by Mary Ellis
“Abby,” a voice called. “Your attorney is here to see you.”
She glanced up to see Deputy Todd standing in her doorway. She’d been so engrossed in reading that she hadn’t heard the cell door open.
“Thank you, Deputy.” Setting down her Bible, she hurried into the common area, where most of the women spent their days. Her lawyer, a young man with blond hair and pale skin, stood as she approached the table.
“Hello, Mrs. Graber. How are you doing?”
Abby bit back her initial retort. “Very well, thank you, Mr. Blake. How’s the weather? Humid today?”
“Yes. That rain last night didn’t cool things off one bit.”
It rained last night? Has the dry spell finally broken or will Daniel’s corn shrivel on the stalks, stunted from lack of water? She shook off thoughts of home and focused on the man with a folder of papers before him.
Mr. Blake cleared his throat. “The grand jury met yesterday and indicted you for practicing medicine without a license—a fifth-degree felony. That charge we were expecting.” He peered at her through thick-lensed glasses. “They also charged you with possession of a dangerous drug. That one I was hoping to avoid.”
“Dangerous drug? Pitocin isn’t a dangerous drug. It slows down bleeding until the woman can get to a hospital.”
“Yes, I agree, but the grand jury doesn’t because Pitocin requires a doctor’s prescription to obtain and a medical license to administer.”
Abby stared at her hands. “I know I shouldn’t have had it.”
“Regarding the other two charges, ‘practicing midwifery,’ is a misdemeanor and shouldn’t give us much trouble. And after reviewing statements from the EMTs and the medical examiner’s report, the county prosecutor decided to drop the charge of involuntary manslaughter.” He grinned with pleasure. “That is very good news. Apparently, nothing in the evidence indicated you were responsible for the woman’s death.”
“Mrs. Ruth Fisher,” said Abby.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked while shuffling through his papers.
“Her name was Ruth Fisher.”
He glanced up. “Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Ruth Fisher. I didn’t mean to sound callous.” He extracted the sheet he’d been searching for. “Now, for the bad news. The two felonies carry minimum sentences of one year on the first charge and eighteen months on the second. If you are convicted—and, based on your signed statements made in the sheriff’s office, that’s highly likely—you could face two and a half years in prison if they run consecutively.” He tugged on the cuffs of his shirtsleeves beneath his coat.
Two and a half years away from my family? Away from the little ones whose lives change in countless ways every day? And apart from Daniel, who I have pledged to love, honor, and obey? How can he manage that long without his wife?
She shook off the idea like a chill from an open window. “Two and a half years, Mr. Blake? I can’t be gone from my family that long.” Her voice was barely a whisper over the nearby television set.
“I understand. And your sentence wouldn’t be served here in Wooster. You would be sent to a women’s correctional facility in the western part of the state. Too far to go by horse and buggy,” he added unnecessarily.
Abby felt sick to her stomach. She gripped the table for support as the whole room swam before her eyes for several seconds.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Graber? Can I get you a glass of water or something?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine,” she lied. She wasn’t fine. She’d never felt so afraid in all her life. Laura would be almost nine and Jake nearly seven by the time she got out of jail. A common criminal—that’s all she was. She would be treated like an outcast if not outright shunned by her district. Tears filled her eyes but she forced them back. Inmates in the Wooster jail do not sit around crying.
“That’s the worst-case scenario—the one we’re trying to avoid. I don’t wish to scare you, Mrs. Graber, but you must understand what we’re up against.”
She blinked several times. “I won’t stand up in court and lie, Mr. Blake, if that’s what you mean. I won’t say I didn’t give that shot when I did.”
“No, no, I understand that. But the jury will be curious as to where an Amish lady without a car or easy access to a pharmacy came by a syringe of Pitocin. I’m advising you to cooperate with the judge and the prosecutor in this case. And I don’t always tell my clients that,” he said rather smugly. “But you should do exactly that. Tell the truth when the judge starts asking you questions at your pretrial hearing.” He tucked the papers back into her file folder. “Just answer his questions and things will go much better for you.”
He glanced around at the other inmates. “How are you doing in here? Are any of the ladies giving you trouble?” He focused on one particular woman who looked to be in a permanent bad mood.
“No, everybody’s been nice enough. Some ask rather nosy questions, but most Englischers are like that.” Abby realized the rudeness of her words the moment they left her mouth. “Excuse me, Mr. Blake. That was an awful thing to say. Here I am complaining about rude behavior by others, and I say something like that.”
“Not to worry. We are a nosy bunch. Just ask movie or television stars.”
Abby waited, unsure how to respond.
“What’s going on with your bail?” he asked, closing her folder. “I thought your husband would have arranged bail once the judge granted my motion reducing the amount to one hundred thousand. Any bondman would loan him that against your farm.”
Abby’s lightheadedness increased twofold.
“My bail has been reduced?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I left a message for you. And I called your husband to let him know.”
“My house has no phone.” She supported her head with her fingertips.
“I called your cell phone and he picked up. I talked to him personally about the reduction of your bail amount.”
She shook her head with growing comprehension. “The elders must have decided not to allow Daniel to post bail. Borrowing money for such purposes is not done in our community.”
Blake met her gaze and held it. “All right. Would you like me to see if any women’s groups might want to raise the money on your behalf? Maybe a midwife’s society, if there is such a thing?”
Abby struggled to her feet. “No, please don’t do anything like that. I appreciate the thought, but if the leaders of my district want me to remain behind bars, then here I will stay. Now, I must return to my cell. I don’t feel well.” She braced her palms on the table for balance.
“Sure, but don’t worry, Mrs. Graber. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I will request a speedy trial as it looks as though you’ll be stuck here until then. I’ll do what I can to hurry things along.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blake.” Abby shook his hand and walked back to her cell on legs that could barely support her weight. Other inmates said hello or asked questions, but she couldn’t pause to chat. She needed to get back to her bunk to lie down.
Two and a half years in a woman’s prison on the other side of the state? How would her family manage? Certainly Catherine couldn’t stay that long to raise her children. Wasn’t she entitled to a life of her own? She would never find a suitable husband shut away on the Graber farm without her circle of friends nearby.
Worries circled around her head like birds of prey over carrion. Finally she dozed off, and when she awoke she went to the desk in the common room where paper and pens were kept to begin a long overdue letter.
Dear Catherine,
It is my fondest hope that you are well and enjoying your stay with Daniel, Laura, and Jake. Words cannot express my gratitude for your sacrifice. A woman your age wants to think about social events and courting, not keeping house for her big sister. I will be in your debt until I draw my dying breath.
My lawyer has requested a speedy trial. Please pray that the trial comes soon, and that the judge will have a merciful heart.
Do not work too hard. A house is just a house. Providing meals and comforting my family are more than enough. And please pray that my faith sustains me in the difficult decision I must make.
Your loving schwester,
Abigail
With the letter addressed, sealed, and stamped, her headache faded. She managed to eat some odd-tasting beef chili and drank two glasses of iced tea. Back in her cell, away from the other prisoners who talked, watched TV, and read magazines, Abby found a sense of peace. As she lay in bed, her choice became easy.
Living with the repercussions of that choice was what would prove difficult in the dark days ahead.
Catherine could not have felt sillier about her behavior toward Isaiah if she tried. She was the one who had been curious about the inside of his cabin. Yet, given the chance to satisfy her curiosity, she had acted like a foolish little girl. Her niece wasn’t afraid of Isaiah, and neither was her nephew. But inside in his austere cabin, with his dark eyes boring holes through her back, she had panicked. She had planned to apologize, but she saw neither hide nor hair of the elusive man for several days. Twice he’d failed to come for his lunch bag, and she’d fed his sandwiches to the hog. And twice he’d come for his dinner plate after dark, when she’d been busy bathing the children and putting them to bed. She might have feared her behavior had offended him, but remembering his laughter and warm, tender eyes in the cabin doorway told her otherwise.
So on this hot July day, with her housework and garden chores finished, she planned a summer outing. And Catherine aimed to include Isaiah in the fun.
“Guder nachmittag,” she said when Daniel came to the kitchen for lunch.
“Good afternoon, sister.” He hung his straw hat on a peg and wiped his brow. “It is really a hot one. You could fry an egg on the concrete patio. I’m not working those horses anymore today.” He poured two tall glasses of iced tea.
“Indeed, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Catherine spread tuna fish salad on slices of white bread.
“Do you think talking about the weather will cool things down a bit?”
It took her a moment, but she laughed at his rare attempt at a joke. “No, but I know what will. Mrs. Corey has invited me several times to bring the kinner to her pond for a swim. She said it has a sandy shallow end and no algae. I think today would be perfect to accept the invitation. My chores are caught up, the garden is temporarily weed free, and the youngsters could use a treat. They have been good for days on end.” She set the sandwiches and jars of pickled vegetables on the table. “I thought I would pack lunch into a hamper along with cold drinks and take the path through the pasture.” She waited for him to squash her plans.
Daniel bit into his sandwich and popped a small gherkin in his mouth. “Sounds like a good idea. You have been working hard too, and I’ve been meager with the appreciation. An afternoon off will do you good. Although, if those two young ones squabble, it won’t be much of a vacation day.” He grinned over his glass of tea.
“I’m prepared for any and all eventualities. I baked a pan of banana bread. Those who misbehave will get none.” She waited until he started his second sandwich to continue. “Tell me, Daniel. How did Isaiah end up living here with you and Abby? I’ve been curious.”
He pondered while he chewed and then frowned as though remembering something unpleasant. “My aunt was the only one who could handle Isaiah when he was little. And she was the only one who didn’t think him slow-witted. My uncle had no patience. His other two sons were much older and weren’t deaf. Isaiah was a late-in-life baby.” Daniel’s frown deepened into a scowl. “When my aunt died of pneumonia one winter, my uncle was left with Isaiah to raise alone. Things for him became much worse. Once, when we were visiting my uncle’s farm, I saw him take a stick to Isaiah because he didn’t do what he’d been told. He didn’t understand.” He looked up at Catherine before glancing away. “I told Abby what I saw and she agreed with me. We brought him home to live with us that day.” He rose from the table abruptly. “Curiosity satisfied?” he asked.
“Somewhat. I would like to leave him a note in his lunch bag to join us at the pond. I’m sure he could use a reprieve from the heat.” She held her breath.
Daniel narrowed his gaze. “He can’t read, Catherine. Writing him a note would be pointless.”
“But I thought you said he went to school for a few years.”
“He did, but he never learned to read. The teacher didn’t know how to teach him. He was…special.” Daniel filled a bottle with the remaining tea. “Anyway, Isaiah is a farmer, same as me. We have work to do. Soaking up the sunshine and sticking your feet in ponds on a summer day are for women and children.” He headed for the back door with Catherine practically on his heels.
“But you had planned to rest the horses this afternoon because it was extra hot.”
“There are other chores in the barn to occupy our time.” His hand was already on the doorknob.
She tugged lightly on his sleeve. “Now, Daniel, I know you’re fond of your cousin or you wouldn’t have intervened with your uncle. Barn chores will still be there this evening after the hottest time of day has passed. That boy could use a swim and so could you. Why don’t you both come and cool off? It will make you a happier man.”
He turned to face her as his lower jaw dropped open. “Have you always been like this, Catherine? When you were a child growing up and as an adult with your friends?” A small smile twitched the corners of his mouth.
“Jah, pretty much. Isn’t it a blessing you married the more agreeable of the Yost sisters?”
“I’ll count that particular blessing twice tonight.” They both laughed as he pulled open the door. “I’ll send Isaiah over to the pond as soon as I no longer need him. He can eat his lunch with his cousins. I, myself, prefer a nap in the shade in the hammock when chores are done. But be mindful—the pond has hungry fish that love to nibble toes.” Daniel strode off without a backward glance, but somehow she knew he was smiling.
Laura and Jake needed no convincing about a dip in cool water. They changed into swimming attire and appeared at the door with towels, inflatable water wings, and Jake’s yellow rubber duck. Catherine set Isaiah’s cooler on the porch, hoping Daniel would keep his word. But after she and the kinner had been wading along the pebbly shore for forty minutes, she began to have doubts.
“Can’t we eat yet, Aunt Catherine?” asked Laura. “I’m starving.” She rubbed her tummy for emphasis.
“I am too. Let’s get started. I was waiting for cousin Isaiah, but he must have too many chores.”
The two children followed her from the water like ducklings after their mother. Catherine spread an old patchwork quilt on a grassy slope and opened the hamper. Laura and Jake sat cross-legged with their towels across their laps.
“Tuna salad sandwiches, pickles, chips, grapes, and cold Cokes,” she announced. “How does that sound?”
They offered an enthusiastic round of applause. Laura grabbed a sandwich and started eating quickly. “Yummy!” she declared.
If it had been just butter on day-old bread, Catherine doubted the girl would have complained. “Everything tastes better when you’re hungry,” she said with a smile. Just as she unwrapped her own sandwich, a horse thundered over the hill separating the Graber farm from the neighbor’s. Isaiah galloped up to the picnic spot and reined his horse to a stop a few yards from the quilt. He rode bareback and barefoot and was wearing an old pair of trousers, suspenders, and the white shirt with its sleeves torn off at the elbows. But at least he’d remembered his hat. The large yellow dog trotted alongside the horse.
Not a fox or coyote or lone wolf that had crossed Lake Erie over the frozen ice, but a Labrador retriever. Catherine smiled, remembering her foolish fears along a dark path in the night.
He slid smoothly from the mare to the ground and tied the reins to a mountain laurel bush. “Hullo,” he said, sauntering up to the group.
“Hi, Isaiah. Hi, Boots,” called L
aura.
“Is-sah,” added Jake around a mouthful of sandwich.
Isaiah pulled a sandwich and a small bag of chips from his pocket. After settling on the quilt, his focus didn’t leave Catherine for a moment.
“Good afternoon,” she said in English, mouthing the words with exaggeration.
He repeated the greeting with some semblance of accuracy, waved to his cousins sitting two feet away, and began eating his flattened sandwich. He poured the smashed potato chips directly from bag to mouth. The dog settled next to her master. After a moment, Isaiah stopped eating. “Boots,” he said, tapping the fingertips of his hands and then pointing at the dog’s paws.
Catherine nodded with comprehension. “Boots,” she said. “Her name is Boots.”
The Lab trotted over, sat down on her haunches, and lifted a dainty white paw.
“She wants you to shake, Aunt Catherine,” explained Laura. Catherine hesitated, not wishing to touch the dog’s fur before eating her meal.
“Boots won’t leave until you shake hands. She’ll just sit there forever, holding her paw in the air.” Laura looked up with childlike expectation.
Seeing no way out, Catherine complied and shook the paw. “How do you do, Boots?”
Her duty complete, the dog wagged her bushy tail and trotted off to investigate scents in the tall grass.
Catherine took a bite of her tuna sandwich but soon set it down on the wax paper. It stuck in her throat despite having used a liberal amount of mayonnaise. It wasn’t fear of dog fur that made her nervous, but the close proximity of Daniel’s cousin. She nibbled a few grapes instead, uncertain how to behave. Should I make small talk with the kinner or would Isaiah deem this rude because he can’t understand the conversation?