The Choice (20 page)
After spending so much time side by side with Abel, Emma concluded that he was no longer to be viewed with suspicion. Andy, too, relinquished his lingering hostility toward him, helped along by Abel’s request to skip school that week. Carrie noticed that he shadowed Abel the way he used to shadow her father, and later, Daniel. All week long, she almost never had to nag him to do chores as long as Abel worked alongside him. The sight should have gladdened Carrie’s heart, but instead it made her feel sad. She was pretty sure Abel wouldn’t be sticking around. And that meant one more loss for Andy.
By Friday, Mattie had sold every jug of cider at Central Market. Carrie fought back tears as Mattie handed the large wad of cash to her. Mattie had been bold enough to double the price Carrie wanted for the cider, and still, she sold every jug with people asking for more. The cider had brought in more money than selling the fancy grade apples to the packing house ever had.
Before the sun set for the day, Abel found Carrie wiping down the cider presses in the barn. “Mattie told me that she had more customers than cider.”
Carrie smiled. “Thanks to your quick thinking, Abel.”
He brushed the compliment aside. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that it could be we’ve found a niche here.”
“Maybe next year we don’t even bother with the packing house. Maybe we just make cider.”
“I’m not talking about next year. Other varieties are coming on the market now. We could buy them and make the cider, then sell it at the Zooks’ stand at Central Market. They’re staying open until Christmas.”
Considering the option, she asked, “I don’t see how we could make much money after buying the apples.”
“Hear me out. Mattie thinks she could have priced it even higher than she did.” He took the rag from her and started rubbing the sides of a press. “I think we might have something here. Jacob’s Cider is a hit.”
It made her stomach feel funny, to hear him say
we
like he did. “I don’t know. We’d need our own freezer. We can’t be using Veronica McCall’s much longer. She’s told me more than once that she should be charging me rent.” She gathered the rags in her arms to take up to the house to wash.
Abel nodded. “I might be able to find a used freezer someplace and convert it with a generator.” He opened the barn door for her and waited until she crossed the threshold to slide it shut. There, in front of her, was a wagon filled with crates of apples.
“Did I mention that I happened to stop by a farmer’s market today?” he asked with a big grin. “They’re not your heirlooms, but I did get five varieties of apples for your five-apple cider. The farmer said they had a high sugar content for cider. That’s good, right?”
“But . . .” Carrie suddenly felt panicky about the cost of those apples. The wad of cash in her apron was about to disappear, and with it, hopes to pay the next installment of the property tax.
As if reading her mind, he added, “And they didn’t cost a thing. They’re misshaped apples.” He held an odd-looking apple up to her. “The farmer said they taste just as good, but he can’t sell them as eating apples.”
“He didn’t charge you?” she asked.
“Well, we bartered back and forth. He told me he needed some shelves built in his garage, and I told him I needed those apples. An even exchange.”
Wrapping her shawl tightly around her, Carrie felt so grateful for Abel’s help that she could hardly breathe. Maybe Yonnie was right. Maybe he could fix anything.
“I think I’ve settled on the right name for my home,” she said, eyes shining. “Cider Mill Farm.”
Carrie was just latching the chicken coop after throwing feed to the bossy leghorns when she heard Andy’s screams coming from the barn. She dropped the bucket she was carrying and ran down to see what had happened.
When she peered inside the open door, she saw Andy doubled over, as if he was sick. Scattered around the barn were feathers and beaks and bloody pieces of meat and bones. The Cooper’s hawks had attacked and killed Mattie’s goslings. Carrie stood, frozen, taking in the morbid sight, unsure of what to do next. Andy picked up a broom and tried to hit the hawks, but they were too quick. They just flew above him and rested on a rafter, peering down at him with an insolent stare, mildly interested in his tirade. When Andy finally gave up, out of breath, he threw the broom down.
Abel came up behind Carrie, hearing the commotion. “No, let me,” he whispered to her, as she made a move to go to her brother. “You go on back to the house.” He walked over to Andy.
She turned to leave, then stopped, leaning against the door-ebook- jamb. Andy was turned in the opposite direction and didn’t notice she was still there.
“The Cooper’s hawks were just doing what they’re meant to do, Andy,” Abel said softly. “It’s in their nature to hunt for food.”
Andy kicked at a hay bale. “I gave them plenty of food! Why did they have to eat my geese? Why couldn’t they be satisfied with what I gave them?”
“Someday, they’ll be satisfied. There’s a verse in the Bible that says the lion will lie down with the lamb. That’s what heaven will be like.”
Andy sank to the floor and leaned against a hay bale, hugging his knees. “Why does everything have to die?” Abel leaned against the hay bale, close to Andy—but not too close. “It was my fault.”
“How so?” Abel asked.
“I left the goslings’ door unlatched.” Andy looked miserable, before resting his head on his knees. “Last night. I got watching an orb spider spin her web and catch a horsefly and wrap it up for dinner that I just plain forgot.” Then he mumbled something that Carrie couldn’t hear.
“What do you mean?” Abel asked, crouching down next to him, eyes fixed on him.
Andy lifted his head. “I had a dream about Dad and went to wake up Carrie. She wasn’t there so Daniel said he would go get her.” His voice started to break. “If I hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t be dead.”
Abel took that in for a moment. “It was just an accident, Andy. Listen to me. It wasn’t your fault.
It wasn’t.
Daniel wouldn’t want you feeling responsible. It just happened. We don’t know why bad things happen.”
Carrie leaned her forehead on the doorjamb. It broke her heart to think that Andy had carried such a heavy burden, all this time. A burden that belonged to her alone.
“It’s just like my dad. It was my fault my dad died. Esther said it was. Esther said that if I don’t find trouble, trouble finds me. Everything I do always goes wrong.”
Abel didn’t say anything for a moment. It seemed to Carrie as if he knew how important his response would be and was shooting off one of his one-sentence prayers to the Lord God before he uttered a word.
“There’s a verse in the Bible that says God has the length of our days planned out. He knows when it’s time for a person to pass. The psalmist wrote that God has the days of our lives all prepared before we’d even lived one day. It’s all part of God’s plan. Some die sooner than others, and that’s hard, real hard to understand, but that’s God’s business. Our work is to trust him about those things.” Abel stroked Andy’s hair. “You are
not
responsible for Daniel’s death or your dad’s. I promise you that, Andy.”
Andy started to weep, great sobs that shook his body. Abel pulled him close to his chest and let him cry. Carrie turned and ran to the farmhouse. She couldn’t stay and watch Andy’s tears; she was barely holding back the avalanche inside of herself.
Later, Carrie saw Abel and Andy carry the carnage out of the barn in a big black bag to bury in the manure pile. Then they caught the Cooper’s hawks and took the cage to Blue Lake Pond to set them free.Andy came back looking taller, Carrie thought, like he’d grown a year in a day. When he went upstairs, Carrie threw on a shawl and went out to the barn. Abel was feeding hay to the horses. He threw the last of the hay in the stall, then came up to Carrie.
She searched for words, spirit-lifting words like those he had given as a gift to her brother. All she could think to say was, “Denki. For Andy.”
He gave her a nod and then picked up the broom to sweep the fallen hay.
“Andy’s not good at confiding his troubles. He seems to feel safe, talking to you. He’s at that age where he needs . . . well, I’m not very good at . . . making Andy feel like a man.”
“You’re good at it.” He said it so softly, while he kept sweeping, that she thought she might have imagined it. “When I first got here and saw those hawks . . . well, I’ve been holding my breath, just waiting for a problem.” He stopped sweeping and straightened up. “At least we know they can hunt for food.” He swept the rest of the hay into a stall and leaned the broom against the wall. “Kind of surprised me that Daniel would have let Andy keep those hawks. Daniel didn’t like predators.” He looked at Carrie as if expecting her to explain.
How could she try to explain a man she never knew? Even after all of those months together, she still had no idea who Daniel really was. “To tell you the truth, Abel, I didn’t know Daniel all that well.”
Abel raised his eyebrows. “I can’t deny he had a jaw as tight as a beaver trap. It was hard for him to share his thoughts and feelings.”
And his secrets, Carrie thought.
“At least by talking.” Abel studied her for a long moment, a quizzical look in his eyes, before he cocked his head and pointed a finger at her. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He went into the workshop. She heard him pull open a drawer, rummage through it, shuffle some papers, then close it again. He came back into the barn and handed her a bundle of envelopes, secured by a rubber band. “These are the letters Daniel wrote to me while I was in jail. Maybe it would help you get to know him better.”
She hesitated.
“Go ahead, Carrie,” Abel said. “There’s nothing to hide.”
Carrie took a deep breath, still reluctant.
He pressed the envelopes into her hand. “In some of the letters, he writes about you.”
Later that night, Carrie took the lantern up to bed with her and slipped the rubber band off the envelopes Abel had given to her. She looked at the postmarks of Daniel’s letters and sorted them from beginning to end. She unfolded the first letter and read the pen-written note. Daniel’s handwriting was angular, careful—the script of one who had been taught penmanship at school all those years ago, a skill he had never forgotten.
April 5th
Dear Abel,
After such a long and hard winter, as this past one was, I felt a small stirring of pleasure at seeing the first redwing blackbird return, and heard the clamor of northward winging geese, and the warbling song of the bluebirds as they claimed their nesting boxes. All signs that spring is coming.
I received your letter telling me about your newfound faith. I can hear the change in your voice, even through your letters. I’m glad you’ve found such peace. I wish I could find that, Abel. You’ve always been a 100% guy. Whatever you’ve done, it’s with your whole heart. I’ve always admired that about you. Me? I’m a fence-sitter.And now even my faith has gone dormant.
Looks like we might have an offer on the farm. Ervin Lapp, next farm over, wants to buy land for his youngest son. He offered Dad a decent price, considering land prices are low. Dad wants to use the money and move to Pennsylvania. His old friend, Jacob Weaver, has been encouraging him to come, to make a fresh start. But is there really such a thing?
Yours, Daniel
Carrie’s hands almost shook as she held the letter. It seemed as if she was reading Daniel’s mind and his heart. She opened another letter postmarked a few weeks later.
May 10th
Dear Abel,
We’ve had a lot of soakers lately, back-to-back. Glad we got the fields plowed under before it all turned to mud.Had to stop plowing the north field for a few days until four speckled bobolinks had hatched.
Well, it’s done, Abel. Dad sold this farm, with all of its memories, good and bad. We’re heading down to Pennsylvania next week to stay with the Jacob Weavers and look for property to buy. It will be a small farm, no doubt, after paying off the court fine. Yonnie will stay with cousin Miriam while we’re gone.
In your last letter, you mentioned that there is a grace that is greater than all of our sins. How can you be so sure, Abel? How can you truly know that we can ever satisfy God’s demands for holy living?
Will write to you when we get to the Weavers and send you the address.
Yours, Daniel
Carrie slipped the rubber band around the rest of the letters. She knew Abel meant well by giving them to her, but they made her guilt over Daniel’s death bubble to the surface. It was a long time before she fell asleep.
A few days later, the light clop of hooves on gravel announced the arrival of the bishop and the deacon. As the buggy stopped in the driveway, Carrie threw Emma a look of disdain.
“It wasn’t me! I didn’t say a peep to them.”
Hands hooked on her hips, Carrie asked, “And not a peep to your mother?”
Emma’s lips puckered in an “Oh.”
Carrie knew they were here to check up on the mysterious Abel Miller. There were organized ways of doing things—certain days and times set apart for such matters. If a concern had been brought to the church leaders, the deacon might pay a visit first. That would never be a cause for worry. Deacon Abraham was a caring man. Whenever she saw him in town or about the farm, two or three of his grandsons rode beside him in the wagon or shadowed him as he worked. He had been widowed recently and decided to move into the Grossdaadi Haus, to let his youngest son take over the farm. “Alles hat seine Zeit,” he was fond of saying.
There’s a time for everything.