Plain Truth (5 page)

“For while you're here. Walking around in your regular clothes is only going to make it harder on you. Wearing these —well, no one's ever gonna know, Katie. I thought maybe you could pretend for a while, when you visit. Be like me. Here.” He flipped down the visor in front of Katie to reveal a small mirror, then held the cardigan up so that she could see the reflection
.

She blushed. “Jacob, it's beautiful.”

Even Jacob was astounded at how that one awed admission seemed to make his sister look like someone else, like the kind of person he had grown up keeping at a distance. “Yes,” he said. “You are.”

Lizzie called the county attorney's office on her car phone, en route to the hospital. “George Callahan,” the voice on the other end announced brusquely.

“Imagine that. I got the head honcho himself. Where's your secretary?”

George laughed, recognizing her voice. “I don't know, Lizzie. Taking a powder, I guess. You want to come take over her job?”

“Can't. I'm too busy busting people for the DA to prosecute.”

“Ah, I have you to thank for that. My own little feeder source for job security.”

“Well, consider yourself secure: we found a dead baby in an Amish barn here, and things aren't adding up. I'm on my way to the hospital to check out a possible suspect—but I wanted to let you know there may be an arraignment in your near future.”

“How old and where was it found?” George asked, all business now.

“Hours old, a newborn. It was underneath a pile of blankets,” Lizzie said. “And according to everyone we interviewed at the scene, no one had given birth recently.”

“Was the baby stillborn?”

“The ME doesn't think so.”

“Then I'm assuming the mother dropped the kid and left,” George deduced. “You said you have a lead?”

Lizzie hesitated. “This is going to sound crazy, George, but the eighteen-year-old Amish girl who lives on the farm, who swore up one side and down another that she wasn't pregnant, is in the hospital right now bleeding out vaginally.”

There was a stunned silence. “Lizzie, when was the last time you booked an Amish person for a crime?”

“I know, but the physical evidence points to her.”

“So you have proof?”

“Well, I haven't—”

“Get some,” George said flatly. “And then call me back.”

The physician stood near the triage desk, explaining to the newly arrived OB/GYN what she was likely to find in the ER.

“Sounds like uterine atony, and retained products of conception,” the obstetrician said, glancing at the patient's chart. “I'll do an exam, and we'll get her up to the OR for a D&C. What's the status of the baby?”

The ER doctor lowered his voice. “According to the paramedics who brought her in, it didn't survive.”

The obstetrician nodded, then disappeared behind the curtain where Katie Fisher still lay.

From her vantage point in a bank of lackluster plastic chairs, Lizzie came to her feet. If George wanted proof, then she'd get it. She thanked God for plainclothes detectives—no uniformed officer had a snowball's chance in hell of getting confidential information out of a doctor without a subpoena —and approached the physician. “Excuse me,” she said, worrying her hands in the folds of her shirt. “Do you know how Katie Fisher's doing?”

The doctor glanced up. “And you are?”

“I was at the house when she started bleeding.” It wasn't a lie, really. “I just wanted to know if she's going to be all right.”

The physician nodded, frowning. “I imagine she'll be just fine—but it would have been considerably safer for her if she'd come to the hospital to have her baby.”

“Doctor,” Lizzie said, smiling, “I can't tell you what it means to hear you say that.”

Leda pushed open the door to her niece's hospital room. Katie lay still and sleeping on the raised bed. In the corner, motionless and quiet, sat Sarah. As she saw her sister enter the room, Sarah ran into Leda's arms. “Thank goodness you came,” she cried, hugging Leda tightly.

Leda glanced down at the top of Sarah's head. Years of parting her hair in the middle, pulling it tight, and securing her
kapp
with a straight pin had left a part that widened like a sea with each passing year, a furrow as pink and vulnerable as the scalp of a newborn. Leda kissed the little bald spot, then drew back from Sarah.

Sarah spoke quickly, as if the words had been rising inside her like steam. “The doctors think that Katie had a baby. She needed medicine to help stop the bleeding. They took her up to operate.”

Leda covered her hand with her mouth. “Just like you, after you had Hannah.”

“Ja
, but Katie was wonderful lucky. She'll still be able to have children, not like me.”

“Did you tell the doctor about your hysterectomy?”

Sarah shook her head. “I did not like this doctor. She wouldn't believe Katie when she said she didn't have a baby.”

“Sarah, these English doctors … they have scientific tests for pregnancy. Scientific tests don't lie—but Katie might have.” Leda hesitated, treading gingerly. “You never noticed her figure changing?”

“No!”

But, Leda knew, that did not mean much. Some women, especially tall ones like Katie, carried in such a way that it could be months before you noticed a pregnancy. Katie would have had her privacy undressing, and underneath the bell of her apron, a swelling stomach would be hard to see. Any thickening of a waistline would go undetected, since the women's garments of the Old Order Amish were held together with straight pins that could easily be adjusted.

“If she got into trouble, she would have told me,” Sarah insisted.

“And what do you think would have happened the minute she did?”

Sarah looked away. “It would have killed Aaron.”

“Trust me, Aaron's not going to blow over in a strong wind. And he better start dealing with it, because this is only the beginning.”

Sarah sighed. “Once Katie gets home, she'll have the bishop coming around, that's for sure.” Glancing up at Leda, she added, “Maybe you could talk to her. About the
Meidung
.”

Dumbfounded, Leda sank down onto a chair beside the hospital bed. “Shunning? Sarah, I'm not talking about punishment within the church. The police found a dead baby this morning, a dead baby that Katie already lied about having. They're going to think that she's lied about other things, too.”

“It's a crime, to these English, to have a baby out of wedlock?” Sarah asked indignantly.

“It is if you leave it to die. If the police prove that the baby was born alive, Katie is going to be in a lot of trouble.”

Sarah stiffened her spine. “The Lord will make this work out. And if He doesn't, then we will accept His will.”

“Are you talking about God's will, or Aaron's? If Katie is arrested, if you listen to Aaron and turn the other cheek and don't get someone to stick up for her in court, then they're going to put her in jail. For years. Maybe forever.” Leda touched her sister's arm. “How many children are you going to let the world take away from you?”

Sarah sat down on the edge of the bed. She laced Katie's lax fingers through her own and squeezed. Like this, in her hospital gown with her hair loose about her shoulders, Katie did not look Plain. Like this, she looked just like any other young girl.

“Leda,” Sarah whispered, “I don't know how to move in this world.”

Leda put her hand on her sister's shoulder. “I do.”

“Detective Munro, you got a minute?”

She didn't, but she nodded at the policeman from the Major Crimes Unit of the state police, which had been scouring the property all afternoon. Once Lizzie had determined that Katie Fisher was going to be hospitalized at least overnight, she had gone to the district judge to secure warrants to search the house and grounds, as well as to get blood from Katie for a DNA match. Her mind buzzing with the million and one things she had left to do, Lizzie tried to turn her attention to the state trooper. “What have you got?”

“Actually, the scene's fairly clean,” he said.

“Don't sound so surprised,” Lizzie said dryly. “We may be town cops, but we all graduated from high school.” She hadn't been thrilled about calling in the MCU, because they tended to look down their noses at local law enforcement and had a nasty habit of wresting control of the investigation from the detective in charge. However, the state police's investigative skills were far more advanced than those of the East Paradise police, simply because they'd done it more often. “Has the father given you any trouble?”

The trooper shrugged. “Actually, I haven't even seen him. He took the mules out into the fields about two hours ago.” He handed Lizzie a white cotton nightgown, bloodstained at the bottom, sealed in a plastic evidence bag. “It was under the girl's bed, all balled up. We also found traces of blood by the pond behind the house.”

“She had the baby, washed off in the pond, hid the nightgown, and went back to bed.”

“Hey, you guys
are
smart. Come over here, I want you to see this.” He led Lizzie into the tack room where the infant's corpse had been found. Crouching, he pointed out what looked like a ripple on the floor, but on closer inspection turned out to be the outline of a footprint. “It's fresh manure, which means the print wasn't made too long ago.”

“Is it possible to figure out whose it is, the way you do with fingerprints?”

The state trooper shook his head. “No, but we can determine the size of the foot. That's a women's seven, double E width.” He gestured to a colleague, who handed over another evidence bag containing a pair of unattractive tennis shoes. Slipping on gloves, the trooper withdrew the left one. He lifted the tongue so that Lizzie could read the tag. “Size seven women's sneakers, extra wide,” he said. “Found in Katie Fisher's closet.”

Levi was silent during the buggy ride back to his home, something—Samuel knew—that was the result of considerable restraint. Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, Levi turned as the horses drew to a stop. “What do you think will happen?”

Samuel shrugged. “I don't know.”

“I hope she's all right,” Levi said earnestly.

“I hope so too.” He heard the catch in his voice and coughed so that Levi would not notice it. The boy stared at his older cousin for a moment, then jumped from the buggy and ran into the house.

Samuel continued to drive down the road, but he did not make the turn that would lead to his own parents' place. By now, they would have heard of Katie and would, of course, have questions for him. He drove into town and tethered his horse at Zimmermann's Hardware. Instead of going into the store, he walked behind the building, into the cornfield that spread north. He ripped off his hat and held it in his hand as he began to run, the stalks chafing his face and torso. He ran until he could hear the roaring music of his own heart; until it was impossible to catch hold of a breath, much less his emotions.

Then he sank down in the field, lying on his back while he gasped. He stared up at the bruised blue of the evening sky and let the tears come.

Ellie was leafing through
Good Housekeeping
when her aunt returned home. “Everything all right? You took off like you were on fire.” Then she raised her eyes to see Leda—pinched, pale, distracted. “I guess everything's
not
all right.”

Leda sank into a chair, her pocketbook slipping off her shoulder to thump on the floor. She closed her eyes, silent.

“You're scaring me,” Ellie said with a nervous laugh. “What's the matter?”

Visibly straightening her spine, Leda got up and began to rummage through the refrigerator. She pulled out cucumbers, lettuce, and carrots and set them on the counter. She washed her hands, withdrew a chopping knife, and began to cut the vegetables into precisely measured bits. “We'll have salad with dinner,” she said. “What do you think of that?”

“I think it's only three in the afternoon.” Ellie walked forward, took the knife from Leda's hand, and waited until the older woman met her gaze. “Talk.”

“My niece is in the hospital.”

“You don't have another—oh!” Understanding dawned as Ellie realized this was the family Leda did not speak of; the ones she left behind. “Is she … sick?”

“She almost died having a baby.”

Ellie didn't know what to say to that. She could think of nothing more tragic than to give birth, and then not be able to enjoy the miracle.

“She's only eighteen, Ellie.” Leda hesitated, spreading her fingers on the chopping block. “She isn't married.”

A picture slowly revolved in Ellie's head of a young, unwed girl, trying to rid herself of a fetus. “It was an abortion, then?”

“No, it was a baby.”

“Well, of course it was,” Ellie hastened to add, thinking that Leda's background would not have made her pro-choice. “How far along was she?”

“Almost eight months,” Leda said.

Ellie blinked. “Eight
months?”

“It turns out that the baby's body was discovered before anyone even knew that Katie was pregnant.”

A small spark rubbed at the base of Ellie's spine, one she told herself to ignore. This was not Philly, after all; this was no crack mother, but an Amish girl. “Stillborn, then,” Ellie said with sympathy. “What a shame.”

Leda turned her back on Ellie, silent for a moment. “I told myself during the drive home that I wasn't going to do this, but I love Katie just as much as I love you.” She took a deep breath. “There is a chance that the baby wasn't stillborn, Ellie.”

“No.” The word flushed itself from Ellie, low and hot. “I can't. Don't ask me to do this, Leda.”

“There isn't anyone else. We aren't talking about people comfortable with the law. If this were up to my sister, Katie would go to jail whether she was guilty or not, because it's not in her nature to fight back.” Leda gazed at her, eyes burning. “They trust me; and I trust you.”