The Choice (27 page)

At the hospital, Carrie helped Abel walk into the emergency room while Veronica parked her little red convertible. A nurse took one look at how he clutched his arm, face contorted in pain, and pointed toward a bed behind a curtain. Abel stretched out carefully on the bed, took hold of Carrie’s hand, and wouldn’t let go. He held it so tightly that her hand turned a mottled white.

“Abel, they need to examine you,” Carrie told him. “You need to let go of me. I’ll be in the waiting room the entire time.” But he wouldn’t let go.

“Just stay,” the nurse said, yanking the curtain around the bed. “Men like their women right by their side.”

Carrie shook her head. “I’m not—”

The nurse interrupted Carrie with questions about the accident. Then she cut off Abel’s shirt. Carrie felt her cheeks grow warm at the sight of his naked chest, but what made her even more anxious to leave was Abel’s arm, bent askew. Still, he wouldn’t release her hand.

Veronica’s voice, raised in argument with a nurse, floated in from the hallway. “What do you mean, only family can be with him? I’m his girlfriend!”

Carrie leaned over to whisper to Abel, “I think Veronica Mc-Call would like to be with you.” She hoped this would convince him to let go of her hand.

“Nee,” he whispered back, wincing as pain shot through him.
No.

“Since when have you been speaking the dialect?” Carrie asked, smoothing his hair back out of his eyes with her free hand to comfort him, the way she did with Andy when he was sick or upset.

He tried to smile but gave up.

“Okay, pal,” the nurse said, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Abel’s good arm. “Let go of her hand. I need to get your blood pressure.”

Relieved, Carrie pried her fingers out of his, freeing her hand from his grasp.

After recording Abel’s blood pressure, the nurse took his pulse. Frowning, she asked, “Why is your pulse going so fast?” She peered at him, then at Carrie, who was stroking his hair. “Hey, buddy, stop looking at her and look at me for a second.”

Abel turned his head toward the nurse, puzzled, as she kept two fingers on his pulse.

“That’s what I thought. Now it’s going down.” She rolled her eyes. “We’re going to wheel you to X-ray, then the doctor will tell you what a mess you’ve made of your arm.” She snorted. “As if we all didn’t know that.” She yanked back the curtain and jerked his gurney, pushing him down the hall to X-ray.

Abel looked back at Carrie with pleading eyes. “Bleib do!”
Stay here!

“Druwwelt nix, Abel,” she said reassuringly.
Don’t worry.
“Someone will be here.”

Carrie heard the nurse mutter to Abel, “Sheesh, pal. You got it bad.”

Carrie walked into the waiting room rubbing her hands, trying to get feeling back into the one Abel had squeezed for the last hour.

“Sis Schaade! Sei Dod waar ganz unverhofft!” someone called out, thinking Carrie was wringing her hands in grief.
What a pity!
His death was so unexpected!

Startled, Carrie glanced up to see a half-dozen Amish men and women from the barn raising, patiently waiting for news about Abel, Abraham and the bishop among them.

“Oh no! He’s not dead,” she reassured them, still wiggling her fingers. “He’s got a broken arm, but he’s not dead.”

“Atlee, perhaps you should take Carrie home. You should all go home,” Abraham said, looking around the room. “I will stay.”

“Would you? He wants someone to stay, but I . . .”
I want to
go home
, Carrie thought. It had been a long day.

“I’ll stay with him,” Veronica McCall said, rounding a corner, a cup of coffee from the vending machine in her hand. She gave Carrie a measured look.

“Thank you,” Carrie said gratefully, meaning it.

Abraham called a Mennonite taxi driver who owned a van to take them all home. It was dark now, and Carrie briefly wondered about the new barn at the Stolztfuses’, but then her thoughts bounced to Sol. When the van pulled up to Cider Mill Farm, she thanked everyone for their help.

Even the bishop, not known for his sensitivity, could tell Carrie was troubled. “That boy will be fine, Carrie. He’s a young fellow. They heal right quick.”

Carrie nodded.

“That English gal. She’s the one who ought to be feeling upset. She brought this on,” Abraham said.

Carrie shrugged. At this moment, she didn’t care about Veronica McCall. She didn’t even much care about Abel’s broken arm.

A light snow was falling when Veronica McCall returned to Cider Mill Farm. Abel was next to her in the passenger seat, his arm wrapped in a stiff, freshly plastered cast, hanging in a blue sling. Emma and Carrie went outside to help him, but he looked like he wasn’t feeling any pain at all. His eyes were dilated and unfocused.

Carrie put one arm around Abel’s waist and Emma took the other side. “Emma, he shouldn’t be out in the cold workshop. I think he should sleep in your room for now. You can stay in my room.”

Abel started singing at the top of his lungs, something silly about leaving his heart at a Greyhound bus station.

“He’s totally doped up,” Veronica McCall said. “Here are the meds that the doctor prescribed.” She handed Carrie a white paper bag. “He was only supposed to have one of those pink pills, but I gave him two so he could sleep.” She looked at her wristwatch. “Gotta run. I have a video conference call in the morning. Tell Abel toodles!”

“Toodles?” Emma asked, astounded. “You want us to tell him ‘toodles’? How about ‘I’m sorry for honking the horn and causing you to fall off the roof of the barn’?”

Veronica’s eyes narrowed like a cat. “It was an accident. Accidents happen.”

Emma helped Carrie get Abel into bed for the night. He kept singing, one song after another, until Emma scolded him. “I’m just about ready to stick a sock in your mouth, Abel Miller, if you don’t hush up! You’ll wake up Yonnie and Andy!”

At that fierce reprimand, tears started trickling down Abel’s cheeks. Emma threw up her hands and left the room.

Carrie slipped off his shoes and pulled the blanket over him, being careful not to put weight on his cast. “Good thing you don’t touch the devil’s brew, Abel Miller. You’re a mess.”

“Why did you leave me, Carrie?” he asked in a gruff whisper. “Aw, Abel, you nearly broke off my hand. I stayed as long as I could. You had a whole crowd of people there. Filled up the waiting room.” She straightened. “Besides, you had her. You didn’t need me.”

“But I wanted
you
,” he said, before closing his eyes.

Carrie touched him then, on the cheek with the tips of her fingers. “Hush this crazy talk now and go to sleep.” She watched as his breathing settled into an even rhythm of sleep. She took the pill container out of her apron pocket and set it on his nightstand. Two pain pills, Veronica McCall said she had given him, when there was a warning right on the label not to exceed one pill every six hours. What had she been thinking?! The logic of that woman defied her.

She leaned over to turn off the gas lamp by his bedside, pitching the room into total darkness.

When Carrie went into her bedroom, Emma was combing out her long hair and braiding it. “Is he asleep?” Emma asked.

“I think so,” Carrie answered. She hung her apron on the peg and reached for her nightgown.

Emma put down her brush and leaned her chin on her elbows. “Mother said that John Graber is now Alva’s John.”

“Alva Brenner?”

Emma nodded sadly.

Carrie went over to sit on the bed near her, her nightgown in her lap. “Oh, Emma. What does your mother know about such things?”

Head bowed low, Emma added, “He doesn’t come around anymore.”

Now that Carrie thought about it, Emma was right. John Graber hadn’t been at Cider Mill Farm for the last few weeks. How could she have missed noticing that? Just the other day, Abel asked her if something was bothering Emma. When she asked why he thought so, he said, “She seems more worried than usual.”

Was she getting so absorbed in her own problems that she was blind to Emma’s? she wondered, pulling pins out from her hair bun, dropping them in her lap. “Are you awful disappointed?”

Emma gave a quick nod. “Yonnie promised me . . .” She clamped her lips shut.

“Promised you what?”

“Yonnie made up a special tea and gave it to John so that he would love me forever.” She looked at Carrie out of the corner of her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, Carrie.” Emma’s eyes swam. “I only want . . .”

Carrie handed Emma a handkerchief to wipe her tears. “Want what?”

Emma blew her nose loudly. “I want someone to look at me the way, well, the way Abel looks at you.”

“What?” Carrie asked, stunned. “Stop talking nonsense.”

Emma finished braiding her hair. “It’s not nonsense, Carrie. He’s sweet on you.”

“Emma, Abel has an interest in Veronica McCall.”

She shook her head. “I asked him, flat out. I said to him, ‘What do you think you’re doing, courting that fancy English gal?’ I told him it was wrong, wrong, wrong—being unequally yoked and all—and that gal has trouble written all over her. He said to me, ‘Emma, I’m not courting her!’ He said he was only working for her because she needed help and he needed work and that he was trying to teach her the Bible.” She pointed her finger at Carrie in warning. “But she wants him like a mudhen on a tin roof wants rain.”

“Well, she may be doing the wanting, but he’s not doing any running, as far as I can tell.” Emma didn’t know about all the times Carrie caught Veronica and Abel in the convertible car, windows steamed up. Late one night when Carrie couldn’t sleep, she even saw Veronica leave from Abel’s workshop. Carrie stood and started to unpin her dress, then stopped. “You don’t need Yonnie’s silly remedies to make a man love you, Emma.”

“Then what do I do?” Emma asked, a forlorn look on her face. “I don’t want to be a Maedel. I’m getting old. My wrinkles are multiplying like cow flies. I want a husband and a family of my own.”

Carrie went over to her and finished braiding the long rope of her hair. “Then tell the Lord God about it, not Yonnie.”

Emma gave her a weak smile. “Now you’re starting to sound like our Abel when he’s in a preaching mood.”

Actually, Carrie thought that comment sounded more like Mattie. Abel quoted Scripture and spouted theology, Mattie talked about trusting God for everything. Both of them, though, loved God with their whole hearts. She yawned, trying to get comfortable, scrunching far against the edge because Emma had taken up the entire bed.

It took a long while to fall asleep. She wished she could have started the day all over again. It had not been a good day, this day, and she felt miserable. When was she ever going to be able to be around Sol and not leave feeling all churned up inside?

As Emma’s breathing settled into loud snores, Carrie covered her ears with a pillow.

Whatever pills Veronica McCall gave to Abel knocked him out. Finally, by lunchtime, Carrie worried that he might have passed in the night. She tiptoed to his bedside and laid her hand on his forehead. He stirred at her touch, then opened his eyes and blinked a few times.

“Hi,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Don’t know.” He closed his eyes again. “Just woke up.”