Abigail's New Hope (The Wayne County Series)

by Mary Ellis

  “It was God’s will, but also Ruth’s choice,” he said after a moment. “I wanted you to know you weren’t to blame. There wasn’t anything you could have done even if you had arrived sooner.”

  “I know I tried my best,” she whispered as sweat ran beneath her kapp and down her neck.

  “You say that now because it’s still fresh in your mind. But some night you might lie in bed wondering and second-guessing yourself, and I don’t want that to happen. My Ruth was told by a doctor in Indiana not to bear kinner because doing so might kill her. She chose not to listen to her. She thought maybe the doc could be wrong, or maybe God would take pity on her.” He gazed off to the left where the undertaker’s van was pulling onto the paved road. The crunch of gravel sounded unnaturally loud in the silent grove of hawthorn bushes and sycamore trees. “She never told me any of this until she was five months along.”

  Abby knew that this pregnancy talk was hard for Nathan, but still he continued for her sake.

  “She wanted this baby more than just about anything else…for me and for herself. And once you delivered our son, she was all right with dying. Birthing him was all that mattered to Ruth, and you saved our little Abraham.”

  Abby forced herself to swallow and fought back tears. Crying would only make things worse. Nathan’s eyes were also glassy with moisture.

  “Don’t get me wrong. She would have loved to watch him grow up, but giving me a son was worth the risk to Ruth. So if anybody should be held responsible here, it’s me.” A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  “No one’s at fault, Mr. Fisher,” she said. “We can’t blame ourselves for God’s will, nor should we try to second-guess His plan for us.” Abby felt Daniel’s palm pressing against her lower back. He didn’t like it when she voiced sentiments that should come from the ministerial brethren. But she couldn’t allow this man to suffer unnecessary guilt if she could help it. “She must have loved you very much. Keep that in mind when you can’t sleep at night.” Abby shifted her body away from Daniel’s touch.

  “I will, and danki for coming today—both of you.” He gave his beard a pull, nodded to them, and turned to walk away. Then he stopped short. “Would you like to see him? Little Abraham? He looks fine when his face isn’t scrunched up from a throwing a tantrum.”

  Abby laughed, feeling her tension drain away. “I would love to.”

  “As long as we keep his belly full, he stays in a fairly pleasant mood,” Nathan added. The three laughed while they walked toward a knot of people talking under the shady trees. Abby recognized Iris Fisher in the center of the group, holding the infant.

  Nathan introduced them to his neighbors, most of whom Abby and Daniel already knew from barn raisings and other work frolics. Daniel shook hands with the menfolk while Abby approached Nathan’s aunt.

  “Guder nachmittag,” Iris greeted. “I suppose you’d like to see the little one.” She held out the bundle for inspection.

  “Good afternoon to you. Jah, I would love to.” Abby pulled back the edge of the quilt and peered into the dark eyes of Ruth’s newborn son. He grinned at her as though in recognition, which Abby knew to be plain silly. She reached to touch his downy soft hair with near reverence. “Hello, dear boy. You are looking very handsome today.” When emotion began to constrict her throat, Abby stepped back and focused on the buggies by the road. One or two families were loading up to leave, while several horses stamped their hooves with impatience.

  “Rest easy, Abby,” said Iris. “Little Abraham is doing fine, and I plan to take good care of him.”

  Abby smoothed her palms down her skirt. “I know you will. It was nice to see you again, although I wish it had been under pleasanter circumstances.” She voiced a particularly English expression she’d picked up from Dr. Weller.

  “That’s all right. We can’t control circumstances, but at least you were able to see he’s doing well.” She shifted the boy to her other arm. “Why don’t you stop by my son’s house for a bite to eat? He doesn’t live far from here. We have plenty of food.” Iris looked her in the eye and held her gaze. “Do you remember the way?”

  Abby considered accepting the invitation. If they attended, she would have a chance to hold the child and be assured he was thriving. And she might find out more about Ruth Fisher, but Daniel squeezed her shoulder.

  “Danki,” he said, “but we need to get home. Our two kinner are at a neighbor’s house and I’m behind on my chores. We are real sorry for your loss.” He nodded at Iris, grasped Abby’s hand, and led her away from the mourners as though she were a child.

  She felt oddly annoyed and yet relieved at the same time as they walked back to their buggy without speaking. She didn’t wait for his help to climb inside. With a cluck of his tongue to the horse, the buggy rolled down the dirt lane in between closely packed graves. Once they reached the county road, she said softly, “I don’t see what harm it would have done to stop by the Fishers’.”

  “Not a matter of harm, fraa, but what good would it have served? You got to see the boppli to set your mind at ease, but stopping there would only have prolonged your misery. You need to put this delivery out of your mind and concentrate on the hundreds of successful ones. Folk die. It’s part of life. We might not like it, but upsetting yourself isn’t going to bring her back or change a thing.” He clamped his jaw closed the way he always did when he wished a subject dropped.

  Abby swallowed down her reply. Arguing with her husband wouldn’t help matters, and he was probably right. It just didn’t seem so at the moment. She nodded and Daniel slapped the reins against the horse’s back to pick up the pace.

  On the way home she concentrated on the green hayfields waiting to be cut and the knee-high stalks of corn standing in neat rows. Sunlight sparkled off the clear blue water of ponds, while hawks wheeled on wind currents overhead, watching for tasty prey to make their lunch. Daniel’s idea about focusing on the hundreds of successful births made sense. She would remember Ruth in her prayers for many nights to come, but her death shouldn’t cripple her ability to serve her community.

  “Do we have any leftovers in the fridge?” Daniel’s question broke the long silence. “All that talk about food made me hungry. I’d better eat something before heading to the fields.” He glanced over at her and they both burst out laughing.

  “You’re the one who passed up a free meal, Mr. Graber. Now you’re probably stuck with a bowl of soup or a ham sandwich.” She tugged the sleeve of his coat.

  “Serves me right for not listening to my smart fraa.” He offered a wink as he shrugged out of his coat. With their farm in sight, he would forgo his proper appearance.

  “Good gracious, what is going on?” Abby’s attention had focused on a vehicle in their driveway. The sheriff’s cruiser was parked near their barn; its red and blue lights still spinning as the car idled.

  “Git up there, Sam!” Daniel slapped the reins once more. “What on earth could the sheriff want at our farm?”

  An icy chill pooled in Abby’s belly. “Oh my. I hope nothing’s happened to the kinner.” She jumped down before Daniel brought the buggy to a stop and ran toward the cruiser. She saw no one inside or near the vehicle. With her heart slamming against her ribcage, she ran to the barn door and nearly collided with the exiting sheriff and his deputy.

  “Easy there, ma’am. No need to knock us down.”

  Abby stepped back with fear and confusion. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to my children? They were supposed to be next door at my neighbor’s.” Her voice sounded strangled.

  “Your children are fine as far as I know. They’re not why we’re here.” The man swept off his wide-brimmed beige hat and focused on Daniel. He was hurrying toward them with the horse still harnessed to the buggy.

  Abby wrung her hands, casting glances between her husband and the sheriff.

  The large man, with his belly straining the buttons of his shirt and noonday stubble darkening his chin, cleared his throat. He looked about as comfor
table as she felt.

  “Ma’am, are you Mrs. Abigail Graber, the midwife of this here Amish community?” He’d assumed a formal tone of voice.

  The bottom fell from her stomach, and she suddenly felt weak in the knees. “I am. I’m Abby Graber.”

  Daniel dropped the reins and walked to her side. His arm protectively encircled her shoulders. “What’s this about, officer?”

  “I’m afraid a warrant has been issued for your arrest, Mrs. Graber.” The sheriff set his hat back on, while his deputy shuffled his boot heels in the dirt.

  Abby gasped. She tried to speak, but words would not come.

  “For what?” Daniel asked. “What are the charges, sir?”

  The sheriff gazed at Daniel with more pity than anything else. “Your wife has been charged with practicing midwifery without a license, involuntary manslaughter, practicing medicine without a license, and possession and sale of a dangerous controlled substance. Those last two charges are felonies, Mr. Graber.”

  He seems more comfortable addressing Daniel than me, she thought.

  “Manslaugher? Practicing medicine?” Daniel’s voice rose in agitation. “That’s absurd. She doesn’t kill people or practice medicine. She delivers babies.”

  The officer turned back to Abby. “Did you make a statement to the attending paramedic that you injected Mrs. Fisher with the drug Pitocin?”

  Abby felt the blood drain from her head. “Yes. I wanted them to know so there would be no possible drug interaction with anything else or potential overdose. I did it in an attempt to save her.” Her final admission was barely audible.

  Daniel turned on the gravel and stared at her, his face a mask of confusion.

  Excuses, explanations, pleas for understanding all swam through her brain, yet Abby couldn’t think of anything to say to mitigate the wrong she had done.

  “Then I’m afraid I must take you into custody, Mrs. Graber,” the sheriff said.

  His deputy brought forth handcuffs from his chest pocket, but the sheriff shook his head. “Bob, I think we can trust one skinny Amish lady to behave herself on the way to county booking.”

  With one last glance at Daniel, he turned back at her. “Ma’am, if you would be so kind?” He pointed toward the squad car.

  Abby started to walk on legs threatening to collapse beneath her toward the police car on the second most terrifying day of her life.

  Four

  Abby bolted upright with a start following a particularly stressful dream. She had been running away from an unknown adversary. Each place she had chosen to hide from her pursuer turned into another trap of danger—gaping holes in the floor, stairs climbing into the clouds without end, and dangerously canted hallways in buildings that shook with earthquake intensity. Each time she felt that her nemesis had either lost her trail or lost interest in her, the faceless stalker would show up to send her fleeing to another condemned building or shifting sandbar.

  When she awoke her heart was racing, her breath came in jagged, shallow gasps, and sweat was soaking through her nightgown. After perusing her surroundings, Abby realized the danger was real, not imagined. Even though no slippery slopes into dark abysses threatened her path, a cell offered an equal amount of anxiety to her jangled nerves.

  She was in jail.

  Abigail Graber, God-fearing woman and respected member of the Amish community, had been locked up like a common criminal. She contemplated that fact as she knelt beside her uncomfortable bunk for morning prayers. At least she was alone in the sparsely furnished cell and the matron had allowed her to keep her well-worn Bible. Opening it to the book of Deuteronomy, she read a few paragraphs of Old Testament tribulations and changed her mind about the chapter selection. Perhaps Psalms or Ephesians could lift her spirits from self-pity and remorse—remorse for the effect her arrest would have on Daniel and her two kinner.

  Would her husband hang his head in shame, keeping to their farm for fear of district censure for her actions? Crawling beneath a rock had never been his habit in the past. Would her children suffer embarrassment because of her arrest? At least school was recessed for the summer, but would other children point fingers or ask questions that would frighten Laura and Jake? The Amish were raised to not sit in judgment of others but to follow their Ordnung. How she longed to know how her daed, her district’s bishop, would react to his daughter going to jail. Because it happened only last night, she doubted he’d even heard the news yet.

  After her devotions, Abby dressed and was just lacing her shoes when suddenly the door swung open and a middle-aged woman entered carrying a tray. “Breakfast is served,” she announced. “Nothing gourmet, but the eggs are real and the coffee is hot.” She offered a pleasant smile along with the food. “From now on, you’ll take meals in the common room with the other women, but you have a hearing in half an hour, so eat fast.”

  “Dank—thank you,” Abby said, remembering to use only English. She looked over the tray—coffee with powdered creamer, scrambled eggs, two slices of white toast, margarine spread, and a plastic dish of fruit cocktail.

  “I’ll go get your own clothes,” the woman said. “I suppose you’ll be glad to get out of our duds for a while. Camouflage green isn’t exactly an Amish color.”

  Abby’s face flushed with shame. The matron probably meant no offense with her comment, but drawing attention to her mannish, ghastly outfit only made Abby feel worse. She took a bite of toast and looked up. “Will I be allowed to wear my own clothes from now on?”

  “No, only during your appearance in court today. The judge will read the charges against you and set the amount of your bail.”

  Abby swallowed the dry bread and asked, “Then I can go home?” She reached for the coffee and drank half the cup, forgoing her usual cream and two sugars.

  “No, then he’ll ask if you have counsel to represent you. You know… a lawyer,” she added upon Abby’s bewildered expression.

  She rubbed her forehead. “Amish folks don’t usually hire lawyers. I wouldn’t know who to call.” Because Amish folks don’t usually get themselves thrown in jail. “We try to settle our differences among ourselves and go to the ministerial brethren only if we can’t come to agreement.”

  The matron looked sad and somewhat uncomfortable. “Yes, but this is Wooster, so I’m afraid if you don’t have an attorney, the court will appoint one for you. That’s what the judge will tell you today. I don’t recommend you trying to represent yourself in court.”

  Abby nodded. “After I am assigned a court-appointed lawyer, then will I be allowed to go home?” She ate some of the bland, undercooked scrambled eggs, trying not to reveal her distaste.

  “Mrs.—” The matron glanced down at her clipboard. “—Graber. Do you realize that you have been charged with a felony?”

  “I understand the law says practicing midwifery in Ohio without the proper license is a crime, but Amish midwives have been delivering babies in our community since we settled here a hundred years ago.”

  “That may be, but it’s still considered a crime. Usually you would have been charged with a misdemeanor. If that were the case, they would release you after your hearing and expect you to come back for your trial date. That is, if you didn’t cop a plea. But it looks like you’ll be charged with a felony, and that’s much more serious. They must have something else on you other than just delivering a baby.”

  Abby swallowed as much of the eggs as she could stomach and washed them down with the rest of her coffee. She couldn’t ask the woman about everything she didn’t understand or the other inmates might not get their breakfast trays until lunchtime.

  “So the judge will read the charges against you, assign a lawyer, and then set the amount of your bail.”

  “The bail is money I must pay to get out?”

  “Yes, but you’ll get the money back if you show up for trial.”

  “Why wouldn’t I show up?”

  The woman laughed softly. “Good question. I know you will, but some people hig
htail it and run. That makes them look guilty, and it also makes things go a lot worse when they’re finally caught and dragged before the judge.”

  Abby nodded as she ate her fruit cocktail. Each fruit in the syrup tasted exactly the same. “I hope my husband remembers to bring whatever cash we have on hand if he comes to the courthouse today.” She spoke more to herself than to her jailer.

  The woman laughed again. “It’ll take more than the proceeds from selling eggs and garden produce from your farm stand. Bail for felonies can run into a couple hundred thousand dollars.”

  Abby set the fruit cup back on the tray and stared in disbelief. Her appetite vanished while the food in her stomach started to curdle. “Then I guess I’ll be staying here until the trial. We don’t have that kind of money.” Her calm tone of voice belied her inner turmoil.

  “Nobody has that kind of money. That’s what bail bondmen are for.” She glanced at her watch and then over her shoulder. “Look, I can’t spend any more time jawboning with you. I need to supervise the breakfast room so no food trays accidentally hit the walls. Your lawyer will explain about bonding and bail money.” She walked out carrying Abby’s tray but reentered within a couple minutes. “Here are your regular clothes,” she said, handing Abby a plastic sack. “They want you to appear in court looking normal. You can wash up at the sink and change outfits. There’s no time for a shower. If I finish up early, I’ll stop back to explain more of the goings-on so you won’t be afraid.”

  Abby glanced up to meet the jailer’s gaze. “Thank you for breakfast, and for your kindness in speaking to me today.” She didn’t mention that knowing what would happen did nothing to alleviate her fear.

  “Sure thing. For what it’s worth, I’m on your side. There are too many laws telling us what to do in this country. They take away every personal freedom we once had in an effort to protect us from ourselves. Doesn’t make sense to me.” She marched out the door, shaking her head. At least no bolt clicked behind her as it had last night. Abby hated the thought of being locked inside a room. What if there was a fire?