at the man for a second time. Her heart started pounding so loudly that she heard it in her ears. She recognized the man from the article printed out by Veronica McCall’s computer.

This man is Abel Miller.

Carrie shouldn’t have been surprised by now that Yonnie seemed to be expecting Abel—the woman had an uncanny sense of knowing these things. She was standing outside on the kitchen steps as the wagon wheels rolled into the driveway. Abel jumped off the wagon and ran to her, hugging her little elderly body tightly to his, tears flowing down both of their faces. Carrie thought it was pure sweetness to watch. It felt good to see Yonnie happy. At times she was amazed at how Yonnie carried on, despite so much sadness in the last few years. It almost seemed as if she poured her feelings into her quilts, and that’s why the colors were so dramatic and bold. Carrie left the two of them alone and went in to get dinner started.

On the ride to the house, Abel had told Carrie he had received a letter about Daniel’s passing. He didn’t say from whom and Carrie didn’t ask. He said it was hard for him to get his mind around the fact of losing his cousin. His uncle too. “I needed to see Yonnie, as soon as I could,” he said. “She’s all I have left.”

Yonnie was practically glowing as she joined Carrie in the kitchen. “Abel is unhooking Old-Timer from the wagon and said he’d brush him down.” She smiled. “A good Amish man takes care of the buggy horse first.”

Carrie glanced sideways over at Yonnie as she peeled the carrots for dinner.
Was
Abel an Amish man? He was dressed in English clothing, his hair was shingled. Maybe he was wearing clothes he had been given when he left prison, Carrie reasoned. But another curiosity: Yonnie spoke English to him, not Deitsch.

By the time Abel came in from the barn, Carrie had supper in the oven.

“I filled your horses’ water buckets and gave them all two flakes of hay. But your cow looks like she’s about to burst. If you’ll give me a milk bucket, I’ll take care of her,” he said.

Abel Miller was no stranger around horses, she decided, gathering clues about him. Maybe he was a smithy too.

“Thank you,” Carrie said, “but my brother should be home by now and that’s his chore.”

As if on cue, Andy burst in the door, doffed his hat, reached a hand into the cookie jar, but froze in motion as his eyes landed on Abel.

“Andy,” Carrie said, pulling his hand out of the cookie jar, “where did you disappear to? You were supposed to weed the garden. We’re just about to eat. Hope needs milking, first.” She led him by the shoulders to meet Abel. “This is Daniel’s cousin, Abel. He’s come for a visit.”

Andy looked Abel up and down. “Ich gleich sei Guck net.”
I
don’t like his looks.

Carrie squeezed his shoulders in warning. “Andy! Was in der Welt is letz?”
What in the world is wrong with you?
She turned to Abel. “Kannscht du Pennsilfaanisch Deitsch schwetze?”
Can you
speak Pennsylvania Dutch?

Abel shrugged. “I’m pretty rusty.”

Carrie turned to Andy. “Speak English.”

Andy frowned at her. “I only said, ‘You don’t look like Daniel.’ ” A frown looked funny on such a young face.

Abel’s mouth deepened at the corners, trying not to smile, yet he seemed amused. Carrie couldn’t tell if he could understand what they were saying or just found them entertaining.

“Maybe not. But he’s my grandson too, Andy,” Yonnie said with surprising firmness. She still hadn’t stopped smiling since Abel’s arrival.

Andy shrugged, grabbed the clean milk bucket off of the bench, and ran outside to milk Hope, who was lowing unhappily from the barn.

As Abel washed up, Carrie set the bowl of stewed beef, carrots, and green beans on the table and passed the bread to Yonnie to slice. As soon as Andy returned, they sat down to dinner, closed their eyes, and bowed their heads for silent prayer. Abel held his hands open as if he was receiving a gift, eyes wide open, and launched into an out-loud prayer.

“Father, thank you for all the prayers you’ve answered for me today. For bringing me safely here to Yonnie, Carrie, and Andy. Help us to trust you more with each day that passes. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.”

Yonnie’s, Andy’s, and Carrie’s heads bobbed up in surprise. Carrie was appalled by the familiarity with which Abel prayed, as if the Lord God himself was sitting next to him. Abel was raised Amish, Carrie thought; he must know their ways. Why had he prayed aloud?

Abel reached a hand out to the bread basket, passed it around, then picked up the butter knife and slathered a slice. “Mmm, good!” he said, after taking a bite. “They sure didn’t have food like this in the slammer.”

Carrie was so startled by his blunt remark that her fork slipped out of her hand and onto the floor.

Abel didn’t notice. He started asking a lot of questions about the farm—the acreage, the kinds of apple trees, the outbuildings, and the livestock, of which there was little, for now.

“Hope just had her first calf, Lulu,” Carrie said, passing the bread and butter to Andy. “So we finally have fresh milk. Up to a few months ago, I’ve had to buy milk from the Stoltzfuses, next farm over.”

“You named a cow Hope?” he asked, his eyes laughing.

“Carrie named her Hope because she has high hopes for her,” Yonnie said. “Carrie likes to give things meaning with their names. Her calf ’s name is Hallelujah because we’re so happy she was born.”

Abel grinned. “Sounds fittin’.”

“We always name the calf after the initial of the mother.” Andy spoke in a tone of someone who was firmly in charge of this farm. “That’s the way my dad did it, so that’s the way we do it.”

Carrie looked at Andy curiously, wondering what was running through that boy’s head. That was the first flicker of interest he showed in Abel, and it sounded nearly like an accusation.

Unfazed, Abel nodded at him. “Sounds like a solid system.”

“So how long were you in jail?” Andy asked, eyes narrowed, his voice cold as winter earth.

“About a year and a half.”

Andy’s eyes roamed up and down Abel’s arms. “Any tattoos?” “Andy!” Carrie said, frowning, but Abel only laughed and shook his head before asking Carrie more questions about the property.

As Carrie answered Abel, she surprised herself by how much she knew about the orchards. She must have picked up more from listening to Eli and Daniel than she realized. “We only have twenty acres, but the trees were planted pretty dense. About one hundred trees to an acre, give or take a few. We have two acres of Northern Spy, three of Rusty Coat, two of Newtown Pippin, three of Smokehouse, two of Golden Russet, five of Honey Cider, and three of Pumpkin Sweet.”

“I’ve never heard of those varieties,” Abel said.

“They’re Mid-Atlantic heirlooms,” Carrie said. “Then we made cider from the apples that didn’t make fancy grade.”

Abel looked confused. “Fancy grade?”

“Eating quality,” Carrie said. “Crisp to the bite and good looking. Those get sold to the packing house for top dollar.”

“Carrie’s known for her cider,” Yonnie said. “Some say it’s the best cider in the county.”

“It was my dad’s cider recipe,” Andy said, without looking at Abel. “We use five kinds of apples.”

“That’s right,” Carrie said, eyes shining. “We called it Jacob’s Cider and can’t make enough of it. On cider press day, folks line up at the crack of dawn, holding their own empty milk jugs.”

“Saved ’em a quarter if they brought their own jugs,” Andy said, with the voice of authority.

Abel cocked his head, watching them intently as they talked. “Well, you all sound like apple experts.”

“There’s much still to learn about taking care of an orchard,” Carrie said, more to herself than to Abel.

“That’s why I’m quitting school,” Andy said. “To stay home and take care of our apples.”

Carrie pointed a finger at him. “You’ll do no such thing.”

Yonnie turned to Andy and said, “The Lord God answered our prayers, Andy. Our Abel is home to help us.” She reached over to squeeze Abel’s hand.

Abel seemed perplexed for a moment, as if he had something on his mind, then he smoothed out his puzzled look. “That was a fine dinner.”

For a split second Carrie had a vague impression he was hiding something. But maybe not. What did she really know about this English man? She’d only known him a few hours.

After dinner, Abel surprised Carrie by taking dishes to the sink, stacking them to wash. She had never seen her father, Eli, or Daniel touch a dish unless they were eating off of it.

“Did a lot of dish washing in the joint,” he said, adding soap to the hot water. He smiled at the look on her face when he mentioned prison. “Kind of silly to pretend it didn’t happen, isn’t it? That’s where my last seventeen months, thirteen days, and two hours—or so—have been spent.” He had a dimple in one cheek that gave him a slightly crooked smile, as if he was grinning about a private joke. “Not that I was keeping track.”

“You don’t mind talking about it?” Carrie asked as she dried a wet dish.

“Not a bit.” He handed her another dish to dry. “Truth is, I met the Lord Jesus in prison. And all things considered, I consider that to be a gift.”

Carrie nearly dropped the dish when she heard him say that. She stole a look at Yonnie who had stopped her chair mid-rock, leaning forward as if she wasn’t sure she heard him right. Even Andy, who had crammed so many cookies into his mouth that his cheeks puffed out, looked wide-eyed at Abel’s declaration.

Abel laughed at them. “Now, ladies, pick your jaws up off the ground. I’m telling you the gospel truth. I found the Lord in a jail cell. I’m mighty grateful he saved my sorry hide.” He grinned at both of them. “Sort of sounds like a country song, doesn’t it?”

Abel Miller was a strange one, Carrie decided.

Abel insisted on sleeping out in the barn instead of in the house. The storm had passed mostly by, leaving the air fresh and sweet smelling. Abel carried a lantern, lighting the path ahead of Carrie. When she nearly slipped, he insisted on holding her elbow to steady her. In her arms were a stack of Yonnie’s quilts, topped with a pillow for him.

“I’d forgotten how dark it can be in the country,” he said, looking up at the heavens. The sky was a thick, cloudy soup. The only visible light came from a tiny slice of moon.

Carrie showed him where the workshop was, at the back of the barn, and the cot he could sleep on, and how to get the woodstove started. One of the horses whinnied from his stall.

“That’s Schtarm, saying hello,” she said, handing a pillow to Abel.