The Choice (22 page)

“Fine,” said Emma triumphantly.

Abel, Carrie noticed, didn’t look so fine.

That night, as Carrie was getting ready for bed, she pulled out Daniel’s letters. Every few days, she steeled herself to read another letter. Tonight, she wanted to finish them.

July 8th

Dear Abel,

You’d better sit down for this.

I asked Carrie Weaver, Jacob’s daughter, to marry me and she said yes. I’m still a little stunned, myself. It all happened rather fast. Ever since we arived at the Weavers’, Dad had been encouraging me—downright badgering—to take an interest in Carrie. More than an interest. She’s a lovely girl—don’t get me wrong—but I still have Katie in my heart. Then, suddenly, Jacob Weaver died and Carrie was grieving so, and next thing I knew, I asked her to marry me. We’re to be married in September. Carrie wanted to marry quickly and move out of Esther Weaver’s house. (When you meet Esther, you’ll understand.) So, there you have it. There are moments when I wonder what I’ve done . . . but I will tell you that it’s a great relief to see Dad looking pleased. As for Carie, I think she deserves better.

Yours, Daniel

October 7th

Dear Abel,

I’m writing this in the middle of a violent storm.Lightning is splintering the dark sky, and the thunder booms so loud it’s as if the heavens have cracked open to spill forth the rain.

Carrie and I have been married for four weeks today.Strange, how one day in a person’s life can change its course forever. Married life is an adjustment, though I think Carrie does a better job of it than I do. She is suddenly caring for a household of Millers—Yonnie, Dad, and me. Her younger brother, Andy, too. And she has been unfailingly kind. Dad calls her “my great blessing.” I think he’s right.

But for the life of me, I can’t figure out why I should be blessed.

You asked me if Carrie knew of the Ohio incident. I wanted to tell her, straight off, but Dad counseled me not to. “Some things are best left behind,” he told me, and I couldn’t really argue with that. I hesitated to tell her and the moment passed.

You also asked me if I have forgiven myself yet. How do I do that, Abel? I see the loneliness etched on Dad’s face when he doesn’t realize I’m watching. Mom should be by his side. I think of my Katie and the happy life that was robbed of her. I think of how old that little Benjamin Lapp would be by now, and if Elam Lapp would have taken him fishing and birding, like Dad did with you and me. I think of you serving time in jail when I should be there, and Dad having sold his farm to pay the fines. Both of you have paid a steep price for something I was responsible for.

How can I ever forgive myself? How, Abel? And if I can’t forgive myself, how could I ever expect God to forgive me?

Yours, Daniel

February 4th

Dear Abel,

It’s been over a week now since Dad died. I’m sorry you weren’t here for the service. The local church showed up, even though they hardly knew him. Quite a few folks came from Ohio on a bus, mostly greybeards. It would have pleased him.

During the service, Carrie did something that touched me deeply. When the first clods of dirt fell on Dad’s coffin with a gentle thud, she reached over to take my hand.Such a simple act, but it was like she was sharing her strength. I have felt frozen, Abel, and Carrie is helping me to thaw. I wished I could have told her how much it meant to me. I tried to, but the words just get jumbled in my head, like when we used to go fishing at Black Bottom Pond and couldn’t untangle the lines. When the last shovelful of dirt covered Dad’s lifeworn body, I couldn’t help but hope you might be right. That six feet under isn’t the end.

Yours, Daniel

Carrie read and reread the letter. The part about when she reached out and held Daniel’s hand nearly broke her heart. The sound of the dirt clods hitting Eli’s coffin reminded her of her own father’s funeral. Her mother’s too. She had reached out for Daniel’s hand for
his
strength, not to
give
him strength. She felt a fresh wave of crushing guilt over failing Daniel so miserably. Memories of him pressed like a pile of stones on her chest.

Her feelings about Daniel were so tangled up, his death so unexpected, that she had managed to push thoughts of him away. In fact, she had gotten pretty good at ignoring sorrows. It was in the still of the night, when she had nothing to listen to but her own thoughts, that she couldn’t hide from them. Her heart echoed with hollowness and her sorrows found her, as if they were patiently waiting for her to acknowledge their presence. It was then that she had trouble shooing them away.

Daniel’s letters changed all of that. They brought her sorrows out in the daylight. They revealed a side of him that she sensed was there but could never seem to find a way to break through to it. It was the very side of him that had given her the assurance to say yes when he asked her to marry him. She felt safe with Daniel. But when he finally shared his burden with her, she panicked like a skittish horse. Why couldn’t she have just stayed and listened to him?

She felt a grieving for what might have been with Daniel. It wasn’t just that he had lost his life; they had lost a life together. She was all mixed up inside, like pieces to one of Yonnie’s crazy quilts before any sense was made of them. She kept hoping the pieces would come together into a beautiful pattern, and everything would turn out all right.

But it was too late for that. Daniel was gone.

The next day was a churchgoing Sunday. Carrie got up early to start breakfast so they’d be ready to leave by 7:30. When Abel came inside, she poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him.

As he took the steaming cup from her, he cocked his head. “You okay?”

“Of course,” Carrie said.

He peered at her with worried eyes. “You look awful pale.”

She put her hands up to her cheeks. “Been indoors too much, lately, I s’pect.”

“He’s right,” Emma said as she came downstairs. “You look as wilted as last night’s lettuce.”

Carrie went upstairs to wake up Andy, but stopped at her bedroom. She looked at the bed and felt its pull, climbing beneath the heavy quilt, her gaze on the window that framed a gray, brooding sky. She listened to the creak of the wind battering the walls and felt bruised with weariness. Her head hurt, nearly as much as her heart.

When Emma came past her door, she peered at Carrie. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Slowly, Carrie sat up. “I don’t know. Maybe. I think I should skip church today and try to rest.”

Yonnie poked her head around Emma. “I’ll make up some of my sassafras tea. Whenever you’re feeling poorly, sassafras tea will soon have you fit as a fiddle.”

One bright spot, Carrie realized as she pulled the covers up to her chin, trying to stay warm, she had a firm excuse to get out of tonight’s singing. She didn’t want to encourage John Graber’s interest in her. She didn’t want to encourage any man’s interest in her.

Later that evening, Veronica was down in the kitchen with Emma, loudly insisting that she refused to go in the buggy to the singing, saying she would freeze to death. Just as loudly, Emma told Veronica that she would only be cold because she wasn’t wearing enough clothing, that she was showing more curves than a country lane. Insulted, Veronica insisted on driving her car. Emma and John Graber left in the buggy, and Abel joined Veronica in her car.

After they left, Andy came up to Carrie’s room to play checkers. Two hours later, Carrie heard Veronica’s car swerve into the driveway, a car door slam, then the car zoom off. Andy heard Abel come into the kitchen, so he flew downstairs to hear a recap of the evening. He couldn’t wait until he was old enough to go to the singings.

Andy had left her bedroom door open, at the top of the stairs. Carrie could heard them talking as if they were just a few feet away. Abel was explaining that Veronica McCall wanted to leave early. “She was already mad that she showed up an hour early. I forgot to tell her the Amish don’t follow daylight saving time. And then she complained that it smelled like a cow barn,” he said.

“Wasn’t it in a barn?” Andy asked.

“Yeah, but she was talking about the people.”

Andy let out a hoot of laughter, then Yonnie shooed him upstairs to get ready for bed.

“How’s Carrie doing?” she heard Abel ask. “Any idea why she’s not feeling well?”

“It’s her spirit,” Yonnie said, sounding like a doctor. “She’s ailing.”

“Might be the flu.”

“No. No fever, no stomach sickness. It’s in her heart. She’s struggling over something.”

Carrie felt a chill run through her. Yonnie’s keen perception always made her feel peculiar.

Just after Andy left for school on Monday morning, Veronica McCall walked into the kitchen at Cider Mill Farm. Usually, when she picked up Abel, she didn’t bother to come into the house. Only when she wanted something.

Veronica McCall helped herself to coffee and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, prattling on about how cold it was and that the mud was damaging her new leather boots. Carrie kept looking out the kitchen window, hoping Abel would come in from the barn and take Veronica off of her hands.

Veronica McCall was talking so fast and furious it took her a minute to see that Carrie wasn’t listening. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said! And . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence. “Why, you look terrible! Raccoon eyes. We need to get some makeup on you to cover up those dark circles.” She reached for her purse and started to hunt through it. “Why don’t you people have any mirrors in your houses?” Out of her purse, she pulled a small bag with a zipper.

“Because mirrors reflect vanity,” Emma said, coming into the kitchen with her arms loaded with sheets to wash.

Yonnie eased out of her rocking chair and came over to Veronica. “Carrie is grieving over our Daniel,” she said softly.

Veronica McCall looked up at Carrie. She pointed to a chair. “Sit, Carrie. I’m going to fix you right up.” She unzipped the bag and pulled out a metal tube and a small plastic compact.

A switch tripped inside of Carrie. With one hand she swept Veronica’s makeup onto the floor.

Just then, Abel came inside on the wings of a frigid swirl of air. He hung up his coat and turned around, aware of a sudden silence as thick as blackstrap molasses. His eyes darted between Veronica, Carrie, and the spilled makeup on the floor, quickly sizing up the situation.

In a few quick strides, he was at Carrie’s side. “Veronica, wait for me outside.” As Veronica hesitated, he added firmly, “Now.” “I was
trying
to help,” Veronica snarled. She scowled at him, packed up her makeup, snatched her purse off the table, and went outside.

He turned to Carrie and put his hands on her shoulders. “Carrie, you need to go upstairs and rest for a while. Yonnie and Emma will take care of Andy. I’ll take care of the chores.” He glanced through the kitchen window at Veronica, leaning against her car, fingers punching at her black telephone, angry. “Really, you need to rest.”