Plain Truth (58 page)

“Well,” Lizzie Munro said, pushing away her plate. “That's the first time I've ever packed away more than you have.”

George grimaced. “Turns out my stomach's more delicate than I thought.”

“Well, if you'd asked—which I might point out you didn't—I could have told you that people around here would have trouble convicting someone Amish.”

“Why?”

Lizzie lifted one shoulder. “They're sort of like angels-in-residence. If you admit that one of them's a murderer, the whole world's going to hell in a handbasket.”

“They're not acquitting her so quickly, either.” He blotted his mouth with a napkin. “Ledbetter said the jury had requested the transcripts of the two psychiatrists.”

“Now, that's interesting. If they're quibbling over state of mind, it almost implies that they think she did something wrong.”

George snorted. “I'm sure Ellie Hathaway would put a different spin on it.”

“Ellie Hathaway isn't spinning much of anything right now. Didn't you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“She's sick. Got taken into the hospital.” Lizzie shrugged. “The news around the water cooler is that it had something to do with complications of pregnancy.”

“Pregnant? Ellie Hathaway's pregnant?” He shook his head. “God, she's about as nurturing as a black widow spider.”

“Yeah,” Lizzie said. “There's a lot of that going around.”

Ellie had been promoted from reclining in the bedroom to reclining on the living room couch. She had been allowed to walk only once, when Coop had taken her to the obstetrician to be given a clean but guarded bill of health. Now Coop was back at his office with a suicidal client, having left Sarah in charge to watch over her like a hawk. But Sarah had gone out to get a chicken for dinner—making Ellie, for the first time, happy about her status as an invalid.

Ellie closed her eyes, but she was certain that if she slept another hour she was going to go into a coma. She was trying to decide which argument to use on Coop to convince him that she should be allowed to be vertical—fetal circulation just slightly edging out bedsores—when Katie skulked by the doorway, trying not to be seen.

“Oh, no you don't. Get back here,” Ellie ordered.

Katie slipped into the room. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah. I need you to break me out of here.”

Katie's eyes widened. “But Dr. Cooper—”

“—doesn't have a clue what it's like to be lying around for two entire days.” Ellie reached for her hand, and tugged so that Katie was sitting down beside her. “I don't want to go climb Everest,” she begged. “Just a little walk. Outside.”

Katie looked toward the kitchen.

“Your mom's at the chicken coop. Please.”

She nodded quickly, then helped Ellie from the couch. “You sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine. Really. You can call my doctor and ask her.” Grinning, Ellie added, “Well, you could if you had a phone.”

Katie slid her arm around Ellie's waist and took tentative steps with her through the kitchen and out the back door. Ellie quickened the pace as they passed the small patch of the vegetable garden, stepping over the pumpkin vines spread like the arms of an octopus. At the pond, she sank onto the bench beneath the oak tree, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, feeling better than she had in days.

“Can we go back now?” Katie asked miserably.

“I just got here. You want me to rest before I hike all the way home, don't you?”

She glanced toward the house. “I want to get you back before anyone notices you're gone.”

“Don't worry. I won't tell anyone you brought me out here if you don't.”

“Not a soul,” Katie said.

Ellie tipped back her head and closed her eyes, letting the sun wash over her face and throat. “Well, then, here we are. Partners in crime.”

“Partners in crime,” Katie echoed softly.

At the thin, sad note in her voice, Ellie blinked. “Oh, Katie. I didn't mean—”

“Shhh.” Katie held up her hand, rising slowly off the seat as she stared at the pond. A flock of wood ducks, hidden among the dry marsh grass at the edges, suddenly startled and took to flight, sending up a spray of mist that illuminated the surface of the water. The late sun prismed through, and for a moment Katie could see her sister spinning in the midst of it, a hologram ballerina unaware of her audience.

This is what she would miss if she were put in jail. This home, this pond, this connection.

Hannah turned, and in her arms was a small package. She turned again, and the package shifted … so that a tiny pink arm slipped from the swaddling.

The mist settled, the nasal holler of the ducks receding in the distance. Katie sat down beside Ellie, who suddenly looked much paler than she was before. “Please,” Katie whispered. “Don't let them send me away.”

Out of deference to Aaron, Jacob parked his car a half mile from his father's farm. He'd known guys who'd bought cars during their
Rumspringa
, fellows who'd parked them behind tobacco sheds while their dads pretended not to notice. Jacob, though, he'd never had a car. Not until he'd left for good.

Walking up the drive felt strange, too. He absently rubbed the scar on his chin that he'd gotten when he'd been roller-skating and had pitched over a rut in the pavement. The rut was still there. He'd bet that his roller skates were, too, up in the attic with whatever old clothes and hats had not been passed along to younger cousins.

His heart was so loud in his ears by the time he reached the barn door that he had to stop and breathe deeply just to get the courage to go further. The problem was, he'd become
Sod
so long ago that thinking Plain came less and less easily. It had taken Katie's trial—where he, of all people, was cast as the expert on Amish life—to make him realize that the Plain side of him had been there all along. Although he lived in a different world, he still saw it with the eyes of one who'd grown up separate and apart; he judged it with a set of values that had been ingrained long ago.

One of the first truths you learned when you were Plain was that actions spoke louder than words.

In the English world, people sent condolences and wrote e-mail and exchanged valentines. In the Amish world, sympathy came in the form of a visit, love was a look of satisfaction cast across the dinner table, help was hands-on. All this time, Jacob had been waiting for an apology from his father, when that wasn't his father's means of currency.

He slid open the heavy door of the barn and walked inside. Dust motes circled in the air, and the heady scent of hay and sweet grain was so familiar that Jacob froze for a moment and simply closed his eyes, remembering. The cows, chained at their stanchions, shuffled at his entrance and rolled their heavy heads in his direction.

It was milking time; Jacob had planned it that way. He walked into the central aisle of the barn. Levi was shoveling manure into a wheelbarrow, looking none too pleased about it. Samuel stood down at the far end, waiting for the feed to funnel down the chute from the silo. Elam and Aaron moved between the animals in tandem, checking the pumps and wiping down the teats of the next cow in line.

It was Elam who saw him first. Straightening slowly, the old man stared at Jacob and gradually smiled. Jacob nodded, then reached down into the bucket his grandfather held and ripped out a leaf of the old Yellow Pages. He took the spray bottle from Elam's hand to sanitize an udder just as his father came around the broad behind of the cow.

Aaron started. His shoulders tensed; the powerful muscles in his forearms locked up. Samuel and Levi watched the scene in silence; it even seemed that the cows had quieted, waiting to see what would happen.

Elam placed his hand on his son's shoulder.
“Es ist nix,”
he said. It's nothing.

Without saying a word, Jacob bent down and resumed his task. His palms slipped along the soft underskin of the cow. A moment later, he felt his father at his shoulder. The hands that had taught him how to do most everything gently pushed his out of the way, so that the milk pump could be attached.

Jacob stood up, toe to toe with his father. Aaron nodded slowly toward the next cow. “Well,” he said in English. “I'm waiting.”

George mounted the steps of the Fishers' front porch, unsure of what to expect. In a way, he'd figured a people so close to God would have managed to get lightning to strike him the minute he got out of his car, but so far so good. He straightened his jacket and tie and knocked firmly.

The defendant answered the door. Her friendly smile faltered, then completely withered. “Yes?”

“I'm, uh, here to see Ellie.”

Katie crossed her arms. “She's not taking visitors just now.”

From behind her, a voice yelled out, “That's not true! I'll take anyone. If it's the UPS man, send him in!”

George raised his brows, and Katie pushed open the screen door to admit him. He followed her through a house that looked surprisingly like his own. In the living room, Ellie lay on a couch with an afghan tossed over her legs.

“Well,” he said. “You look completely different in your pajamas. Softer.”

Ellie laughed. “That's why I rarely wear them during litigation. Is this a social visit?”

“Not exactly.” George looked pointedly at Katie. She glanced at Ellie, and then went into another room. “I've got a deal for you.”

“What a surprise,” Ellie said dryly. “Has the jury got you running scared?”

“Why, no. In fact, I figured you're the one who's panicking, and I'm feeling chivalrous at the moment.”

“You're a regular Lancelot, George. All right, let's hear it.”

“She pleads guilty,” George said. “We agree to four to seven years.”

“Not a chance.” Ellie bristled, but then thought of Katie, by the pond. “I'll consider a
nolo
, and I'll take two to four as a capped plea, if you let me argue for less.”

George turned away, looking out the window. More than anything else, he wanted to win this case—it was what would buoy him through the next election. He had no grand desire to make Katie Fisher rot away in jail forever; and from what Lizzie had told him, he didn't think that would sit well with the community, either. With a
nolo contendere
, as Ellie was suggesting, a defendant didn't admit guilt, but still accepted a conviction. Basically, it meant saying that you didn't do it, but you understood that there was enough evidence to condemn you, so you accepted that verdict.

For Katie, it meant saving face and accepting punishment at the same time.

For Ellie, it meant erasing her client's unexpected courtroom confession from the record.

For George, it was still a guilty verdict.

He walked toward Ellie again. “I need to think about it. If she does get convicted, she could be looking at a hell of a lot of time.”

“If
, George. The jury's been out for five days. If they come back for us, Katie gets
nada
. As in
not a
thing.”

He crossed his arms.
“Nolo
. Three to six, capped.”

“Two and a half to five, and you've got yourself a deal.” She smiled. “Of course, I'll have to run it by my client.”

“Get back to me.” George started out of the living room, pausing at the threshold of the doorway. “Hey, Ellie,” he said. “I was sorry to hear about what happened.”

She fisted the afghan in her hands. “Well, it's all going to be fine now.”

“Yeah.” George nodded slowly. “I think it is.”

Katie sat outside the judge's chambers, running her fingers over the smooth seams of the wooden bench. She'd flatten her palm against a spot, buff it with her apron, and then do it all over again. Although being here today was considerably less upsetting than being here for the trial, she was still counting the minutes until she could leave.

“I've been looking for you.”

Katie glanced up as Adam sat down beside her. “Jacob told me about the plea.”

“Yes. And now it will be finished,” she said quietly, and both of them weighed the words, turned them over like stones, and set them down again.

“I'm going back to Scotland.” He hesitated. “Katie, you could—”

“No, Adam.” She shook her head, interrupting him. “I couldn't.”

Adam swallowed, nodded. “I guess I knew that all along.” He touched the curve of her cheek. “But I also know that these past months, you've been there with me.” When Katie looked up, puzzled, he continued. “I find you, sometimes, at the foot of my bed, when I wake up. Or I notice your profile in the moorings of a castle wall. Sometimes, when the wind's right, it's like you're calling my name.” He took her hand, traced the outline of her fingers. “I see you more clearly than I've ever seen any ghost.”

He lifted her palm, kissed the center, and closed her fingers around it. Then he pressed the fist tight to her belly. “Remember me,” Adam said thickly; and for the second time in Katie's life, he left her behind.

“I'm glad to hear that you've come to an agreement,” Judge Ledbetter said. “Now let's talk about time.”

George leaned forward. “We agreed to a capped plea, Your Honor, two and a half to five years. But I think it's important to remember that whatever decision is reached here is going to send a message to society about neonaticide.”

“We agreed to a
nolo,”
Ellie specified. “My client is not admitting to this crime. She has repeatedly stated that she doesn't know what happened that night, but for various reasons she's willing to accept a guilty verdict. However, we're not talking about a hardened felon. Katie has a commitment to the community, and she's not going to be a repeat offender. She shouldn't do a day of time, not even an hour. Sentencing her to a correctional facility sends the message that she's like any common criminal, when you can't even come close to comparing the two.”

“Something tells me, Ms. Hathaway, that you have a solution in mind.”