The Choice (33 page)

There were many aspects to the English that bothered Sol— their obsession with television, for example. But there was one thing about the English that Sol really admired. They gave themselves plenty of opportunities for second chances. Guys on the team had started college, then dropped out to play professional baseball. When they were ready, they could go back again. People moved from house to house. Even marriages could be easily dissolved. Two guys on the teams had been divorced and were already remarried, and it wasn’t a big deal. But for him, once he bent at the knee, if he changed his mind it would have harsh consequences. He hadn’t even been baptized yet and he was already getting a taste of feeling shunned.

He thought the English were a lot kinder about giving people second chances, a margin of error. If the Amish were known for forgiving, why did they have to be so rigid when someone changed his mind? He was going to have to ask Mattie about that. He found his thoughts often bounced to wondering what Mattie would say about these things. Lately, it seemed that thoughts of Mattie filled his mind more than Carrie. He shook his head, as if to clear it.

The next day, Mattie was watching for Sol’s car after she was done with work. She was careful to keep her expectations in check. She never assumed he would come to pick her up—she just
hoped
he would. When she saw his car, she could hardly hold back a grin. He opened the car door for her and had barely turned the ignition when he told her his theory of second chances and the English.

Mattie listened quietly, wondering what he was really asking. It seemed as if Sol was measuring things out lately, trying to convince himself that what he was doing was the right thing. He had been asking her a lot of questions about being Amish. After praying, she decided it wasn’t up to her to convince him whether to join the church or not. That would be up to God.

“So, what do you say to that?” he asked, almost accusingly, after he finished. “About how the English give people a margin of error? About how unforgiving the Amish can be sometimes?”

“The Amish aren’t perfect. And there are certainly flaws in our culture, just like there are flaws in the English culture.” She looked at him. “You know the flaws of the Plain way, you’ve thought them out. So now, Sol, what are its good points?”

Sol spent his days working at the construction site where he had been hired a year ago, before he left for the Barnstormers. After he was cut from the team, he spoke to the foreman who said he’d be glad to take him on. Today he finished putting away his tools in the foreman’s truck as he heard someone yell out “quittin’ time.” He tossed the rest of the tools in the truck and hurried to his car; Mattie would be expecting him.

For the last few weeks, Sol picked Mattie up after work whenever she was working at Central Market. It saved her bus fare and allowed them extra time together before her folks expected her home. He wasn’t sure how her folks would feel about her spending time with him, but he trusted Mattie’s judgment. If she wasn’t worried, he wouldn’t worry either. He just knew that he looked forward to their time together. They talked about all kinds of things, important things, and he was always a little sorry when she said she had to go.

Ever since Mattie had asked him the good points about being Amish, Sol found himself flooded with memories. At the time, though, he had looked at her, unable to answer.

“But you’ve always known what is truly good, Sol,” she had finally said. “Our families and the church.”

And how could he answer—that those things weren’t good? He knew they were.

But her simple words revealed a piercing wisdom. He couldn’t stop thinking about his family, meals, barn raisings, hay making with the neighbors, even Sunday gatherings. It stirred something in him, deep inside; he felt something vital was missing. He was less than himself, missing an arm or a leg or a hand. But he always felt better when he was around Mattie.

The last time he dropped her off, he asked her, half teasing, half serious, “Mattie, why do you even bother with me?”

She looked at him in her solemn, frank way. “I’ve always thought you had so much potential.”

He gave a short laugh. “Right about now, I think you’re the only one who does. I doubt my dad would even think I could run the manure spreader in a straight line.”

Then she said something that took his breath away. “Not that kind of potential, Sol. Not for farmwork. Not even for baseball. But this kind of potential.” She rapped on her chest. “This kind. In the soul.”

Finishing her morning chores earlier than usual, Carrie hurried over to Mattie’s to help the Zooks prepare to host Sunday church. Once a year, each family in the district took a turn hosting church and the fellowship afterward. Every female relative and neighbor would come over a few days ahead to clean and sweep and dust and scrub and cook and bake.

She found Mattie alone in the kitchen, getting things ready for when the women arrived to prepare for the noon meal on Sunday. She was trying to warm up honey in a large honey jar, placed in warm water. The honey had crystallized and she needed it to make pies.

Carrie came over to look in the pot on the stovetop. A spoon stood straight up. “Hopelessly stuck,” she said.

Mattie laughed. “I was just thinking about how it seems as if people get stuck just like this spoon in the honey.”

“What?” Carrie asked, starting to fill the sink with warm water so she could wash the dishes Mattie had piled in the sink. She was only half listening.

“Think about it.” Mattie tried to loosen the spoon in the honey jar. “Folks think they’re traveling on the right road and something happens to stop them—something big, like a mistake they made, or a sin. Then, even though they feel so bad, they just stay stuck.”

Carrie added the soap to the hot water and swished it around as bubbles started rising up.

Softly, Mattie said, “Daniel was like that, Carrie. Daniel was stuck.”

Carrie stopped what she was doing, and slowly turned to Mattie, not even aware that her hands were dripping bubbles on the floor.

“Eli was trying to help him move forward, so was Abel. Without realizing it, so were you. But he just stayed stuck.” Mattie was quiet for a moment, then added, “Sol’s another one. He’s just stopped in his tracks.” The spoon loosened a little. She released it and turned away from the stovetop to face Carrie. “If you don’t mind my saying so, sometimes I think you’re stuck too, Carrie. Unable to move forward, just filled with regrets about the past. About things you can’t change.”

As tears started prickling Carrie’s eyes, she turned back to the sink.

“I don’t think that’s what God is wanting from us. I think he wants us to get on with things.” Mattie looked out the window at Abel and Andy, who had just arrived to help move furniture out of the downstairs so the benches in the church wagon could be set up. “Take Abel. Now there’s a fellow who isn’t stuck. He’s faced some hard things, but he just keeps moving forward, doesn’t he?”

Then she reached over to the honey jar and pulled out the spoon. “Well, look at that!” she said triumphantly, holding it in the air.

“No one will want me there,” Sol told Mattie after she had encouraged him to come to church held at her home on Sunday.

“That’s not true.”

“No, Mattie. They’ll only want me there if it means I’m coming home.”

“The church is your family, Sol. They only want the best for you.”

He frowned at her. “You make it sound so simple. But you know it’s not.”

For some reason he agreed to go. Afterward, he decided it was the worst idea he had ever let a woman talk him into. The only place to sit was on the edge in the back row, a bystander. From that vantage point, he was able to notice how often Abel Miller’s gaze roamed to Carrie during the service. Carrie never even glanced Sol’s way, and he knew that for a fact because he kept himself slightly turned so he could watch her. Plenty of other folks were snatching a look at Sol, eyebrows raised in disbelief. Why weren’t they measuring that Abel Miller? he wondered.
He’s
the new bird in the flock.
He’s
the one they should be raising an eyebrow over.

Sol’s mind drifted to the first time he laid eyes on Carrie, when Jacob had moved his family to Stoney Ridge to marry the starchy widow Esther Blank. Carrie was only twelve, but the sight of her snatched his breath away. She held her back as straight as a plumb line, her chin lifted slightly in the air. It was one of the reasons Esther accused Carrie of being proud, but she wasn’t proud. She was just being Carrie.

When Carrie finally turned sixteen, it took Sol two full years of asking before she agreed to go home with him in his courting buggy. She told him he was a flirt and not to bother her until he was done making eyes at other girls. He couldn’t help flirting with the other girls; it was just too much fun. But he never really thought about anyone but Carrie, not seriously.

Today, Carrie sat next to Mattie on the women’s side, chin to her chest, as if concentrating carefully on what the minister was preaching about. Once, she reached up and tucked a ringlet of honey blond hair that had slid loose back into her prayer cap. The gesture, one he had seen her do hundreds of times, brought Sol a bittersweet ache. The only time he saw her look across at the men’s side was when Andy dropped his hymnal after nodding off, causing a startling bang when the heavy book hit the floor. Carrie raised her eyebrows at her brother in exasperation, then quickly looked at Esther, who was scowling at Andy. Mattie, he noticed, had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

On the other side of Mattie was Carrie’s spinster stepsister, Emma, sitting with her chest lifted high, as if she’d just sucked in a deep breath and didn’t dare let go. Sol’s gaze drifted to Mattie. He had never noticed Mattie in church before, though of course she’d been there. She’d always been there. He saw that her eyes were closed and her face was lifted, her lips were moving silently, as if praying to God. He marveled at the depth of her faith, almost envying her. Watching her, he wondered how he had ever considered her plain. She looked so filled with joy and the glory of the Lord, she could have nearly burst with it.