“And our Abel helped us save the apple crop by turning it into cider,” Yonnie added.
“Speaking of,” the bishop said. “I understand Daniel’s brother is here.”
“Daniel’s cousin,” Emma said. “Abel is Yonnie’s grandson.”
The bishop nodded. “I have taken notice that Abel Miller isn’t a church member.”
“Abel is in his Rumspringa,” Yonnie said.
The bishop raised his sparse eyebrows, surprised. “It has come to my attention that he reads from an English Bible. A modern one. Now, you know it isn’t our way to be reading from a modern English Bible.”
Carrie knew he was just speaking what he believed.
“What other English influences might Abel Miller have on this home?” the bishop asked. “What about his influence on our Andy?”
With that comment, Carrie knew for certain she could thank Esther for filling the bishop’s head with those worries. Just as she was about to object, Abel came through the kitchen door.
“Thought I should come in to say hello to the bishop.” Abel offered a stiff, one-pump Amish handshake to the bishop as Carrie got a cup of coffee for him. She wished there was some way she could have warned him to stay in the barn.
The bishop fixed his eyes on Abel, measuring him. “You read from a modern English Bible.” It wasn’t a question. “The Bible has never changed.”
Abel glanced at Carrie, who tipped her head toward Emma. “Well, you see, I never learned German. I came to Eli’s home when I was thirteen.”
Abraham slapped his knees in delight. “You see, Atlee? He can’t read German! Of course!”
“If he can’t read the Luther Bible, then he should be reading from King James,” said the bishop.
Abel didn’t respond to the bishop, but he looked as if reading those translations hadn’t occurred to him and he was only sorry he hadn’t thought of it himself.
“Abel has been away from Plain folk for a while,” Abraham said. “He needs time to be reminded of our ways. We will pray he will choose to become baptized in due time.” The deacon smiled. “And he’ll be a fine helper for Yonnie and Carrie since our Daniel’s passing. Sent by the Lord God.” He stood. “Better get back to my dairy.” He leaned close to the bishop and quietly added, “Ich have er gut ausgfrogt.”
The bishop nodded, rising from his chair. “So then, Abel Miller, we will expect to see you in church on Sunday.”
Abel had been going to an Amish-Mennonite church in town on Sundays. Carrie thought Yonnie would have minded that he wasn’t going to their church service, but she never said anything to him, so Carrie didn’t, either.
Afterward, as the deacon’s buggy rolled onto the street, Abel turned to Carrie, “What did the deacon say to the bishop? In Deitsch?”
“That he had thoroughly interrogated you.”
“That’s what I thought he said.” Abel gave a short laugh. “We talked about horses.”
Carrie could hardly look at Emma for the rest of that day. Abel was unfazed. He acted just the same toward Emma, friendly and warm and teasing, like he understood she was a rule follower. But that night, he kept right on reading aloud from his modern Bible too.
The next morning, Carrie slid open the heavy door of the barn and walked inside. The heady scent of hay and sweet grain was so familiar. Hope shuffled when she heard her and rolled her heavy head in Carrie’s direction. Abel gave her a nod as he came in from his workshop. He unlatched the hook of the nearly empty rubber water bucket from the eye on the wall and carried it outside to the hose.
Carrie sidled into Schtarm’s stall to add a scoop of sweet grain to his feed. She watched his graceful head bend to the fragrant, honeyed oats when Abel came to get Schtarm’s water bucket. As she stroked Schtarm’s large neck, she said, “I’m sorry Emma raised a concern about you.”
“Are Esther’s other daughters like Emma?” he asked, his mouth turned up at the corners.
“No. Emma is just . . . Emma. My favorite stepsister, Sarah, she lives in another district now, she always said that Emma’s prayer cap was on too tight.”
Carrie still wasn’t sure what Abel’s plans were, but she couldn’t deny that she hoped he might stay on, even though the harvest was done. He spent his days at Honor Mansion doing carpentry work, but he still found time to do plenty of chores around Cider Mill Farm. He had found an old freezer for the cider that he was able to get for free if he would haul it away. It wasn’t in working condition, but Abel said that was a minor detail. He fixed it and got it running with a generator.
Abel slid Schtarm’s stall door shut and latched it. “So Yon-nie said you’re not too keen on being courted by this bishop’s grandson, right?”
Carrie nodded, unsure of what he was getting at.
“Last night, Yonnie mentioned that she thought Emma and John might be a good pair.”
Carrie’s eyes went wide. “She wants to try her hand at matchmaking? With Emma?”
“Yonnie has a way of knowing about these kinds of things.” He grinned. “So what do you think?”
She could feel a slow smile stretch across her face. “Emma would love to be married. And John would love to be loved.” It suddenly seemed like such a funny coupling that she started to giggle. She could just picture worried Emma seated on a buggy seat next to John Graber, thin and long and angular and solemn. She laughed so hard, she buckled at the waist, and it felt so good. She hadn’t laughed like that since—why, she couldn’t even remember how long it had been. When she finally stopped laughing, she wiped away the tears streaming down her face.
“Here,” Abel said, grinning, as he pulled out his handkerchief. He held the back of her head with one hand and began dabbing her face with the handkerchief. They stood just inches apart, closer than they had ever stood before. All of a sudden Abel stopped wiping, everything stood still. His gaze traveled Carrie’s face, from her starched prayer cap to her lips. Carrie’s heart started thumping foolishly.
Suddenly, Emma’s voice rang out from the farmhouse. “Carrie? Yoo-hoo! Carrie? Where are you? Andy won’t eat his oatmeal.”
Abel slightly turned his head in the direction of the farmhouse but kept his eyes on Carrie. “Emma’s oatmeal? Who could blame him? She’s a fine cook, but her oatmeal tastes like library paste.”
Carrie jumped back and hurried past him into the house.
All day long, she couldn’t stop thinking of that gaze.
Ever since Veronica McCall hired Abel to work at Honor Mansion, she stopped by Carrie’s farm on her way to work to give him a ride. Early one Saturday, Veronica McCall burst into the kitchen, brushing past Carrie at the door, looking for Abel.
“He’s down in the barn. I’m sure he heard you honking your car horn and will come up to the house in a minute,” Emma said with a frown, as she put a match to her Coleman gas iron. “Two counties over heard you,” she muttered. Emma didn’t care much for Veronica’s ways.
Oblivious to Emma’s disdain, Veronica poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, close to the ironing board. “So what’s that you’re ironing?” she asked.
“My churchgoing dress. I’m getting it ready for the singing.” Emma held up an organza prayer cap. “And these too.” She ironed with a vengeance, making sure every little pleat in her cap was crisp and starched. Her white prayer caps sat in a row on the kitchen table, like roosting chickens.
“What’s a singing?” Veronica McCall asked, picking an apple out of a bowl. She examined it, put it down, and picked up another.
“A singing is a wonderful thing,” Yonnie said. “All of the young folk go, saying they want to sing hymns, but they’re really stealing looks at each other when they think nobody’s looking.”
“So it’s dating, Amish style?” Veronica McCall asked, amused. “Figures. Seems like churchgoing is the Amish’s National Sport.”
Emma opened her mouth to correct her for blaspheming when Veronica shocked her silent by saying, “Maybe I’ll tag along. What time should I be
here?”
Carrie’s eyes went wide. “Why?”
“I want to learn more about the Amish.”
“But . . . why?” Carrie asked again.
Veronica looked at Carrie as if she were very slow-witted. “I live and work near the Amish and I should know more about them.”
Just then, Abel came through the kitchen door. An awkward silence fell over the room.
“What are you ladies talking about?” he asked as he went to the sink to wash up.
“Veronica McCall wants to come to the singing with us,” Emma said to him, sounding concerned.
He spun around, hands dripping soapsuds on the black part of the floor where the linoleum had rubbed away. “Why?”
“I just thought I’d come! Why is that such a big deal?” Veronica McCall asked, frustration rising.
“It’s not . . . common . . . for Englishers to go,” Carrie tried to explain. “We sing hymns.”
“I like music,” Veronica said, putting down the apple.
“Some of the hymns are from the Ausbund,” Emma said.
“What’s an out band?” Veronica asked.
“Ausbund,” Abel said. “It’s the Amish hymnal; it’s hundreds of years old. There’s no music score. The verses are in high German, and songs can last fifteen to twenty minutes.”
Veronica McCall’s arched eyebrows shot up.
“But some of our hymn singing gets a little lively,” Emma added, eyes narrowing at her. “And downright raucous.”
Veronica McCall lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “I’ll try anything once.”
Abel looked cornered, like a trapped animal. He turned back to the sink to finish washing his hands.
“What time should I arrive?” Veronica asked.
Abel winced. “Come tomorrow night at six.”
Veronica stared at him, but he kept his eyes on his soapy hands. “Fine, then. Six.”
“Better wear something that covers those limbs,” Emma said, peering at Veronica McCall’s long legs. “And button those up to keep from displaying a good bit of the Lord’s bounty.” She wagged a finger at Veronica McCall’s blouse.
Abel froze at the sink. Carrie had been setting the table and stopped, forks suspended in midair. Emma’s and Veronica Mc-Call’s eyes locked on each other, a standoff, two stubborn women with their hands firmly planted on their hips.
“Fine,” snapped Veronica McCall, before scooping up her purse and blowing out the kitchen door.
“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.
The Choice (Lancaster County Secrets 1) Page 14