by Jodi Picoult
“The baby came after the labor, Mr. Callahan.”
The prosecutor smiled. “So my dad told me forty years ago. What I meant was that the defendant did not recall holding the baby, or bonding with it, isn’t that right?”
“All that would happen after the birth. After the dissociation,” Coop said.
“Well, then, it seems awfully callous to be worrying about your sheets when you’re apparently enraptured with the idea of having a child.”
“She wasn’t enraptured at the time. She was terrified, and dissociating.”
“So she wasn’t acting like herself?” George prodded.
“Exactly.”
“One might even say, then, that it was like the defendant’s body was there, giving birth, feeling pain, although her mind was elsewhere?”
“Correct. You can function mechanically, even in a dissociative state.”
George nodded. “Isn’t it possible that the part of Katie Fisher that was physically present and mechanically able to give birth and cut the cord might also have been physically present and mechanically able to kill the baby?”
Coop was silent for a moment. “There are a number of possibilities.”
“I’m gonna take that as a yes.” George started to walk back to the prosecution’s table. “Oh, one final question. How long have you known Ms. Hathaway?”
I was on my feet before I even realized I had been rising. “Objection!” I yelled. “Relevance? Foundation?”
Surely everyone could see how red my face had become. A hush had fallen over the courtroom. On the stand, Coop looked like he wanted to sink through the floor.
Judge Ledbetter squinted at me. “Approach,” she said. “What does this have to do with anything, Mr. Callahan?”
“I’d like to show that Ms. Hathaway has had a working relationship with this witness for many years.”
Flattened on the polished surface of the judge’s bench, my palms were sweating. “We’ve never worked together in court before,” I said. “Mr. Callahan is trying to prejudice the jury simply by showing that Dr. Cooper and I know each other personally as well as professionally.”
“Mr. Callahan?” the judge asked.
“Your Honor, I believe there’s a conflict of interest here, and I want the jury to know it.”
While the judge weighed our statements, I suddenly remembered the first time Katie had admitted to knowing the father of her baby. The moon had been full and white, pressed up against the window to eavesdrop; Katie’s voice had smoothed at the edges when she said Adam’s name out loud. And just ten minutes ago: This memory was the only thing I had left, and you gave it away.
If George Callahan did this, he’d be robbing me.
“All right,” the judge said. “I’ll allow you to proceed with your questioning.”
I crossed back to the defense table and took my seat beside Katie. Almost immediately, her hand reached for my own and squeezed. “How long have you known the defense counsel?” George asked.
“Twenty years,” Coop said.
“Isn’t it true that you two have more than a professional relationship?”
“We’ve been friends for a long time. I respect her immensely.”
George’s gaze raked me from head to toe, and at that moment I had the profound urge to kick him in the teeth. “Friends?” he pushed. “Nothing more?”
“It’s none of your business,” Coop said.
The prosecutor shrugged. “That’s what Katie thought, too, and look where it got her.”
“Objection!” I said, standing so quickly that I almost pulled Katie up too.
“Sustained.”
George smiled at me. “Withdrawn.”
* * *
“Come on,” Coop said to me a little later, when he was released as a witness and the judge called for a coffee break. “You need a walk.”
“I need to stay with Katie.”
“Jacob will baby-sit, won’t you, Jacob?” Coop asked, clapping Katie’s brother on the shoulder.
“Sure,” Jacob said, straightening a little in his seat.
“All right.” I followed Coop out of the courtroom, through a volley of quiet murmurs from the press reps who were still sitting in the gallery.
As soon as we reached the lobby, a camera flash exploded in my face. “Is it true,” the accompanying reporter said, her face only inches from mine, “that—”
“Can I just say something here?” Coop interrupted pleasantly. “Do you know how tall I am?”
The reporter frowned. “Six-two, six-three?”
“Just about. Do you know what I weigh?”
“One ninety.”
“Excellent guess. Do you know that I’m thinking really hard about taking that camera and throwing it on the ground?”
The reporter smirked. “Guess you’re a bodyguard in every sense of the word.”
I squeezed Coop’s arm and pulled him off into a hallway, where I found an empty conference room. Coop stared at the closed door, as if contemplating going back after the reporter. “It’s not worth the publicity,” I said.
“But think about the psychological satisfaction.”
I sank into a chair. “I can’t believe that no one’s tried to take a picture of Katie, but they came after me.”
Coop smiled. “If they go after Katie, it makes them look bad—violating religious freedom and all that. But they still need something to run as a graphic with their stories. That leaves you and Callahan, and believe me, a camera’s gonna love you more than it loves him.” He hesitated. “You were fantastic in there.”
Shrugging, I curled my toes out of my pumps. “You were awfully good yourself. The best witness we’ve had yet, I think—”
“Well, thanks—”
“—until George completely undermined your credibility.”
Coop came to stand behind me. “Shit. He didn’t nullify the whole testimony with that crap, did he?”
“Depends on how self-righteous the jury is, and how much they think we were taking them for a ride. Juries do not like to be fucked with.” I grimaced. “Of course, now they’ll think I’m screwing anyone I put on the stand.”
“You could recall me, so I could disabuse them of that idea.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Coop’s fingers slid into my hair, began to massage my scalp. “Oh, God. I ought to pay you for this.”
“Nah. It’s one of the perks of sleeping with me to secure my testimony.”
“Well, then. It’s worth it.” I tipped my head back and smiled. “Hi,” I whispered.
He leaned forward to kiss me upside down. “Hi.”
His mouth moved over mine, awkward at this angle, so that I found myself twisting around and kneeling on the chair to fit myself into Coop’s arms. After a moment, he broke away from me and touched his forehead to mine. “How’s our kid?”
“Splendid,” I said, but my grin faltered.
“What?”
“I wish Katie had had some of this,” I said. “A couple of moments, you know, with Adam, that made her believe it would all work out.”
Coop tilted his head. “Will it, El?”
“This baby’s going to be fine,” I said, more for myself than for Coop.
“This baby wasn’t the party in question.” He took a deep breath. “What you said in there during the direct—that line about taking the first step, did you mean it?”
I could have played coy; I could have told him I had no idea what he meant. Instead, I nodded.
Coop kissed me deeply, drawing my breath from me in a long, sweet ribbon. “Perhaps I haven’t mentioned it, but I’m an expert when it comes to first steps.”
“Are you,” I said. “Then tell me how.”
“You close your eyes,” Coop answered, “and jump.”
* * *
I took a deep breath and stood. “The defense calls Samuel Stoltzfus.”
There were quiet titters and glances as Samuel appeared at the rear of the courtroom with a bailiff. A bul
l in a china shop, I thought, watching the big man lumber to the witness stand, his face chalky with fear and his hands nervously feeding the brim of his black hat round and round.
I knew, from Katie and Sarah and the conversations held over the supper table, what Samuel was sacrificing in order to be a witness in Katie’s trial. Although the Amish community cooperated with the law, and would go to a courtroom if subpoenaed, they also forbid the voluntary filing of a lawsuit. Samuel, who had willingly offered his services as a character witness for Katie, was riding somewhere between the two extremes. Although his decision hadn’t been called into question by church officials, there were members who looked less favorably upon him, certain that this deliberate brush with the English world was not for the best.
The clerk of the court, a pinch-faced man who smelled of bubble gum, approached Samuel with the customary Bible. “Please raise your right hand.” He slid the battered book beneath Samuel’s left palm. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Samuel snatched his hand away from the Bible as if he’d been burned. “No,” he said, horrified. “I do not.”
A wave of disruption undulated across the gallery. The judge rapped her gavel twice. “Mr. Stoltzfus,” she said gently, “I realize you’re not familiar with a court of law. But this is a very customary procedure.”
Samuel belligerently shook his head, the blond strands flying. He looked up at me, beseeching.
Judge Ledbetter murmured something that might have been, “Why me?” Then she beckoned me to the bench. “Counsel, maybe you’d like a minute with the witness to explain this procedure.”
I walked over to Samuel and placed my hand on his arm, turning him away from the eyes of the gallery. He was trembling. “Samuel, what’s the problem?”
“We do not pray in public,” he whispered.
“It’s only words. It doesn’t really mean anything.”
His mouth dropped, as if I’d just turned into the devil right before his eyes. “It’s a promise to God—how can you say it means nothing? I cannot swear on the Bible, Ellie,” he said. “I am sorry, but if that’s what it takes, I can’t do it.”
Nodding tightly, I went back to the judge. “Swearing an oath on the Bible goes against his religion. Is it possible to make an exception?”
George jockeyed into position beside me. “Your Honor, I’m sorry to sound like a broken record, but clearly Ms. Hathaway has planned this performance to make the jury sympathetic to the Amish.”
“He’s right, of course. And any minute now the troupe of thespians I’ve hired to reenact Katie’s grief will come and take center stage.”
“You know,” Judge Ledbetter said thoughtfully, “I had an Amish businessman as a witness in a trial some years back, and we ran into the same problem.”
I gaped at the judge, not because she was posing a solution, but because she’d actually had an Amishman in her courtroom before. “Mr. Stoltzfus,” she called out. “Would you be willing to affirm on the Bible?”
I could see the gears turning in Samuel’s head. And I knew that the literal-mindedness of the Amish would serve the judge well here. As long as the word she posed wasn’t swear or vow or promise, Samuel would find the compromise acceptable.
He nodded. The clerk slipped the Bible beneath his hand again; I may have been the only one who noticed that Samuel’s palm hovered a few millimeters above the leather-bound cover. “Do you . . . uh, affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Samuel smiled at the little man. “Ja, all right.”
He took the stand, filling the whole box, his large hands balanced on his knees and his hat tucked beneath the chair. “Could you state your name and address?”
He cleared his throat. “Samuel Stoltzfus. Blossom Hill Road, East Paradise Township.” He hesitated, then added, “Pennsylvania, U.S.A.”
“Thanks, Mr. Stoltzfus.”
“Ellie,” he whispered loudly, “you can call me Samuel.”
I grinned. “Okay. Samuel. Are you a little bit nervous?”
“Yes.” The word came out on a guffaw of relief.
“I’ll bet. Have you ever been in court before?”
“No.”
“Did you ever think you would be in court, one day?”
He shook his head. “Ach, no. We don’t believe in the filing of lawsuits, so I never gave it a minute’s thought.”
“By ‘we’ you mean whom?”
“The People,” he said.
“The Amish?”
“Yes.”
“Were you asked to be a witness today?”
“No. I volunteered.”
“You willingly put yourself into an uncomfortable situation? Why?”
His clear, blue gaze locked on Katie. “Because she didn’t murder her baby.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve known her my whole life. Since we were kids. I’ve seen her every single day for years. Now I work for Katie’s father on the farm.”
“Really? What do you do there?”
“Anything Aaron tells me to do, pretty much. Mostly, I’m there to help with the planting and the harvesting. Oh, ja, and the milking. It’s a dairy.”
“When is the milking done, Samuel?”
“Four-thirty A.M. and four-thirty P.M.”
“What does it entail?”
George raised a brow. “Objection. Do we really need a lesson in farm management?”
“I’m laying foundation, Your Honor,” I argued.
“Overruled. Mr. Stoltzfus, you may answer the question.”
Samuel nodded. “Well, we start by mixing the feed. Then we shovel up behind the stanchions, and that goes into the manure pit. Aaron’s got twenty cows, so this takes a while. Then we wipe down their teats and put on the milking pump, which runs on generator. Two cows get hooked up at a time, did I say that? The milk goes into a can that gets dumped into the bulk tank. And usually in the middle we have to stop and shovel up behind ’em again.”
“When does the milk company truck come to pick up the milk?”
“Every other day, save the Lord’s Day. When it falls on a Sunday, it comes crazy times, like Saturdays at midnight.”
“Is the milk pasteurized before the truck takes it?”
“No, that happens after it leaves the farm.”
“Do the Fishers get their milk from the supermarket?”
Samuel grinned. “That would be sort of silly, wouldn’t it? Like buying bacon when you’ve just slaughtered a perfectly good pig. The Fishers drink their own fresh milk. I have to bring a pitcher in to Katie’s mother twice a day.”
“So the milk the Fishers drink has not yet been pasteurized?”
“No, but it tastes just the same as the stuff you get in the white plastic jug. You’ve had it. Don’t you think so?”
“Objection—could someone remind the witness that he’s not supposed to be asking questions?” George said.
The judge leaned sideways. “Mr. Stoltzfus, I’m afraid the prosecutor’s right.”
The big man reddened and looked into his lap. “Samuel,” I said quickly, “why do you feel that you know Katie so well?”
“I’ve seen her in so many situations I know how she acts—when she’s sad, when she’s happy. I was there when her sister drowned, when her brother got banned for good from the church. Two years ago, too, we started to go together.”
“You mean date?”
“Ja.”
“Were you dating when Katie had the baby?”
“Yes.”
“Were you there when she gave birth?”
“No, I wasn’t,” Samuel said. “I found out later.”
“Did you think at the time that it was your baby?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He cleared his throat. “We never slept together.”
“Did you know who the father of that baby was?”
�
��No. Katie wouldn’t tell me.”
I softened my voice. “How did that make you feel?”
“Pretty bad. She was my girl, you see. I didn’t understand what had happened.”
For a moment, I simply let the jury look at Samuel. A strong, good-looking man dressed in clothes that seemed strange, speaking haltingly in his second language, trying to keep afloat in a situation that was completely unfamiliar to him. “Samuel,” I said. “Your girlfriend gets pregnant with someone else’s baby—the baby’s mysteriously found dead, although you’re not there to see how it happens—you’re nervous about being in a courtroom to testify—yet you’ve come here to tell us she didn’t commit murder?”
“That’s right.”
“Why are you sticking up for Katie, who, by all means, has wronged you?”
“Everything you said, Ellie, it’s true. I should be very angry. I was, for a time, but now I’m not. Now I’ve gotten past my own selfishness to where I’ve got to help her. See, when you’re Plain, you don’t put yourself forward. You just don’t do it, because that would be Hochmut—puffing yourself up—and the truth is there’s always others more important than you. So Katie, when she hears others telling lies about her and this baby, she won’t want to fight back, or stand up for herself. I am here to stand up for her.” As if listening to his own words, he slowly got to his feet and stared at the jury. “She did not do this. She could not do this.”
Every one of the twelve was arrested by the image of Samuel’s face, set with quiet, fierce conviction. “Samuel, do you still love her?”
He turned, his eyes sliding past me to light on Katie. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”
* * *
George tapped his forefinger against his lips. “She was your girlfriend, but she was sleeping with some other guy?”
Samuel’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not just hear what I said?”
The prosecutor held up his hands. “Just wondering about your feelings on that subject, that’s all.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about my feelings. I came here to talk about Katie. She’s done nothing wrong.”
I covered my chuckle with a cough. For someone inexperienced, Samuel could be a hell of a mountain to move. “Does your religion practice forgiveness, Mr. Stoltzfus?” George asked.
“Samuel.”
