by Jodi Picoult
"Care to share it with me?"
"To run my farm," Aaron said. "If you will excuse--"
"I'd think you might be able to spare a few precious seconds to save your daughter from going to jail, Mr. Fisher."
"My daughter is not going to jail," he said stubbornly.
"It's not for you to decide."
The farmer took off his hat. He looked tired, suddenly, and much older than Lizzie had originally thought. "It's not for you to decide either, but for the Lord. I trust in His judgment, as does my daughter. Good day, now." He tapped the reins, and the mules jumped forward in unison, the plowing equipment groaning through the earth.
Lizzie watched him go. "Too bad God won't be sitting on that jury," she murmured, and then began the long walk back to the farmhouse.
Ellie finished wiping up the last of the pickling spices that dusted the kitchen table. It was beastly hot in the kitchen-- God, what she'd do for air conditioning, or an electric fan--but she had promised Sarah she'd take care of the cleanup detail, since she'd missed a good portion of the actual canning work while she was consoling Katie.
And what was she to make of that last confrontation? Mysteries were beginning to fall into place in her mind, as neatly as tumblers in a lock--Katie's selective amnesia, her denial of the pregnancy and the birth, Samuel's stunned expression when they'd last spoken. For the first time since she'd arrived at the farm, Ellie did not feel revulsion at the thought of the neonaticide Katie had committed, but pity.
As a defense attorney she'd supported her share of clients who'd committed heinous crimes, but she instinctively worked harder when she could make herself understand what had brought them to that point. The woman who'd murdered her husband in his sleep was less of a monster when you factored in that the man had beaten her for thirty years. The rapist with a swastika tattoo across the bridge of his nose was far less intimidating when you thought of him as a boy being abused by his stepfather. And the Amish girl who killed her newborn couldn't be forgiven, but certainly understood, if the father of the child had sexually assaulted her.
On the other hand, it was the final nail in Katie's coffin. In terms of motive, it made very good sense for a young woman to want to kill the baby conceived in an act of rape. Which meant that--no matter how much Ellie might sympathize with Katie, no matter how much she hoped to get her counseling--no mention of rape would ever be made during her defense.
Ellie wrung out the sponge in the sink. She wondered if Katie would start to confide in her now. She wondered if she ought to go upstairs again, so that Katie would not awaken alone.
At the sound of the door opening behind her, Ellie shut off the faucet and wiped her hands on the voluminous apron she'd borrowed from Sarah. "I'm glad you're back," she said, facing away from the door.
"I must say, that's a surprise."
Ellie whirled around to find Lizzie Munro standing there instead of Sarah. The investigator's gaze traveled from Ellie's sweat-soaked hair to the hem of her apron.
Folding her arms across her waist, Ellie straightened, trying to look as commanding as possible given her attire. "You ought to get that crime scene tape down. There are people here trying to get on with their lives."
"It's not my tape. Call the state police."
"Give me a break, Detective."
Lizzie shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, they should have taken it down days ago. We have everything we need."
"You think you do."
"This case will be won on forensic evidence, Ms. Hathaway. Clear away the smoke and mirrors, and there's a dead baby left behind."
Ellie smirked. "You sound like a prosecutor."
"Professional hazard."
"Interesting, then, that for such an open-and-shut case you'd feel the need to interview the Fishers."
"Even here in the shadow of Philadelphia, we know how to cover our asses during an investigation."
Ellie took a step forward. "Look, if you think this is about pitting a big-city legal operation against a small-town county attorney, you can tell George right now--"
"Tell George yourself. I'm not a courier." Lizzie glanced up the stairs. "I'd like to speak to Katie."
Ellie laughed out loud. "I bet you would. Personally, I'd like a margarita and central air." She shrugged. "You knew when you came here I wasn't going to let you near my client. And I'm sure George will understand when you tell him you couldn't get a statement from the defendant or her father."
Lizzie's eyes widened. "How did you--?"
"Inside advantage," Ellie said smugly.
The detective started toward the door. "I can see how this place would start to wear on you," she said, gesturing toward Ellie's apron. "Sorry to interrupt your ... uh, big-city legal operation."
Ellie stared at the door as it closed after Lizzie. Then she took off the apron, folded it neatly over a chair, and went to check on her client.
Levi craned his neck one more time to make sure that Aaron and Samuel were still busy in the fields, then ran the flat of his hand along the curved hood of Lizzie Munro's car. It was as red as the apples that grew beside his Aunt Frieda's house, and as smooth as the tiny waterfall that ran over the dam in the Fishers' creek. The metal was warm to the touch. Levi closed his eyes and imagined sitting behind the wheel, revving the gas, flying down the road.
"Ever seen one of these before?"
The voice nearly made him jump out of his skin. Levi turned, an apology trembling on his lips, and found himself staring at the lady detective who'd come the day they'd found the dead baby. "A sixty-six Mustang convertible, one of the last of a dying breed." She set her hand just where his had been, patting it like it had feelings, like it was one of their own horses. "Want to look at the engine?"
She reached inside the car and turned the ignition, then suddenly the hood popped up. The detective released the latch and opened it to reveal its spinning, working insides. "A small-block V8, with a three-speed manual transmission. This sweetheart can fly." She smiled at Levi. "You ever travel over a hundred miles an hour?"
Eyes wide, Levi shook his head.
"Well, if you see any state troopers--neither have I." She winked at him, then reached inside again. The car immediately stilled, leaving behind the faintest trace of exhaust.
The detective grinned at Levi. "I know you're not the chauffeur--so what do you do around here?"
Levi nodded toward the fields. "I work with Samuel."
"Oh, yeah?"
"He's my cousin."
The detective raised her brows. "I guess you know Katie pretty well then, too."
"Well, ja. Everyone knew they were gonna be getting married soon enough. They've been courting for a year, now."
"What's taking him so long to ask?"
Levi shrugged. "It's not the wedding season yet, for one thing. That's November, after the harvest. But even that's only going to happen if Samuel can keep her from picking fights."
"Katie?"
"She makes Samuel wonderful mad sometimes." Levi gently reached out with his thumb, hoping the detective couldn't see, and touched the side of the car again.
"Maybe they should just find other people to court," the detective suggested.
"That would be even worse for Samuel. He's been after Katie forever."
The detective nodded solemnly. "I suppose that her parents are expecting to get Samuel as a son-in-law, too."
"Sure."
"Would they be disappointed if Samuel and Katie broke up?"
Levi squinted at her. "Broke up?"
"Split. Started seeing other people." The detective sighed. "Found others to court."
"Well, Sarah's counting on a wedding come fall. And Aaron, he'd be sorry, for sure."
"Seems like he might be angry, more than sorry. He comes off as a pretty strict dad."
"You don't know him," Levi said. "Even if Katie wouldn't marry Samuel, he wouldn't cut her off like he did Jacob."
"Jacob," the detective repeated.
"Ja, you kno
w. Katie's brother."
"Jacob. Of course." She smiled at Levi and opened the driver's door to the car, then revved the engine. To his surprise, she held out her hand to him. "Young man, you've been an unexpected delight." They shook, and then Levi watched her drive off in the V8 Mustang, gradually picking up speed.
*
In the middle of the night, Katie felt a hand cover her nose and mouth. Thrashing at the pillows, forgetting where she was for a moment, she grabbed at the arm and bit at the fingers. She heard a muffled oath, and then the hand disappeared --only to be replaced by the soft, insistent pressure of a mouth against hers.
In that instant the sleep surrounding her melted away and she was in Jacob's apartment, on his couch, Adam's body spread over hers like a quilt. He drew back, touching his forehead to Katie's. "I can't believe you bit me like that."
In the darkness, she smiled. "I can't believe you scared me like that." Katie rubbed her hand over his cheek, rough with a night's beard. "I'm glad you decided to stay."
She could see his teeth flash. "Me too," Adam said.
He'd put off going to New Orleans for another week. And Katie had constructed an elaborate story about staying over at Mary Esch's house, all the while planning to come to State College instead. Even her mother did not know this time that she was at Jacob's.
Adam's finger traced a path from her throat to her collarbone. "I've wanted to do this all day. Do you realize your brother didn't even go to the bathroom between four and nine tonight?"
Katie giggled. "I'm sure he did."
"No. I know, because the last time I touched you, it was just after lunch." He lay on his side, sharing her pillow, so close that his breath fell into her own mouth.
She stretched forward, just enough to kiss him. It was new to her, being the leader. She still felt shy every time she kissed Adam, instead of letting him kiss her. But once, when she had done it, he'd raised her hand to his chest, and she felt the rapid tattoo of his heart. A strange thing, to think she had that power over him.
He pinned her on her back and leaned over her, his hair falling to tangle with her own. She let her mind run like a river, let her arms reach and grab hold. She felt Adam's hands moving over her shoulders, sloping down her sides.
And then they were underneath her T-shirt. His palm burned like a brand on the skin of her breast. Her eyes flew open, and she began to shake her head. "Adam," she whispered, tugging at his hair. "Adam! You can't!"
Now her heart was hammering, and her stomach flipped with fear. Plain boys didn't do this, at least not the ones she'd known. She thought of Samuel Stoltzfus, with his serious eyes and his slow smile --Samuel, who had driven her home from the singing last Sunday and had blushed when he held her hand to help her out of the courting buggy.
Adam spoke, a quiver against her own throat. "Please, Katie. If you just let me look at you, I'll do whatever you want."
Too frightened to move, she hesitated, then yielded. Adam inched her T-shirt up, exposing her navel, her ribs, the pink beads of her nipples. "You see," he whispered, "there's nothing plain about you."
He tugged the fabric back down and gathered her into his arms. "You're shaking."
Katie buried her face against his neck. "I ... I've never done that before."
Adam kissed her callused hand. It made her feel cherished, as if she were a princess instead of a farm girl. Then he sat up, untangling himself from her arms.
Katie frowned, thinking that she'd done something wrong; thinking that she hadn't done enough. "Where are you going?"
"I made you a promise. I said I'd do whatever you wanted, if you let me see you. I'm guessing that right now, you want me to go away."
She sat up, cross-legged, and reached for him. "That's not what I want," she said.
*
It had been a long, strenuous day for Samuel, working beside Aaron in the fields. The whole way home he'd watched Silver plodding along, and he'd been unaware of Levi's chatter. He could not stop thinking about Katie, about what she might have done. What he wanted was a hot meal, a hotter shower, and the sweet oblivion that came with sleep.
At his parents' home, he unhitched his buggy and led the horse into the barn. There was another buggy in the yard; someone visiting with his mother, maybe. Gritting his teeth at the thought of being polite, Samuel lumbered heavily onto the front porch, where he stood for a moment gathering his thoughts before heading inside.
He was staring at the main road, watching the cars cross with their bright headlights and throaty engines, when the front door opened behind him. His mother stood there, surrounded by the soft yellow light that spilled from inside the house. "Samuel! What are you doing out here?" She reached for his arm and dragged him into the kitchen, where Bishop Ephram and Lucas the deacon were sitting with steaming cups of coffee. "We've been waiting for you," Samuel's mother scolded. "Sometimes I think you come home via Philadelphia."
Samuel smiled, a slow unraveling. "Ja, you can't keep Silver from the entrance ramps to those fancy highways."
He sat down, nodding at the two men, who couldn't seem to look him in the eye. His mother excused herself, and a moment later Samuel heard her heavy footsteps treading up the stairs. Steepling his fingers in front of him, he tried to act calm, but inside his stomach was rolling like the tiller in the fields. He had heard of what it was like to be called to account for your sins, but never experienced it firsthand. From the looks of things, the bishop and the deacon didn't like the prospect any more than Samuel himself.
The bishop cleared his throat. "We know what it's like to be a young man," Ephram began. "There are certain temptations ..." The voice trailed off, unraveling at the edges like one of Samuel's mother's balls of yarn.
Samuel looked from Lucas to Ephram. He wondered what Katie had told them. He wondered if Katie had told them anything at all.
Katie, for whom he would have laid down his life; for whom he would have gladly been shunned for six weeks' time; with whom he'd wanted to spend the rest of his days, filling a house with children and serving God. Katie, who had had a baby.
Samuel bowed his head. Any minute now, they'd ask him to come to church to make his things right, and if they asked him, he'd go, as was expected. You didn't argue once the bishop laid a sin against you; it just wasn't done. But suddenly Samuel realized that this awkward hesitation of Ephram's was a gift. If Samuel spoke first, if Samuel spoke now--that sin might never be laid against him at all.
"Lucas, Ephram," he said, in a voice so steady that it could not be his own, "I want to marry Katie Fisher. I will tell you and the preachers and all our brothers and sisters this if you wish next Gemeesunndaag."
A broad smile split the white mass of Ephram's beard. He turned to the deacon and nodded, satisfied.
Samuel tightened his fingers on his knees, almost to the point of pain. "I want to marry Katie Fisher," he repeated. "And I will. But you should know something else right now--I was not the father of her baby."
EIGHT
Elite
My favorite place on the farm was the milk room. Thanks to the bulk refrigeration tank, it stayed cool, even at the hottest times of the day. It smelled like ice cream and winter, and the white walls and spotless floor made it a fine place to sit down and think. Once the inverter had charged the batteries of my laptop, I'd take my computer there to do my work.
It was where Leda found me when she decided to grace me with a visit ten days after I'd become an official resident of the Fisher farm. As I sat typing with my head bowed, the first things that came into my range of vision were her Clark sandals--something I hadn't seen in a while. The Amish women who didn't wear boots wore the ugliest sneakers I'd ever seen in my life, no doubt some bulk lot even Kmart couldn't stand on its shelves. "It's about time," I said, not bothering to lift my head.
"Now, I couldn't come any quicker, and you know that," Leda said.
"Aaron would have gotten over it."
"It wasn't Aaron. It was you. If I hadn't given you a
chance to get your feet wet, you would have crawled into the trunk of my car and stowed away like a fugitive."
I snorted. "Well, you'll be thrilled to know that not only have my feet gotten wet, they've also gotten stuck in the mud, nearly run over by a buggy, and come this close to being urinated on by a heifer."
Laughing, Leda leaned against the stainless steel sink. "Bet Marcia Clark didn't have details like that in her book."
"Fabulous. The best-seller I eventually write will be shrink-wrapped with the Farmer's Almanac."
Leda smiled. "I hear Katie got a clean bill of health?"
I nodded. We had gone to the doctor for a checkup yesterday, and the OB had pronounced Katie healing well. Physically, she would be fine. Mentally--well, that was still up in the air.
I closed the file I'd been working on and popped the disc from its drive. "You couldn't have timed this better. Guess who's about to become my paralegal?"
She held up her hands to ward me off. "Don't even think it, honey. The most I know about the law is that possession is nine-tenths of it."
"But you know how to use a computer. You used to send me e-mail." I sighed, thinking of how long it would be before I could access my account. "I need you to print a file and deliver it to the superior court. Needless to say, my laser printer's not running."
"I'm surprised you even have your computer here. How upset did Aaron get?"
"The bishop took the decision out of his hands. He's very supportive of Katie."
"Ephram's a good man," Leda said faintly, her mind far away. "He was very kind to me when I was excommunicated. It meant a lot to Aaron and Sarah to have him come to the baby's funeral."
I shut off the computer, unplugged it from the inverter, and stood. "Why'd they do that? Have a funeral, I mean."
Leda shrugged. "Because the baby was their responsibility."
"It was Katie's."
"A lot of Amish folks will have a service for a stillborn baby." She hesitated, then looked at me. "That's what it says on the stone--Stillborn. I suppose that was the only way Aaron and Sarah could live with what's happened."
I thought about a girl who might have been sexually assaulted, and then might completely block the incident and the aftereffects--including a pregnancy--out of her mind. "According to the ME, that baby wasn't stillborn, Leda."
