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 Le
vi 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."
"First of all, she hasn't been formally charged. Second of all, even if she were, Leda, I couldn't defend her. I know nothing about her or her way of life."
"Do you live on the streets like the drug dealers you've defended? Or in a big Main Line mansion, like that principal you got acquitted?"
"That's different, and you know it." It did not matter whether Leda's niece had a right to sound legal counsel. It did not matter that Ellie had defended others charged with equally unpalatable crimes. Drugs and pedophilia and armed robbery did not hit as close to home.
"But she's innocent, Ellie!"
It had been, long ago, the reason Ellie became a defense attorney--for the souls she was going to save. However, Ellie could count on one hand the number of clients she'd gotten acquitted who had truly been wrongfully accused. She now knew that most of her clients were guilty as charged--although every last one of them had an excuse they'd be shouting all the way to the grave. She might not have agreed with her clients' criminal actions, but on some level, she always understood what made them do it. However, at this moment in her life, there was nothing that could make her understand a woman who killed her own child.
Not when there were other women out there who so desperately wanted one.
"I can't take your niece's case," Ellie said quietly. "I'd be doing her a disservice."
"Just promise me you'll think about it."
"I won't think about it. And I'll forget that you asked me to." Ellie walked out of the kitchen, fighting her way free of Leda's disappointment.
Samuel's big body filled the doorway of the hospital room, reminding Katie of how she sometimes would stand beside him in an open field and still feel crowded for space. She smiled hesitantly. "Come in."
He approached the bed, feeding the brim of his straw hat through his hands like a seam. Then he ducked his head, bright color staining his cheeks. "You all right?"
"I'm fine," Katie answered. She bit her lip as Samuel pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.
"Where's your mother?"
"She went home. Aunt Leda called her a taxi, since Mam didn't feel right riding back in her car."
Samuel nodded, understanding. Amish taxi services, run by local Mennonites, drove Plain folks longer distances, or on highways where buggies couldn't go. As for riding in Leda's car, well, he understood that too. Leda was under the bann, and he wouldn't have felt comfortable taking a ride from her, either.
"How ... how are things at home?"
"Busy," Samuel said, carefully choosing his words. "We did the third cutting of hay today." Hesitating, he added, "The police, they're still around." He stared at Katie's fist, small and pink against the polyester blanket. Gently he took it between his own hands, and then slowly brought it up to his jaw.
Katie curved her palm against his cheek; Samuel turned into the caress. Her eyes shining, she opened her mouth to speak again, but Samuel stopped her by putting a finger over her lips. "Sssh," he said. "Not now."
"But you must have heard things," Katie whispered. "I want--"
"I don't listen to what I've heard. I'll only listen to what you have to say."
Katie swallowed. "Samuel, I did not have a baby."
He looked at her for a long moment, then squeezed her hand. "All right, then."
Katie's eyes flew to his. "You believe me?"
Samuel smoothed the blanket over her legs, tucking her in like a child. He stared at the shining fall of her hair and realized that he had not seen it this way, bright and loose, since they were both small. "I have to," he said.
The bishop in Elam Fisher's church district happened to be his own cousin. Old Ephram Stoltzfus was such a part of everyday life that even when acting as the congregational leader, he was remarkably accessible--stopping his buggy by the side of the road for a chat, or hopping off his plow in the middle of the field to make a suggestion. When Elam had met him earlier that day with the story of what had happened at the farm, he listened carefully and then said that he needed to speak to some others. Elam had assumed Ephram meant the church district's deacon, or two ministers, but the bishop had shaken his head. "The businessmen," he'd said. "They're the ones who'll know how the English police work."
Just after suppertime, when Sarah was clearing the table, Bishop Ephram's buggy pulled up. Elam and Aaron glanced at each other, then walked outside to meet him.
"Ephram," Aaron greeted, shaking the man's hand after h
e'd tied up his horse.
"Aaron. How is Katie?"
It was slight, but Aaron stiffened visibly. "I hear she will be fine."
"You did not go to the hospital?" Ephram asked.
Aaron looked away. "Neh."
The bishop tipped his head, his white beard glowing in the setting sun. "Walk with me awhile?"
The three men headed toward Sarah's vegetable garden. Elam sank down on a stone slab bench and gestured for Ephram to do the same. But the bishop shook his head and stared over the tall heads of the tomato plants and the climbing vines of beans, around which danced a spray of fireflies. They sparked and tumbled like a handful of stars that had been flung.
"I remember coming here once, years ago, and watching Jacob and Katie chase the lightning bugs," Ephram said. "Catching 'em in a jar." He laughed. "Jacob said he was making an Amish flashlight. You hear from Jacob these days?"
"No, which is the way I wish it to be," Aaron said quietly.
Ephram shook his head. "He was banned from the church, Aaron. Not from your life."
"They're the same to me."
"That's the thing I don't understand, you know. Since forgiveness is the very first rule."
Aaron leveled his gaze on the bishop. "Did you come here to talk about Jacob?"
"Well, no," Ephram admitted. "After you dropped by this morning, Elam, I went to see John Zimmermann and Martin Lapp. It's their understanding that if the police were here all day, they must be thinking Katie's a suspect. It will all hinge for sure on whether the baby was born alive. If it was, she'll be blamed for its death." He frowned at Aaron. "They suggested speaking to a lawyer, so that you won't get caught unawares."
"My Katie doesn't need a lawyer."
"So I hope," the bishop said. "But if she does, the community will stand behind her." He hesitated, then added, "She'll have to put herself back, you understand, during this time."
Elam looked up. "Just give up communion? She wouldn't be put under the bann? "
"I will need to speak to Samuel, of course, and then think on it." Ephram put his hand on Aaron's shoulder. "This isn't the first time a young couple has gotten ahead of their wedding night. It's a tragedy, to be sure, that the baby died. But heartache can cement a marriage just as much as happiness. And as for Katie being blamed for the other--well, none of us believes it."