The Choice (8 page)

Later that night, Carrie changed into her nightgown and took the pins out of her hair, braiding the loose strands into a long rope. She slipped into bed and peered over the edge at Daniel, stretched out on the floor. “Are you asleep?”

He turned to his side, facing the window. “Nearly.”

“Daniel—”

“Mattie was lying.” He rolled over on his back, eyes facing the ceiling. “Just not sure what part of it she was lying about.”

All afternoon, Carrie had been thinking the same thing. Mattie had
lied
! Carrie was the one who had bought that newspaper. But was Mattie also lying about loving Sol? Carrie wasn’t sure. She punched the pillow into shape and laid her head on it.

“Seems at times there are three people in this marriage,” Daniel said in a low voice.

With that, Carrie’s temper flared. “You’re wrong.” She looked over the edge of the bed at him. “There are
four
.”

The words flew out of her mouth before she even thought about them. She was only making a guess. Until that moment, she didn’t know for sure that the burden Daniel carried might have something to do with a woman. “I . . . I’m sorry,” she said when she saw the stark pain in his eyes, as real as if she had struck him. “I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s all right,” he said, in a voice that hurt her with its gentleness. “I’m going to take a walk.”

Daniel grabbed his shirt, pants, and shoes, and went downstairs. She heard the kitchen door close behind him.

The next morning, Mattie finished her chores quickly to have time to get to Carrie’s. She needed to set right yesterday’s conversation. She was mortified with herself for blurting out that she loved Sol. That was a secret she had guarded so well, for years now, from the moment she had first laid eyes on him. Just as she was turning the buggy into the gravel lane, she saw Daniel come out of the barn. He stopped when he saw her and waited until she came to a halt.

“Morning, Daniel,” she said shyly. “Is Carrie inside?”

He shook his head. “Hanging the wash.” He tipped his head in the direction of the clothesline, where Carrie was hanging laundry. He took the reins and helped her down from the buggy, then tied her horse to the post.

When Carrie saw Mattie approach, she put the wet shirts back in the basket and sat on the big rock in the sun, patting a spot in silent invitation for Mattie to come join her. “The wash should dry in no time with this Indian summer.” A light breeze stirred the rows of clothes on the line. Yonnie’s faded lavender churchgoing dress, hanging right beside her, tossed out a faint whiff of laundry soap.

Mattie nodded, head tucked down as she sat beside Carrie.

Carrie leaned against her elbows. “I’ve always loved this time of year. The work of summer is nearly done. It’s warm, but not hot. Sort of a lull, waiting for winter.”

Mattie nodded again, not saying a word, feeling like she had a knot in her throat.

Softly, Carrie asked, “Mattie, what made you tell a lie?”

Mattie covered her face with her hands. “It just flew out of me. I’m so ashamed. I feel terrible! But I could see that Daniel was upset about the newspaper.”

Carrie watched the breeze twist and luff the white sheets, filling them like sails on a ship. “It was kind of you, standing up for me like that.”

“I shouldn’t have lied. It was wrong of me. But Carrie, we’re friends.” She said it in a tone as if that explained everything—her loyalty, her compassion, her devotion.

“I don’t deserve such a friend.”

Mattie shook that comment off. “You deserve so much more, Carrie. You’re the strongest person I know. I know it’s been hard lately.”

Carrie looked away, but Mattie caught the glint of tears in her eyes. She noticed Daniel, standing by the barn with his arms crossed against his black leather apron, listening to a neighbor who had just brought a horse by to be shod. “He’s a good man, that Daniel.”

Carrie’s gaze followed Mattie’s. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about how you felt about Sol?”

Mattie bent down and uncoiled a shirt from the basket, shook it twice, then stood to pin it to the line. She had diverted herself on purpose to give herself time to answer carefully. “I could never help my feelings for Sol. I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember. But you know what a flirt he is. You know how he was with all the girls, taking a different girl home from every singing.” Nearly every girl but her, Mattie thought, pausing to pick up another shirt. The truth was that Sol did not know Mattie existed for much of the time they had lived in the same town. She was far too quiet, too plain, to attract his attention.

She looked across the clothesline at Carrie. “But then, he started taking you home from Sunday singings regularly, and you didn’t seem to mind.” She fixed her eyes on the clothespin in her hand. “I just couldn’t tell you, Carrie. I just couldn’t. It’s not our way.”

Carrie nodded. Courting couples avoided teasing at all costs. “You’re pretty good at keeping secrets, Mattie. I never would have guessed how you felt about Sol. Not ever.”

Mattie smiled shyly at her.

“You must have felt some envy toward me.”

“No, Carrie. Never that.” Mattie meant that sincerely. She would never have let jealousy take root in her heart. “You must believe that.”

Carrie grabbed the last piece of wet clothing in the basket, then hung it on the line. “Mattie, you’re too good for Solomon Riehl. He has no
Demut
, no humility. He’ll never return to the church.”

“Don’t say that,” Mattie said sharply. Then she dropped her eyes to the ground. “No one is ever beyond help.”

Carrie tilted her head, watching her friend. “I guess it all depends if he wants the help.” She picked up the empty laundry basket and rested it on her hip. “Mattie, can I give you a piece of advice? Don’t expect anything from Solomon Riehl. Then you won’t be disappointed.”

Sunday felt different from any other day. A day set apart. Carrie had always loved church gatherings. Even as a child, there was a quiet excitement in the air. The preaching and hymn singing started early in the morning and lasted three hours, topped off with a fellowship meal, brought by the womenfolk.

Glancing across to the men’s side of the room, she could see Eli, sitting ramrod straight, a somber look on his serious face. Seated next to him was Daniel. She saw Daniel’s eyes lift quickly to the ceiling, as if he didn’t want to be caught looking at her. It made Carrie smile, to think he was watching her. Next to Daniel sat Andy, angry and sullen.

Andy had been trying to memorize the
Lob Lied
, the hymn of praise sung at every Amish church gathering, before his ninth birthday. He had been itching to sit with the big boys in the church service, but it was tradition to wait until an Amish boy turned nine. Andy’s birthday was coming up and he was determined to go in now. Before breakfast this morning, he had recited the verses one more time. When he missed the last verse, he clapped his hands on his cheeks. “Aw, Carrie, let me go in. Everyone knows I’m almost nine. They’ll call me a baby.”

Carrie shook her head. “No shortcuts.”

“Come on!” Andy pleaded. He was near tears. “Dad would let me!”

“Go upstairs and get ready,” Carrie told him. “We need to leave in a few minutes so we won’t be late.”

Andy bolted up the stairs, almost knocking into Daniel as he was coming down the stairs. Daniel’s eyes met Carrie’s briefly, then he dropped his gaze. “Is knowing that hymn so important?”

Discouraged, Carrie turned to the sink to finish the breakfast dishes. “I’m trying to make things normal for him. Trying to do what my father would want me to do with him.” She scrubbed a dish. “Besides, the bishop will be watching Andy.”

“Don’t blame it on the bishop,” Daniel said as he plucked his hat and coat off the peg. “It’s Esther you’re worried about. She’s the one who will be watching Andy.” He put his hand on the kitchen doorjamb. “There’s no such thing as normal for a grieving boy.”

Through the kitchen window, Carrie watched Daniel head to the barn, thinking over what he said. It was the longest paragraph he’d uttered. Still, it amazed her that Daniel had only spent a summer in her father’s home and seemed to have a better understanding of the family than she did. He was right. So was Andy. Her father wouldn’t have cared about those verses. She was worried about Esther. Esther had brittle requirements for everyone, especially for Jacob’s children.

Carrie threw the dish towel down, more confused than ever. She wasn’t ready to be a parent, but she was thrust into that role when her father died. She decided this must be what it felt like to tuck an octopus into bed. An arm or two kept popping out.

The focus of the bishop’s sermon that morning was on the sinful nature of man. He was very effective. Everyone finished the morning feeling especially convicted of their wickedness. Afterward, the benches were moved and the tables set up, and the women served a soup and sandwich lunch. Carrie joined several other young women as they brought the food to the men. After the men finished eating, the women and children took their turn. When the meal was over and everything had been cleaned up, adults usually gathered in small groups to visit as children played or napped.

Today, though, folks seemed quiet, subdued. Eli herded the family into the buggy for a silent ride home. Daniel sat down on Eli’s right side and picked up the reins, clucking to the horse to get it trotting. Carrie and Yonnie sat in the backseat, Andy between them. The trip home seemed to last forever, and the cramped quarters in the buggy didn’t help much, either. Finally, Yonnie broke the quiet. “I think that bishop is needing a little more fiber in his diet. Maybe I’ll mix up some of my special prune tea for him. Helps when the plumbing gets backed up.”

Turning to look back at her, Eli scolded, “Mother! You are speaking of a bishop! Of a man chosen by God!”

“And that man is older than Moses,” Yonnie muttered under her breath.

Carrie let her own smile come out in a quick curve of her lips and a downward tuck of her chin. She avoided Andy’s eyes. She knew she needed to be a good example, but sometimes she missed just being a sister, one who could share a private joke, the way they used to.

Later that day, Carrie finished feeding Hope and was leading the cow into a stall when she heard Daniel and Eli come into the barn. Through a crack between the boards she watched Daniel sit on a bale of hay, hands on his knees, chin to his chest, defeated. Eli came over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You have a chance to make a new life here, a fresh start with Carrie. I knew she’d be good for you. She’s a strong woman.”

Carrie ducked down low by Hope’s wooden wall, unnoticed. She felt as nosy as Emma, listening to people’s private conversations, but from the serious way they were talking, she decided it would be worse to interrupt them.

Daniel lifted his head and said, “Didn’t you hear the bishop today? Heaven’s deaf to the cries of a sinner.” He stood and walked to the barn door, then turned back to his father. “There’s really no such thing as a fresh start. Our past doesn’t let us go.”

After he left, Eli sat down on the hay bale where Daniel had been. Carrie’s heart nearly broke as she saw him start to shake, then hold his head in his hands as he wept. Quietly, she slipped out the back door to give him privacy.