The Choice (Lancaster County Secrets 1)

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  “So it’s better that she end up alone, or with an Amish fellow she doesn’t even love, than marry a man she does love? They share the same faith, Carrie, the same beliefs. They just express them in a different way.”

  Carrie knew he wasn’t talking about Emma and Steelhead anymore, but she hadn’t meant to get into that particular territory. She still hadn’t sorted it all out. Each time her mind drifted to that kiss, which was often . . . oh, that sweet, sweet kiss . . . it made her feel lightheaded and her stomach all dizzy, just like she felt as a girl when she swung too high on a tree swing.

  She pulled her hands out of his and stood to leave. “Maybe that’s what the will of God might be for her.”

  He stood, facing her. “Is that really how it seems to you?”

  “For the Amish, that’s the way it is.”

  They stared at each other, a standoff. The silence between them was as thick as blackstrap molasses.

  “She hasn’t lost everything.” Abel picked up Old-Timer’s water bucket. “She has him.”

  The sound of wheels churning up gravel made them both turn their heads toward the road. Esther and Abraham rolled up the driveway in a wagon. Seated between them was Yonnie. Andy sat in the back on top of a bale of hay.

  “Abraham brought some hay for your animals. On the way, we stopped for pecan pie at the Stolztfuses’ stand and saw Yonnie and Andy, so we gave them a lift,” Esther said, helping Yonnie ease out of the buggy. “Ada insisted we bring a pie for you too.”

  Carrie glanced at the house and saw Emma peering out the kitchen window, a stricken look on her round face. Then Steelhead came up behind her. A cold chill shuddered through Carrie.

  The next day, Abel found Carrie hanging sheets on the clothesline. He picked up some clothespins and handed them to her. “Carrie, we still have a problem we need to take care of.”

  She glanced at him and took a clothespin out of her mouth to speak. “Which problem would that be, Abel? My sister, marrying your English friend? Or my barn burning down?”

  Ignoring her, he handed her a wet sheet. “I think we need to go to the police and tell them you found Veronica McCall’s telephone at the fire site.”

  She pinned the sheet to the clothesline. “No.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong with just telling them?”

  “Vengeance belongs only to God.”

  “Who’s talking about vengeance? I’m talking about justice.”

  “I won’t judge another person. It’s not our way.”

  “Carrie, I’m just talking about telling the truth.” He rubbed his face, exasperated. Then he dropped his hands and hooked them on his hips. He was studying her as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her. “Is it so wrong to want to stop her from doing this to anyone else?” He took a step closer to her and lifted her chin so that she would look at him. “Is it, Carrie?”

  Abel’s words rankled her. As Carrie went about her chores that day, she prayed to God about what to do with Veronica McCall. By early afternoon, an idea came together in her mind. She felt in her heart it was the right thing to do, that God had given her this plan, but she knew she had to do it alone. She wanted to keep Abel out of this. This was between Veronica McCall and her. So she waited until she knew Abel had gone birding with Andy. She threw on her cape, put the black clothespin cell phone in her apron pocket, and hitched up the buggy to go to Honor Mansion.

  When she arrived, she stood at the open door of Veronica McCall’s office. “A farm is not a farm without its barn,” Carrie said, in a voice so steady it could not be her own.

  Veronica’s eyes lit up. “So you’re ready to sell?”

  Carrie sat down in the chair across from her. “That’s not what I meant. Do you remember I told you that Amish proverb, the very first time we met?” She placed the black clothespin cell phone on the desk in front of Veronica.

  Veronica’s eyes went wide in shock. Then she got up and closed the door to her office. “Where did you find this?”

  “In the remains of the barn at Cider Mill Farm. I spent the day raking through the ashes. Just when I was about to give up, I found that.”

  She reached across the desk to grab it, but Carrie closed her fist around it. “I must have left it there when I was visiting Abel.”

  Carrie fixed her eyes on her.

  “What?” Veronica asked. She snorted. “You couldn’t possibly be insinuating that I set that fire.”

  Carrie held her gaze, then Veronica dropped her eyes. “You can’t prove anything. A lost telephone earpiece does not implicate me.”

  “No, not alone, but a number of things put together do.” Out of her apron pocket, Carrie fished the page about Abel’s arrest that she had printed for her, months ago. She unfolded it and set it before Veronica. “It even has the date that you printed it.” She pointed to the top of the page.

  “That’s not much to go on.”

  “Your phone records show that you made calls to the fire department about fifteen minutes after the Stoltzfuses’ fire had been set and then fifteen minutes after the Cider Mill Farm fire.”

  A stain of color spread across Veronica’s sharp cheekbones. “That’s outrageous! How dare you accuse me of such lies!”

  “Not lies.” She pulled out both sets of phone bills that Grace had given her, one from Veronica’s cell phone company, the other from Honor Mansion’s telephone service.

  “Where did you get these?” Veronica asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  Carrie chose to deflect that. “There’s one more thing. Yonnie saw your car at the house around three o’clock. She was in the kitchen and saw you go into the barn. Then she fell asleep and didn’t see you leave.” She looked at Veronica. “But she did place you at the site, at just the right time. And the police said a woman gave an anonymous tip about the fire and about Abel Miller setting it. So even though one piece of evidence alone isn’t much, put it all together and it’s a convincing picture. Like a puzzle, all filled in.”

  Veronica stared at Carrie, furious, bested. “What is it you want?”

  Carrie took the paper and folded it up again. “Nothing.”

  Veronica raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

  “It’s not my place to judge you, Veronica McCall. I’ve made plenty of mistakes myself.” She took a deep breath and looked Veronica straight in the eyes. “I forgive you. For burning my barn.”

  The only evidence of nervousness that Veronica showed was of a pencil, twiddling back and forth in her hand. Other than that, she remained still.

  “But if anything else were to happen, I will go to the police. It wouldn’t be right of me to let you continue to hurt people. Innocent people.” Carrie slipped that paper back into her apron for safekeeping, then lifted her eyes to meet Veronica’s. “I forgive you, but I don’t trust you.”

  Veronica stood and walked to the window, crossing her arms tightly against her chest.

  Carrie rose to leave and was almost to the door when she turned back. “I just don’t understand why you would harm Abel. He’s been so good to you.”

  “Sure you do.” Veronica spun around. “You’re nobody’s fool, Carrie.”

  As Carrie’s hand turned the door handle, Veronica’s voice dropped to a whisper, almost a hiss. “He treats you like spun sugar.”

  Keeping her hand on the handle, Carrie lifted her chin a notch. “I know.”

  Veronica’s eyes hardened. “I don’t think I’ve given you enough credit.”

  And I might have given you too much, Carrie thought as she closed the door behind her.

  When Carrie returned to the farmhouse from Honor Mansion, she found Emma and Steelhead in the kitchen, seated at the table, looking solemn. Emma’s suitcase was at her side.

  Carrie took a deep breath. “Where’s Andy and Abel?” she asked, hoping to stall what she knew was coming.

  Steelhead answered. “Abel is down in the carriage house with the little dude.”

  Carrie looked at Emma’s nervous hands, wringing her
handkerchief. “Have you told Yonnie?”

  Emma wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “She’s upstairs, resting. She said she’ll miss me, but she won’t be pointing a long bony finger in judgment at me. She said that she’s a sinner too, of the worst kind, and she’s too old to worry about shunning. She said I’d be getting plenty of that from . . . the others.”

  From Esther, Yonnie meant. Carrie hung her cape and bonnet on the peg. “Does Abel know you’re leaving today?”

  Steelhead nodded. “Just so you know, Abel tried to talk us out of it.”

  “So he said.” Carrie pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “This morning we fixed up a back room in the carriage house for Abel to stay.”

  “Where are you and Emma going to live?”

  Emma blew her nose loudly. “Over in town. I’m going to start 280 a quilt shop with my savings from work at Central Market.” She looked at Carrie with pleading eyes. “You could stop by. Yonnie said she would come.”

  Carrie’s eyes dropped to her lap. She wasn’t sure how to answer her. She needed time to sort it out.

  Tears leaked down Emma’s cheeks. “And Seymour”—she nodded her head toward Steelhead—“found a job as a sanitation engineer.”

  “Seymour?” Carrie asked, trying to hold back a grin in spite of the seriousness of the moment. She looked at Steelhead. “Your name is Seymour?”

  Steelhead looked sheepish. “Yeah.” He squeezed Emma’s hand. “Carrie, I want you to know that I love Emma and just want her to be happy.”

  Carrie pressed her hands against her temples. “If you love her so much, then why won’t you go Amish?”

  Emma and Steelhead exchanged a glance.

  “I offered,” Steelhead said. “She said no.”

  Carrie looked at her, stunned. “Emma?”

  “You know it’s nearly impossible for the English to go Amish, Carrie. Steelhead would be miserable being Plain. Look at how our Abel is struggling. He’s been living with Plain folks for years, off and on, and he can hardly string two words together of the dialect to make any sense. I can’t do that to Seymour.” Emma blew her nose. “Oh Carrie, this is my chance at love. A real, true, heartfire love. You know what I’m talking about.”

  Carrie did. She knew.

  Emma squeezed her hands together.“I hope you’ll forgive me. I know I’ve disappointed you, but I feel peace in my heart that I’m not disappointing God.” Emma took a letter out of her apron pocket and handed it to Carrie. “Would you give this to Mother?”

  Carrie closed her eyes. “No, Emma.”

  “Please, Carrie, please.” Emma was nearly begging, her voice teary.

  Carrie shook her head. “I can’t. Esther should hear this from you. She deserves that.”

  “She’s right, cupcake,” Steelhead said. “It’s just what I’ve been telling you. We’ll go right over and tell her together.”

  Emma looked as if she was about to face the firing squad. As Carrie handed the envelope back to her, Emma grabbed her for a hug. Then Steelhead wrapped his large arms around the both of them, squeezing the breath out of them before releasing them.

  “We’d better hit the road, lambchop,” he said to Emma.

  As they climbed onto the motorcycle, Abel and Andy came out of the barn to say goodbye. Just as Steelhead started the engine, Abel pulled Andy by the shoulders to get him out of the way. Emma took off her prayer cap and her apron and handed them to Carrie.

  Her eyes blurry with tears, Carrie said, “I’m going to keep these for you, Emma, just in case you change your mind. You can always change your mind and repent and be forgiven by the church. Remember that.” Then she gave Emma one last hug.

  Carrie, Abel, and Andy followed the motorcycle down the driveway and watched it roar down the road until it disappeared from sight.

  “You okay?” Abel asked Carrie.

  Carrie looked at the cap and apron in her hands. “She’s my favorite sister.”

  Abel smiled. “I know,” he said, slipping her a handkerchief.

  Then a thought jolted Carrie and stopped her tears. Even if she felt confused and heartsick about shunning her own sister, she knew Esther wouldn’t think twice. “I’m guessing Esther will be rounding the corner into this driveway with a new helper by sundown.”

  Color drained out of Abel’s face. Carrie felt the same way.

  Andy, who had seemed stoic about Emma’s leaving, glared at Abel accusingly. “I suppose you’ll be leaving next.”

  Abel looked taken back. “What makes you say that?”

  “Emma told me you fixed it so the house belongs to Carrie and me.”

  Abel and Carrie exchanged a glance.

  “Yeah. That’s what I figured,” Andy said, running off before Abel could answer.

  Within a few hours after Emma left Cider Mill Farm, Esther’s buggy clattered into the driveway. Seated next to her was Clara, a cousin thrice removed, tall, thin, and unhappy. “Clara will help you now,” Esther said in a voice that had a vinegar tang to it.

  Scarcely nodding at Carrie, Clara took her bag up to Emma’s empty room and started to unpack.

  “She’s the one who’s allergic to everything, isn’t she?” Carrie asked miserably. “Maybe I could find someone else.”

  “For now, she stays,” Esther said, casting a mutinous look at Abel.

  Carrie took a deep breath. “I just found out about Emma, Esther, same as you.”

  Esther stiffened her spine at the mention of Emma’s name. Adhering to the Ordnung, she would never again utter her name. “But he knew.” She gave a brief nod in Abel’s direction.

  “Yes, ma’am, I knew,” Abel said.

  Arms akimbo, Esther glared at Abel. “This is your doing. Your English Bible, your talk about God being bigger than being Amish. Emma—” she shuddered, “—she told me about the things you’ve said. You turned her thinking inside out.”

  That wasn’t true, Carrie knew that. Abel looked pained, but he didn’t defend himself nor did he back away. He just let Esther say her piece.

  “And how long until you convince my Carrie to leave?” Esther glanced over at Andy, standing next to Abel. “And take my Andy with her?” And then, to Carrie’s shock, Esther’s eyes started to well up with tears. Embarrassed, she turned to leave.

  Carrie’s heart swelled with an unexpected softness toward Esther. In her own brittle way, she realized, Esther loved them. She had lived her life hanging on to tight rules and didn’t know what to do when those rules didn’t work.

  Carrie ran to her buggy to stop her before she left. “Andy and I aren’t leaving, Esther. We’re staying right here. I won’t take him from you. You can count on that.”

  With one leg hoisted on the buggy step, Esther stopped and gave a quick nod. She reached a hand out to grasp Carrie’s and gave it a light squeeze. Then, she lifted herself up onto the buggy seat, her face all stern and stiff again, and slapped the horse’s reins.

  Carrie watched her go, realizing she had just come to a final decision. She turned around to face Abel. Their eyes locked, filled with unspoken thoughts, then his gaze fell away from hers and he returned to the barn.

  A week to the day after Emma left, Yonnie didn’t come downstairs for breakfast when she usually did. Carrie made a cup of her favorite hot tea and sent Andy upstairs to give it to her. Not a minute later, she heard him scream.

  Carrie hurried upstairs to Yonnie’s bedside and could see that she was in trouble. Her breath sounds were labored, rattling, spasmodic. Her skin was cool and ashen blue. Carrie reached for her hand, the skin thin as tissue.

  Yonnie grasped Carrie’s hand. “I need . . . Abel.” Her face was pale and tired and tense.

  It was the tension on her face that worried Carrie the most. She knew Yonnie was dying; she recognized the signs. But she’d never seen an Amish person pass with their face tense and troubled, only with peace.

  “Get Abel,” Carrie told Andy. “He’s in the carriage house.” She turned to Yonnie. “Hu
sh, now. Don’t talk. Save your strength. He’ll be here soon.”

  Yonnie’s labored breathing marked time in the somber room until a door slammed and Abel rushed up the stairs, two at a time. He stopped so abruptly at the doorjamb that Andy, following close behind, nearly ran into him.

  “Should I get an ambulance?” Abel asked Carrie.

  “Nee, nee,” Yonnie whispered. “No hospital. I need to make something right before I pass.”

  Noticing how frightened Andy looked, Carrie said quietly, “Go milk the cow.”

  The boy’s wide-eyed gaze jerked to the window that faced the carriage house, then back to her. “But I already did.”

  “Go,” Carrie said firmly, pointing to the door. “Take Clara with you.” She shut the door behind him, whisper-soft, as Abel knelt beside Yonnie’s bed, holding her hands in his.

  Yonnie’s voice came out in little puffs. “My sin . . . is like a cancer that spread and choked our family.”

  Abel gently kissed her hands. “Yonnie, please—”

  “Let me say it.” She closed her eyes as if gathering strength.

  “The kerosene, contaminated with gasoline. Daniel didn’t do it. He thought he did, but he didn’t.” She took a deep breath. “I did it.”

  He raised his head, startled. “You? But how?”

  Tears leaked out of the corners of Yonnie’s eyes. “I needed gasoline for the washing machine.”

  Abel stared at her, his eyes wide open, unblinking. “Yonnie, what are you getting at?”

  “I found a red can in the barn with some gasoline still in it. I was coming back to the house and heard the phone ringing in the shed.” She took another deep breath, gathering strength. “Cousin Miriam was on the phone, calling about Daniel and Katie’s wedding. We gabbed a long time.”

  Abel’s expression on his face grew absolutely still.

  “I must have put the can on top of the containers when I picked up the phone. When I hung up with Miriam, I noticed the can was on its side. But nothing had spilled. Oh Abel, I was sure nothing spilled out.”