by Jodi Picoult
"Then why did your father disown you?" Ellie asked.
"I've thought a lot about that, Ms. Hathaway. I'd have to say that he was doing it out of a sense of personal failure, as if it were his fault that I didn't want to follow in his footsteps. And I think he was terrified that if Katie continued to be exposed to me on a regular basis, I'd somehow corrupt her by introducing her to the English world."
"Tell us about your relationship with your sister."
Jacob grinned. "Well, I don't imagine it's that much different than anyone else with a sibling. Sometimes she was my best buddy, and other times she was the world's greatest pain in the neck. She was younger than me by several years, so it became my responsibility to watch over her and teach her how to do certain things around the farm."
"Were you close?"
"Very. When you're Amish, family is everything. You're not only together at every meal--you're working side-by-side to make a living." He smiled at Katie. "You come to know someone awfully well when you get up with them at four-thirty every morning to shovel cow manure."
"I'm sure you do," Ellie agreed. "Were you two the only children?"
Jacob looked into his lap. "For a while, we had a little sister. Hannah drowned when she was seven."
"That must have been hard for all of you."
"Very," Jacob agreed. "Katie and I were minding her at the time, so we always felt the blame fell on our shoulders. If anything, that brought us even closer."
Ellie nodded in sympathy. "What happened after you were excommunicated?"
"It was like losing a sister all over again," Jacob said. "One day Katie was there to talk to, and the next she was completely beyond my reach. Those first few weeks at school, I missed the farm and my parents and my horse and courting buggy, but most of all, I missed Katie. Whenever anything had happened to me in the past, she was the one I'd share it with. And suddenly I was in a new world full of strange sights and sounds and customs, and I couldn't tell her about it."
"What did you do?"
"Something very un-Amish: I fought back. I contacted my aunt, who'd left the church when she married a Mennonite. I knew she'd be able to get word to my mother and to Katie, without my father hearing about it. My mother couldn't come to see me--it wouldn't be right for her to go against her husband's wishes--but she sent Katie as a goodwill ambassador, about once a month for several years."
"Are you telling me that she sneaked out of the house, lied to her father, and traveled hundreds of miles to stay with you in a college dormitory?"
Jacob nodded. "Yes."
"Come on now," Ellie scoffed. "Going to college is forbidden by the church--but behavior like Katie's is condoned?"
"At the time, she wasn't baptized yet--so she wasn't breaking any of the rules by eating with me, socializing with me, driving in my car. She was just staying connected to her brother. Yes, she hid her trips from my father--but my mother knew exactly where she was going, and supported it. I never saw it as Katie trying to lie and hurt our family; to me, she was doing the best she could to keep us together."
"When she came to State College for these visits, did she become--" Ellie smiled at the jury. "Well, for lack of a better term--a party animal?"
"Far from it. First off, she felt like she stood out like a sore thumb. She wanted to hole up in my apartment and have me read to her from the books I was studying. I could tell she was uncomfortable dressed Plain around all the college students, so one of the first things I did was buy her some ordinary English clothing. Jeans, a couple of shirts. Things like that."
"But didn't you say that dressing a certain way is one of the rules of the church?"
"Yes. But, again, Katie hadn't been bapti2ed Amish yet, so she wasn't breaking any rules. There's a certain level of experimentation that Plain folks expect from their children before they settle down to take the baptismal vow. A taste of what's out there. Teenagers who've been brought up Amish will dress in jeans, or hang out at a mall, go to a movie--maybe even drink a few beers."
"Amish teens do this?"
Jacob nodded. "When you're about fifteen or sixteen and you come into your running-around years, you join a gang of peers to socialize with. Believe me, many of those Plain kids take up stuff that's a lot riskier than the few things Katie experienced with me at Penn State. We weren't doing drugs, or getting drunk, or party hopping. I wasn't doing that myself, so I certainly wouldn't have been dragging my sister along. I worked very hard to get into college, and I made some wrenching decisions in order to go. My primary reason for being at Penn State was not to fool around, but to learn. Mostly, that's what Katie spent time doing with me." He looked at his sister. "When she came to see me, I considered it a privilege. It was a piece of home, brought all the way to where I was. The last thing I would have wanted to do was scare her away."
"You sound like you care very much for her."
"I do," Jacob said. "She's my sister."
"Tell us about Katie."
"She's sweet, kind, good. Considerate. Selfless. She does what needs to be done. There is no doubt in my mind that she'll be a terrific wife, a wonderful mother."
"Yet today she's on trial for murdering an infant."
Jacob shook his head. "It's crazy, is all. If you knew her, if you knew how she'd been brought up, you'd realize that the very thought of Katie murdering another living being is ridiculous. She used to catch spiders crawling up the walls in the house, and set them outside instead of just killing them." He sighed. "There's no way for me to make you understand what it means to be Plain, because most people can't see past the buggies and the funny clothes to the beliefs that really identify the Amish. But a murder charge--well, it's an English thing. In the Amish community there's no murder or violence, because the Amish know from the time they're babies that you turn the other cheek, like Christ did, rather than take vengeance into your own hands."
Jacob leaned forward. "There's this little acronym I was taught in grade school--it's J-O-Y. It's supposed to make Plain children remember that Jesus is first, Others come next, and You are last. The very first thing you learn as an Amish kid is that there's always a higher authority to yield to--whether it's your parents, the greater good of the community, or God." Jacob stared at his sister. "If Katie found herself with a hardship, she would have accepted it. She wouldn't have tried to save herself at the expense of another person. Katie's mind just wouldn't have gone there; wouldn't have even conjured up killing that baby as some kind of solution--because she doesn't know how to be that selfish."
Ellie crossed her arms. "Jacob, do you recognize the name Adam Sinclair?"
"Objection," George said. "Relevance?"
"Your Honor, may I approach?" Ellie asked. The judge motioned the two lawyers closer. "If you give me a little leeway, Judge, this line of questioning will eventually make itself clear."
"I'll allow it."
Ellie posed the question a second time. "He's my absentee landlord," Jacob answered. "I rent a house from him in State College."
"Did you have a personal relationship prior to your business relationship?"
"We were acquaintances."
"What was your impression of Adam Sinclair?"
Jacob shrugged. "I liked him a lot. He was older than most of the other students, because he was getting his doctorate. He's certainly brilliant. But what I really admired in him was the fact that--like me--he was at Penn State to work, rather than play."
"Did Adam ever have the chance to meet your sister?"
"Yes, several times, before he left the country to do research."
"Did he know that Katie is Amish?"
"Sure," Jacob said.
"When was the last time you spoke to Adam Sinclair?"
"Almost a year ago. I send my rent checks to a property management company. As far as I know, Adam's still in the wilds of Scotland."
Ellie smiled. "Thank you, Jacob. Nothing further."
George tucked his hands in his pockets and frowned at the open file on
the prosecution's table. "You're here today to help your sister, is that right?"
"Yes," Jacob said.
"Any way you can?"
"Of course. I want the jury to hear the truth about her."
"Even if it means lying to them?"
"I wouldn't lie, Mr. Callahan."
"Of course not," George said expansively. "Not like your sister did, anyway."
"She didn't lie!"
George raised his brows. "Seems to be a pattern in your family--you're not Amish, your sister's not acting Amish; you lied, she lied--"
"Objection," Ellie said dispassionately. "Is there a question in there?"
"Sustained."
"You lied to your father before you were excommunicated, didn't you?"
"I hid the fact that I wanted to continue my schooling. I did it for his own peace of mind--"
"Did you tell your father you were reading Shakespeare in the loft of the barn?"
"Well, no, I--"
"Come on, Mr. Fisher. What do you call a lie? Hiding something? Not being truthful? Lying by omission? None of this rings a bell for you?"
"Objection." Ellie stood. "Badgering the witness."
"Sustained. Please watch yourself, counselor," Judge Ledbetter warned.
"If it wasn't a lie, what was it?" George rephrased.
A muscle jumped in Jacob's jaw. "I was doing what I had to do to study."
George's eyes lit up. "You were doing what you had to do. And you recently said that your sister, the defendant, was good at doing what needs to be done. Would you say that's an Amish trait?"
Jacob hesitated, trying to find the snake beneath the words, poised and ready to strike. "The Amish are very practical people. They don't complain, they just take care of what needs taking care of."
"You mean, for example, the cows have to get milked, so you get up before dawn to do it?"
"Yes."
"The hay needs to be cut before the rain comes, so you work till you can barely stand up?"
"Exactly."
"The baby's illegitimate, so you murder and dispose of it before anyone knows you made a mistake?"
"No," Jacob said angrily. "Not like that at all."
"Mr. Fisher, isn't it true that the saintly Amish are really no better than any of us--prone to the same flaws?"
"The Amish don't want to be saints. They're people, like anyone else. But the difference is that they try to lead a quiet, peaceful Christian life ... when most of us"--he looked pointedly at the prosecutor--"are already halfway down the road to hell."
"Do you really expect us to believe that simply growing up among the Amish might make a person unable to entertain a thought of violence or revenge or trickery?"
"The Amish might entertain these thoughts, sir, but rarely. And they'd never act on them. It just goes against their nature."
"A rabbit will chew off its leg if it's caught in a hunting trap, Mr. Fisher, although no one would call it carnivorous. And although you were raised Amish, lying came quite naturally to you when you decided to continue your studies, right?"
"I hid my studies from my parents because I had no choice," Jacob said tightly.
"You always have a choice. You could have remained Amish, and not gone to college. You chose to take what your father left you with--no family--in return for following your own selfish desires. This is true, isn't it, Mr. Fisher?"
Jacob looked into his lap. He felt, rolling over him, the same wave of doubt that he'd struggled with for months after leaving East Paradise; the wave that he once thought he'd drown beneath. "It's true," he answered softly.
He could feel Ellie Hathaway's eyes on him, could hear her voice silently reminding him that whatever the prosecutor did, it was about Katie and not himself. With determination, he raised his chin and stared George Callahan down.
"Katie's been lying to your father for six years now?"
"She hasn't been lying."
"Has she told your father she's been visiting you?"
"No."
"Has she told your father that she's staying with your aunt?"
"Yes."
"Has she indeed been staying with your aunt?"
"No."
"And that's not a lie?"
"It's ... misinformation."
George snorted. "Misinformation? That's a new one. Call it what you will, Mr. Fisher. So the defendant misinformed your father. I assume she misinformed you too?"
"Never."
"No? Did she tell you she was involved in a sexual relationship?"
"That wasn't something she--"
"Did she tell you she was pregnant?"
"I never asked. I'm not sure she admitted it to herself."
George raised his brows. "You're an expert psychiatrist now?"
"I'm an expert on my sister."
The attorney shrugged, making it clear what he thought of that. "Let's talk about these destructive Amish gangs. Your sister belonged to one of the faster gangs?"
Jacob laughed. "Look, this isn't the Sharks and the Jets, with rumbles and territories. Just like English teenagers, most Amish kids are good kids. An Amish gang is simply a term for a group of friends. Katie belonged to the Sparkies."
"The Sparkies?"
"Yes. They're not the most straitlaced gang in Lancaster County--that would be the Kirkwooders--but they're probably second or third." He smiled at the prosecutor. "The Ammies, the Shotguns, the Happy Jacks--those are the gangs that are, as you put it, more destructive. They tend to attract kids who get a lot of attention for acting out. But I don't think Katie even frater-ni2es with young people from any of those groups."
"Is your sister still in a gang?"
"Technically, she could participate in their get-togethers until she's married. But most young people stop attending after they're baptized into the church."
"Because then they can't drink alcohol or dance or go to movies?"
"That's right. Before baptism, the rules are bent, and that's okay. After baptism, you've chosen your path, and you'd better stick to it."
"Katie tried beer for the first time when she came to visit you?"
Jacob nodded. "Yes. At a frat party, where I was with her. But it wasn't substantially different from an experience she might have had with her gang."
"It was perfectly okay under Amish rules?"
"Yes, because she wasn't baptized yet."
"She went to some movies with you, too?" George asked.
"Yes."
"Which, again, was something she might have even done with her gang?"
"That's right," Jacob answered.
"And it was perfectly okay under church rules."
"Yes, because she wasn't baptized."
"How about dancing? Did you ever take her out dancing?"
"Once or twice."
"But some gangs might have done a little dancing too."
"Yes."
"And it was perfectly okay under church rules."
"Yes. Again, she wasn't baptized yet."
"Sounds like you can test a lot of waters before you take the final plunge," George said.
"That's the point."
"So when did your sister get baptized?" George asked.
"September of last year."
The prosecutor nodded thoughtfully. "Then she got pregnant after she was baptized. Is sexual intercourse outside of marriage and having an illegitimate baby perfectly okay under church rules?"
Jacob, silent, turned red.
"I'd like an answer."
"No, that wouldn't be all right."
"Ah, yes. Because she was already baptized?"
"Among other things," Jacob said.
"So let me sum up here," George concluded. "The defendant lied to your father, she lied to you, she got pregnant out of wedlock after taking baptismal vows--is this the truth about your sister you wanted the jury to understand?"
"No!"
"This is the 'sweet, kind, good' girl you described in your testimony? We're talking about a real Girl Scou
t here, aren't we, Mr. Fisher?"
"We are," Jacob stiffly answered. "You don't understand."
"Sure I do. You explained it yourself far more eloquently than I ever could." George crossed to the court reporter and pointed to a spot in the long loop of the trial's transcript. "Could you read this back for me?"
The woman nodded. "When you're Amish," she read, "family is everything."
George smiled. "Nothing further."
Judge Ledbetter called for a coffee break after Jacob's testimony. The jury filed out, clutching their pads and pencils and studiously avoiding Ellie's gaze. Jacob, sprung from the witness chair, walked to Katie and took her hands into his. He bent his forehead against hers and whispered in Dietsch, saying something that made her laugh softly.
Then he stood up and turned to Ellie. "Well?"
"You did fine," she said, a smile pasted to her face.
This seemed to relax him. "Does the jury think so, too?"
"Jacob, I stopped trying to figure out American juries around the same time Adam Sandler movies started raking in millions at the box office--people just don't act predictably. The woman with the blue hair, she didn't take her eyes off you the entire time. But the guy with the bad toupee was trying to pull a stray thread off his blazer cuff, and I doubt he heard a thing you said."
"Still ... it went well?"
"You're the first witness," Ellie said gently. "How about we just wait and see?"
He nodded. "Can I take Katie to get a cup of coffee downstairs?"
"No. The cameras are no-holds-barred the minute she leaves this courtroom. If she wants coffee, bring it back here to her."
The moment he left, Ellie turned to Katie. "Did you see what George Callahan did to Jacob on the stand?"
"He tried to trip him up a little, but--"
"Do you have any idea how much worse it's going to be for you?"
Katie set her jaw. "I'm going to make my things right, no matter what it takes."
"I have a stronger case if I don't put you on the stand, Katie."
"How? After all that talk about the truth, shouldn't they hear it from me?"
Ellie sighed. "No one said I was going to tell them the truth!"
"You did, during that opening part--"
"It's an act, Katie. Seventy-five percent of being an attorney is being an Oscar-worthy performer. I'm going to tell them a story, that's all, and with any luck they'll like it better than the one George tells them."
