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.”
Carrie jerked her shoulders out of his grip. “Stop telling me what I need! Nobody knows what I need.”
Emma stared at Carrie with her mouth gaping wide open, like a hooked fish.
“What do you need, Carrie?” Abel looked at Carrie with such sweet sorrow it took the fight clean out of her. Gently, he added, “How can we help you if you don’t tell us?”
Suddenly exhausted, Carrie’s fists unclenched and she turned to go upstairs.
Abel’s words echoed in her head as she tried to sleep. She felt terrible for treating Veronica so rudely. It was so unlike her— unlike any Amish woman, except for Esther and Emma—to snap at someone like that, especially an Englisher. And then she was rude to Abel too, who was only trying to help. What do I need? I don’t have an answer. I don’t know. I just feel weary and lonely and scared. She shuddered as if a cold wind had blown through the room.
What do I need? Something for my soul that I can’t seem to find.
The next day, Veronica McCall drove up as Carrie was hanging laundry to dry. For the first time, she didn’t start talking a blue streak the minute she laid eyes on Carrie. She just quietly picked up some clothespins and started hanging things.
“I’m sorry I spoke sharply to you yesterday,” Carrie said. “You were just being kind.”
“I was, and you did,” Veronica answered crisply.
“You see, we don’t wear makeup.”
“Maybe you people should be a little more open-minded.”
Carrie decided to not pursue that particular territory with her. “Just make sure you hang similar things together on the line.”
“Why?”
“It’s much more orderly to hang all the dishcloths together in a row, and Yonnie’s aprons, and Abel’s trousers.”
“Dry is dry, if you ask me.”
“It’s just our way.”
“It’s faster if you just hang them.”
Carrie stopped, exasperation growing. “I’m not in a hurry. A task takes as long as it takes.”
“It’s supposed to rain this afternoon. If you don’t speed it up, you’ll end up with laundry as wet as when you started.”
Clothespins in her mouth, Carrie suddenly remembered a day with her mother, hanging the laundry out on a windy winter day, just a few weeks before her mother had died bringing Andy into the world. The clothes came in so stiff, frozen solid, that they could stand up by themselves when they brought them inside. Her mother took a pair of frozen pants, topped it with a frozen shirt, then topped that with her father’s straw hat, and suddenly they had a scarecrow in the kitchen. Within minutes, that frosty scarecrow melted in a heap, like a snowman on a sunny day. Carrie and her mother had laughed and laughed.
Veronica McCall shook Carrie out of her muse when she reached for a clothespin. “You people make such a big deal about the silliest things.” Veronica secured a towel to the third clothesline without any more arguing. When she finished, she picked up a dropped clothespin and handed it to Carrie. “I want you to teach me all about being Amish.”
Carrie’s eyes went wide. “Why?”
“I told you. I live near the Amish. I need to know more about them.”
Veronica looked very sincere as she said it, but somehow Carrie thought this sudden interest had nothing to do with being Amish and everything to do with Abel. She had an image in her mind of a picture she’d seen in a book once: a lion tracking a gazelle.
Poor Abel. He doesn’t stand a chance.
10
John Graber turned his attention to courting Emma, who was thrilled to have a suitor. Carrie was even more pleased not to be the object of John Graber’s affection. He had taken Emma for a buggy ride one afternoon and home from a hymn singing on another.
In the night sky was a Hunter’s moon, round and creamy that, Emma said, beckoned her to take a walk. Carrie thought that perhaps John Graber was outside doing the beckoning. Esther would be pleased to think the bishop’s grandson might become part of the family, after all.
Yonnie, Abel, and Carrie were in the living room; Andy had gone to bed. Abel was oiling his carpentry tools, Carrie was mending Andy’s britches, and Yonnie had fallen asleep in her rocking chair, like she always did, mismatched quilt pieces spread on her lap.
When the clock struck nine, Abel and Carrie put their things away. Abel pulled out that Bible he carried with him. Carrie had stopped worrying about Abel’s Bible reading and out-loud prayers. In fact, she looked forward to them. Abel’s deep voice had a soothing effect. He read just like he prayed, like God was right in the room with everyone.
“This passage is from the book of Lamentations,” Abel said. “Jeremiah was
a prophet, a very emotional guy, who was called to speak for God during the siege and fall of Jerusalem. When he focused on the terrors around him, Jeremiah felt personally assaulted, even abandoned by God: ‘He shot me in the stomach with arrows from his quiver.’ ”
Those words echoed in Carrie’s mind. He shot me in the stomach with arrows from his quiver.
Suddenly, her heart started hammering. “That’s it!” Her hands flew to her cheeks. “That’s what I need! I need to have God stop piercing my stomach with his arrows.”
Yonnie startled awake, but then drifted back to sleep.
Embarrassed by her outburst, Carrie jumped out of her chair. Why did her mouth always run ahead of her brain?
Abel jackknifed to his feet. “Carrie, wait.” He whispered loudly, throwing a glance at Yonnie. “Please wait.” He made her sit back down in the chair and crouched in front of her. She was trembling and didn’t really know why. “Listen to me, Carrie. When Jeremiah focused on those circumstances surrounding him, he felt assaulted, even abandoned by God. But when he focused on God’s past mercies, he found strength and encouragement.” He opened up his Bible and hunted for the passage. “ ‘I remember it all—oh, how well I remember—the feeling of hitting the bottom. But there’s one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope: God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over). He’s all I’ve got left.’ ”
Abel took Carrie’s hands in his, and as he did, she felt the peace of the moment settle into her soul, like a leaf slowly making its way to the bottom of a pond. “Carrie, Jeremiah had it all wrong. God wasn’t slinging arrows at Jeremiah. It was God who was helping him through his troubles.”
Carrie lifted her head and searched Abel’s dark eyes. She wanted desperately to believe him.
During the off-season, the Barnstormer players were required to participate in community events—speaking at schools and Scout meetings, cutting the ribbons at new store openings. “It’s all part of building community spirit,” the manager said. “And Sol, we want you at every event. We think you’re the reason for a surge in attendance last summer. Everybody loves this Amish spin.”
Sol was happy to do anything he could to solidify his worth to the coaches. He didn’t end up snagging that All-Star spot, after all. In fact, it worried him a little that he didn’t close the last two games of the season. He didn’t even play a single inning. He knew that things changed fast on the roster. He’d already seen a number of players come and go.
The comment the manager made about fans’ interest in Sol’s Amish upbringing was spot-on. During the question-and-answer period at every event, Sol was hammered with questions about what it was like growing up Amish. It always amazed him that the English had been living among the Amish all of their life— sharing the roads with the buggies—but knew so little about them. And what they did know was usually wrong. One kid at a Cub Scout meeting even asked him if the Amish were a cult.
“No,” Sol told him, surprised by the question. “The whole thing about being Amish—going all the way back to the 1600s—is to be an adult when you get baptized. Church leaders want each person to make their own decision before God. Being Amish has nothing to do with cults. Being Amish means you’re trying to live a simple life that pleases God. Being Amish is about being part of a family, a big church family. It’s having people care about you and look out for you, all of your life.”
“So then,” the kid asked, chewing a big wad of gum, “why’d you leave?”
Sol stumbled, not knowing how to answer, not wanting to say a word against his people. It surprised him to see how tightly his upbringing held him, even now. The Scout leader used the pause to wrap up the meeting because the janitor wanted to sweep up the gym and go home.
One afternoon, Carrie climbed up the ramp to the hayloft in the barn to throw down a bale. With one eye looking out for mice, she dragged a heavy bale from the far corner as she heard Andy run into the barn. She heard him say to himself, “Box, twine, gloves. Gotta remember gloves.” Then there was some scuffling and the sound of something being dragged outside.
Looking out through the small barn window, she saw Andy load the ramp to the loft onto the back of his pony cart and head down the driveway to the street. She shouted to him, but he didn’t hear her. She finished pushing the bale over the loft’s edge, then sat on the edge, debating her options, wondering how long a wait she would have until Andy returned home, when Abel came into the barn.
“Um, Abel?”
Abel turned in a circle, trying to locate her voice, before looking up. “What are you doing up there?” He looked around. “What did you do with the ramp? How’d you get up there?”
“Andy took the ramp.”
Abel nodded. “I did hear something about a rescue.”
Carrie narrowed her eyes. “What kind of a rescue? Is he bringing home another stray?”
Abel scratched his head. “How are you planning to get down?” “I don’t have a plan. I need help.”
“I see, I see.” He walked around the barn, arms folded against his chest, deep in thought. He kicked the hay bale she had thrown down over on its side. “Tell you what. I’ll stand on the hay and try to catch you.”
“It’s too far. I’ll break something! You’ll break something!”
Abel ignored her protests and jumped up on the hay bale. “I’ll catch you.”
“Abel, that’s crazy! I’ll hurt you!”
“No you won’t. Just jump.”
“Abel, be serious.”
He shrugged. “Guess you don’t mind waiting for Andy to return.”
Carrie bit her lip. She knew that could mean waiting for hours, if he even remembered to bring the ramp back. “Okay, fine. But you have to promise to break my fall.”
“Trust me, Carrie.”
She looked down at Abel, about eight feet below her, held her breath and jumped. She tumbled onto him and he fell off the hay, breaking her fall as promised, but banging his head on a barn post.
“Abel, are you hurt?” She scrambled off of him and onto her knees. His eyes were closed and he didn’t respond. He started moaning, as if in great pain. She leaned closer to see if his head was bleeding. “Say something.”
He groaned again and whispered in a weak voice, “I’m so . . . so . . . glad it was you falling on me like a ton of bricks and not Emma.” Then he broke into a grin.
She sat back on her knees and threw some hay at him for teasing her. He sat up, laughing, then stopped abruptly as a strange look came over his face. She could almost feel his gaze moving over her hair, like the touch of a gentle breeze. Her hair! In the fall, her bandanna had slipped off, pulling hairpins out along with it. Her hair had fallen thick and loose over her shoulders and down her back. She looked around for her bandanna and scrambled to get it. Abel pulled himself up to stand. As she tried to gather her hair to tie in a knot, she dropped her bandanna. Abel reached down and picked it up, then crouched down to gently tie it around her head. He tied a knot and let his knuckles slide down her jawline, brushing his fingertips lightly over her mouth, his eyes locked on hers the whole time. Then Abel went utterly still, but the air around them seemed to vibrate.
Carrie stood and backed away from him, first one careful step and then another. The barn door rumbled open as Andy led Strawberry by the halter into the barn. In the back of the pony cart was a large box filled with three hungry, angry owlets. Next to the nest was the mother owl, angry, feet tied together with twine. Her right wing was broken, bent at an odd angle. The hayloft ramp was nowhere in sight.
“In less than twenty-four hours, those baby owls have climbed out of their box twice to peck at my toes while I was feeding Hope and Lulu,” Emma scolded Andy at breakfast. “Then their mother comes running at me, full speed, dragging that broken wing behind her, trying to protect her babies. As if I wanted them pecking
at me! And the way they screech!” She shuddered. “The whole lot of them have to go!”
“They’re part of our family! They need us!” Andy looked to Abel for support. Abel had set the mother owl’s wing with a makeshift splint and tried to keep her tied to a post in the barn so it could heal, but she kept pecking apart the twine that held her feet.
“Soon as she’s healed, Andy, they need to be set free,” Abel said. “Humans can’t really raise owls as well as their own parents. Fall is the time of year for great horned owls to raise a brood and teach them how to learn to hunt and fly. It wouldn’t be right to keep them locked up in a barn.”
“They can catch mice in the hayloft,” Andy said. “There’s plenty of ’em!”
“We can build an owl house and hope they’ll stick around, but they’re not pets.” Abel took a sip of coffee and cast a sideways glance at Andy. “Any idea where my gloves went?”
Andy widened his eyes in a useless effort to look innocent.
“Speaking of missing things, Andy,” Carrie asked, “when is the ramp coming back?”
Andy’s face scrunched up. “See, that’s a problem. I had to climb the ramp to get the nest out of the tree, but on the way down, it slipped.”
“What caused that mother owl to have a broken wing, anyway?” asked Carrie.
“Beats me,” Andy said, reaching over her for the raspberry jam. “Probably those English devil boys.”
Carrie gave her brother a look.
“Andy Weaver!” Emma scolded. “You should be pitying those boys for their lost ways. Not blaspheming.”
“Let’s take Strawberry and the cart and go bring back the ramp,” Abel said.
“See, that’s another problem,” Andy said, stuffing his mouth with bread.
“How so?” Carrie asked.
“Ramp fell into the water and sunk.”
Carrie covered her hands with her face.
Abel shook his head. “Let’s go down to Blue Lake Pond and you can show me where it sank.” He waited until Emma left the table, then whispered to Andy, “Might have to catch a fish or two while we’re there. Our last chance before the weather turns too cold. Feels like the wind is already practicing for winter.” Loudly, he added, “Then we’ll clean out the goslings’ pen for those owlets so they’ll stop thinking Emma is their mama.”
The Choice (Lancaster County Secrets 1) Page 15