As soon as the service was over, everyone poured outside to help set up for lunch. Sol saw Abel Miller make a beeline toward Carrie. She was lifting a tablecloth high in the air to spread over the table and didn’t notice him until he was a few paces away. When she saw Abel, Sol’s belly clenched with a sick dread.
She looks at him the way she used to look at me.
Nearly everyone ignored Sol, or kept conversations with him quick and to the point, even his friends. His mother asked when he was coming home, but when he hemmed and hawed, she turned away sadly.
He felt irritated with Mattie for encouraging him to come. She didn’t understand what it felt like to have those you’ve known and loved all your life treat you with distance. They knew he was there, he felt their curious glances. But most acted as if he were a stranger they’d met once but couldn’t remember who he was or why he was here.
And he wasn’t even under the ban.
Afterward, it occurred to him that might have been the very reason Mattie had wanted him to attend.
Carrie returned to the farmhouse late one afternoon after taking the last of their frozen cider to the Zooks to sell at their Central Market stand. She tied Strawberry and his cart to the post and hurried inside to see if Emma had started dinner. She found a note from Emma on the kitchen table, saying she had gone on an errand and not to worry if she missed dinner.
“I wonder why she went to town so late in the day,” Carrie said to Yonnie, after crumpling up the note. “Usually Emma will only go into town in the morning. She’s always said that any Englisher who is drunk and hungover from the night before will still be asleep in the morning and off the streets.”
Yonnie gave a slight smile. “Sounds like our Emma.”
Carrie started making a batch of brownies for Andy’s after-school snack. “Any idea where Abel went to?”
Yonnie looked baffled. “I don’t recall him saying where he was going. Or when.” She pressed her fist to her mouth, as if willing herself to remember. “I think Veronica McCall swooped in. Maybe she left with him. I think I nodded off.”
Carrie glanced at her, a little worried. Yonnie had been sleep-ebook- ing an awful lot lately. Carrie noticed how thick and swollen her ankles were. Sometimes it seemed as if she was like a clock winding down. Carrie looked around the kitchen to see what Emma had started for supper, but she couldn’t find any fixings. “Yonnie, what did Emma do today?”
Yonnie looked to the ceiling, as if the answer was written up there. “She was ironing her cap.”
“Oh, Emma and those pleats,” Carrie said, grinning. Making dinner would be up to her today. She went over to the refrigerator and opened it, loading up her arms with lettuce and cheese and hamburger meat. As she whirled around to set things on the counter, she happened to notice a curl of black smoke coming from the back of the barn, where Abel’s workshop was. Her heart started to pound. Trying to sound calm, she said, “Yonnie, I’ll be back in a minute.”
Carrie flew out of the house and down to the back of the barn. First she tried to get into Abel’s workshop but the door handle was too hot. She ran to the barn door and slid it open, as smoke poured out. She heard terrible noises inside, noises she knew would be etched forever in her mind: Schtarm’s frightened neighing, Hope and her calf ’s bawls of panic. She unhooked Hope from her stanchion, pushed on her to back up and then led her out the door. Her calf had enough sense to trot behind her.
“Geh!” she screamed as she opened Schtarm’s stall door, stepping back as the horse lunged forward and galloped out of the barn. The other stalls were empty. She could see flames lick the stacked hay bales and knew she had to get out. She tripped over a rope and tried to get to her feet, but bent over coughing and wheezing from the thick smoke. Her raw eyes ached. She felt her way out of the barn and gasped for fresh air.
Soon neighbors started to arrive, one after another, signaled by the smell of smoke in the air. Men and boys formed two bucket lines from the water pump, where Carrie pumped until her hands were raw with blisters. The fire department turned up the driveway and took over with their long hoses. Within an hour, the fire was extinguished, but all that was left were smoking timbers, blackened beams, stone and metal. She was amazed to see the waterwheel remained untouched.
Carrie stood there, stunned by a fire’s power.
The deacon came up beside her. “Go on in the house, Carrie. Let Yonnie know all is well. A few of us will stay to make sure the fire is out.” He shooed her away. “Go, get some salve on those hands.”
As she turned to go inside, Andy rushed up the driveway on his scooter, his eyes wide and frightened. “Where are the horses? And Hope and Lulu?” he asked, staring at the fire truck.
“Strawberry’s there,” Carrie said, pointing to the frightened pony, still hitched to the post with his cart attached. “The others ran off, Andy, but they’re not harmed. You might be able to find Hope and Lulu in the orchards. Maybe Emma could help you look for them when she returns.”
Where was Emma, anyway?
And where was Abel?
“I’ll help him,” Abraham said.
Carrie went inside to assure Yonnie that the fire was out. Her nose and throat kept stinging and she couldn’t stop coughing. She finally went upstairs to take a long shower, to get the ash out of her hair and smoke smell off of her body. It was dark when she heard Old-Timer trot the buggy up the driveway, Steelhead’s motorcycle on its heels. From the bathroom window, she saw Emma step down slowly from the buggy, stunned, staring at the blackened hole where the barn used to be. “Die Scheier is ganz verbrennt,” Emma kept saying, over and over, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.
The barn is completely burned.
Steelhead looked like Carrie felt: dazed. He just stared at the smoldering barn site.
She saw Abraham walk up to them, so she closed the window and went to her room to lay on the bed, exhausted, just wanting to close her aching eyes for a moment. She put a cold cloth over her eyes to stop them from burning. At first she thought she was dreaming when she heard the clop of Schtarm’s hoofbeats pound up the driveway. Awhile later, she woke again when she heard Abel’s voice, calling out frantically to the men who remained around the blackened structure, asking where Carrie and Andy and Yonnie were and if all of the animals had been accounted for. Satisfied that they were all safe, she heard him holler, “What on earth has happened to the barn?” Drifting back to sleep, it struck her as strange that he didn’t ask about Emma.
The next morning, Carrie was woken by a ray of sun that filtered through her window. She eased out of bed and pulled a fresh dress off of the peg, then stopped suddenly as her tender, blistered hands reminded her of yesterday’s fire. Pinning her dress as quickly as she could, she peeked out the window and saw Abel and Abraham emptying out the carriage house. Abel didn’t have his sling on, she noticed. She was relieved to see Hope and Lulu tied to stakes, munching hay. Her eyes wandered to the charred remains of the barn. She shuddered at the sight.
By the time Carrie went downstairs, nearly thirty Amish men had arrived. They walked carefully around the blackened structure, tapping on the timbers to see if any could be saved, raking through the ashes. Mattie was in the kitchen, having come over early to help with her father and brothers. She and Emma had prepared hot coffee and made cinnamon rolls, knowing neighbors would be coming soon. Even Esther had arrived; she was folding mayonnaise and chopped celery into a large bowl of shredded chicken to make sandwiches for lunch.
When Emma saw Carrie, she turned her hands over, looking at them, clucking like a mother hen. “Wie entsetzlich!”
How
painful!
“Let me bandage them for you.” Emma looked as if she hadn’t slept well, her eyes were troubled and worried.
“Let me,” Yonnie said. “I have some special ointment.”
“They don’t really hurt that much. I was so tired last night I hardly noticed,” Carrie said, holding her palms up as Yonnie covered the blisters with ointment.
“Schtarm came back last night, all on his own,” Emma said. “And Andy found Hope and Lulu in the orchards.”
“The deacon decided to wait until spring planting is over to have a barn raising,” Mattie said, stirring a batch of cookie dough, “so he thought the men could convert the carriage house for the animals. That’s why we’re all here today.”
It warmed Carrie’s heart to hear those words. Already, her neighbors were helping her move forward. Life was meant to be lived as it came. It wasn’t their way to dwell on hardships; instead, they carried on.
As Yonnie finished wrapping the gauze around her hands, Carrie asked, “Emma? Where were you yesterday afternoon? And where was Abel?”
Emma’s head snapped up. She shot a glance at Esther, then looked out the window at Abel. “He said to say he was awful sorry he wasn’t here.”
Carrie looked out the kitchen window. She saw Abel lugging a piece of lumber off of a wagon. Andy was alongside of him, chattering the whole time. “Yes, but Emma, where were—”
Just then, Yonnie started chanting, “Gottes willes, Gottes willes.” When Carrie spun around to look at her, she saw Yonnie hugging her arms around her middle. Carrie’s insides seized, knowing trouble was coming but not sure from which direction.
Not a minute later, a police car pulled up to the house. Carrie hurried out the kitchen door and down the steps to meet them, Emma and Mattie trailing behind her. Two police officers got out of the car, staring at what was left of the barn.
“Anybody hurt from the fire?” a beefy officer asked Carrie, a cluster of keys jingling from his belt.
She recognized him. It was Chief Beamer, the police officer who had told her that Daniel had been in an accident. She doubted he would remember her. To the English, the Amish looked as alike as peas in a pod. “No. My neighbors came and helped to put it out.”
“Any idea how it started?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “Lightning, maybe.”
Chief Beamer looked doubtful. “I don’t remember any lightning yesterday. Do you, Jim?”
The officer named Jim shook his head. “Mind if we look around?”
Carrie cocked her head. “Why?”
The two policemen exchanged a look. “This is the second fire in this area in the last few months,” the chief said. “We think they might have been set intentionally.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Arson fires have a pattern. Splash patterns of flammable liquid, and they have multiple points of origin.” He put his hands on his hips. “You just have to know what you’re looking for.”
The two officers went down to the burnt barn and walked around, examining the area where the fire started. They used some large pitchforks, turning ashes and smoking piles over.
“Found it,” Chief Beamer yelled to the other policeman. He held up a burnt-out gasoline can. When he passed by Carrie to get to his car, he said, “We found the same can at the other fire.”
Carrie’s bandaged hands flew to her cheeks, shocked. “Who would do this? Why would anyone do this?”
Chief Beamer glanced around at the men. “Any chance there’s a fellow here named Abel Miller?”
“What do you want with Abel?” she asked, her heart pounding. “Is he down there?” he asked her, pointing to the group of men surrounding the barn.
Carrie remained silent.
The chief looked at her as if he knew she wasn’t going to help, then walked out in the yard and shouted out, “Abel Miller? Is there an Abel Miller here?”
Thirty Amish men stopped what they were doing and looked at the policeman. They looked at each other, a silent communication passing between them, until the deacon, standing in front of the carriage house, gave a nod.
A man, carrying a piece of lumber to give to Abraham, dropped the wood and said, “I am William Abel Miller.”
Another fellow put his hammer down. “I’m One-Eyed Abe. Last name’s not Miller but my wife’s a Miller. Folks get my name mixed up all the time.”
Two more men came forward, all claiming some variety of the moniker “Abel Miller.” They weren’t lying. It was their given name. But Carrie knew what they were doing. They were caring for their own.
The chief and the other policeman looked bewildered. “Now, look—”
Abel had been watching the entire thing. He slid a board back onto the wagon and walked up to the policeman. “I think I’m the Abel Miller you’re looking for.”
Chief Beamer breathed a sigh of relief. “Can you tell us where you were yesterday afternoon?”
Abel shot a glance at Steelhead, standing nearby. “Out birding.” The chief looked confused. “You mean, hunting?”
He shook his head. “No. I was coming home and stopped to watch a flock of black ducks heading south over Blue Lake Pond. This time of year it’s a highway in the sky, with all the migrating birds heading north. Kind of a flyway.”
“Black ducks?” Abraham asked, stepping forward out of the group of Amish men, clearly interested. “Why, they’re getting about as scarce out here as sunflowers in January.”
The chief frowned at Abraham. “Anyone see you?”
“Don’t you mean, can I prove it?” Abel asked.
“Yep,” said the chief.
Abel turned his head to look at Esther, standing with her arms tightly crossed against her chest. Next to her stood Emma, hands clutched together as if she was praying. Then his gaze shifted to Carrie. When Abel’s eyes met Carrie’s, a current passed between them. He hesitated just a moment too long. “No. I guess I can’t.”
It was at that moment that Carrie knew Abel was lying. She knew it.
Chief Beamer took a step closer to Abel. “Then you’ll have to come down to the station.”
“On what charges?” Abel asked, chin lifted high.
“No charges yet. We’ve got some questions we want to ask you.”
“Just because I wasn’t here?”
“We got a tip that you’ve had a history with fires,” Chief Beamer said. “And a little history with the law.”
From behind her, Carrie heard Emma let out a gasp. The officer called Jim put a hand on Abel’s shoulder to guide him into the back of the police car.
“No!” Andy shouted. “You can’t do that to our Abel!”