Abigail's New Hope (The Wayne County Series)

by Mary Ellis

  Catherine caught Isaiah staring at her more than once when she glanced over her shoulder. When their gazes met, he blushed and focused on the child, adjusting Laura’s position on the saddle or correcting her posture. But Catherine could sense his attention even with her back turned, and she walked taller and smiled more than usual. Hopefully, I won’t break into a song of joy, she thought, tamping down her emotions.

  “Let’s go faster, Isaiah,” demanded Laura. But because he didn’t hear the child, he kept plodding along at a snail’s pace. Laura gave Cora a small kick with her heels, causing the horse to lurch forward.

  Isaiah pulled the short reins with a quick “whoa.” Laura reached over to tap his shoulder and almost fell off the horse. He pushed her back in the saddle with a frown.

  “Faster,” she begged and made a quick, staccato movement with her hand.

  He shook his finger at her and said, “Fass-nuff.”

  No problem with his communication today, thought Catherine.

  After twenty minutes of going in circles in the paddock, Isaiah took the lead rope from Catherine and led the mare to the back steps. After wrapping the rope around the rail, he lifted Laura off the horse and set her on the porch.

  “Danki, Isaiah.” The child offered a quick hug and ran to the door, calling “Gut nacht” as the screen door slammed behind her.

  “Danki, Isaiah. Nice of you,” said Catherine, beaming and pointing at his chest. “Good night.” She started up the steps, but he grabbed her elbow before she got too far.

  “No.” He gestured for her to follow as he led the horse toward the barn.

  Catherine stood stymied on the bottom step, wondering what he needed her help with at this hour.

  “Come,” he demanded, halfway down the path.

  What could she do but obey his command? After a hesitant glance over her shoulder, she picked up her skirt and hurried after him, hoping Daniel wasn’t watching from the window.

  With his long strides and no child on Cora’s back, Isaiah disappeared behind the barn before Catherine could catch up. She slowed her pace to avoid panting like a dog. By the time she rejoined them, Isaiah was adjusting the length of the saddle’s stirrups. He perused her from head to toe, set the buckle into a notch, and then readjusted the other side. Catherine watched, mesmerized, as Cora stood stock-still without being tied during the saddle adjustment.

  “Dun,” he said and motioned for her to come closer.

  “Me?” she asked, even though no one else was there.

  “Jah, you, Cat.” He winked when he spoke her name. Patting the saddle with one hand, he offered his other hand to her.

  Comprehension of what he wanted finally registered. “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head vigorously. But she couldn’t stop grinning.

  “Jah, Cat.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her to Cora’s side.

  She didn’t know what to do, having never ridden a horse before. Her sister Meghan might own a small trophy to prove her expertise, but Catherine had always been afraid of large beasts with flies buzzing around their heads.

  But no flies buzzed around Cora when she focused one gentle brown eye on Catherine as though to say: What’s taking you so long? Get on already.

  She couldn’t possibly climb onto the horse—she was wearing a dress! And what if she fell off? How would she explain a broken arm to Abby, not to mention Daniel? But how could she not comply and still preserve a friendship with the man she wished to help? Without another thought, Catherine lifted her skirt, put her shoe into the stirrup, and accepted Isaiah’s hand. From the other side of Cora, he pulled hard while she transferred her weight from the ground into the saddle.

  It was not a pretty sight if anyone had been watching. And once seated, no matter how she tugged and pulled at her long dress, quite a bit of her black stockings showed on both legs.

  What would daed think of me now?

  “Fut.” Isaiah held the other stirrup in a position she could reach. Once she complied, he ordered, “Legs tie-ette,” and slapped her exposed black stocking.

  Catherine blushed to the roots of her hair, thinking she might die of embarrassment from the touch of his fingers. She forced thoughts of her father from her mind before she fell off Cora into a disgraced heap.

  However, Isaiah didn’t seem to find anything embarrassing as he led the horse down the path toward the orchard. He maintained the same slow pace he’d used with Laura inside the ring. Catherine concentrated on holding the reins and the saddle horn, and gripping with her thighs as well as a person could in a dress.

  After a few minutes of perfect behavior by Cora, Catherine glanced up toward the sky. Stars twinkled overhead in the purple-black sea as the breeze carried the sweet scent of honeysuckle and jasmine. Venus was low on the horizon, while a crescent moon hung lopsided like a forgotten English Christmas ornament. As they walked, melodic crickets, tree frogs, and hoot owls began their nightly chorus, sounding much louder in the pasture than from the open window of her bedroom. Ahead, Catherine saw the orchard, and to her shock, spotted the outline of a second horse.

  Isaiah planned this little escapade, confident I would comply, she thought, giddy with excitement. There’s nothing simpleminded about him at all!

  When they reached the tree where the horse had been tied, he tugged the reins from the low branch and mounted effortlessly, never releasing his hold on Cora’s lead rope. Once he was settled in his saddle, Isaiah leaned over to Catherine, who was clinging to her saddle horn with both hands. “Gut?” he asked, meeting her gaze.

  She briefly considered the possibility of broken bones, Daniel’s aghast reaction should he find out, and her personal shame if she fell into a mud puddle. After a moment, she drew a breath and nodded affirmatively. “Gut,” she said in a voice crackling with animation.

  And gut didn’t come close to describing the nighttime ride through apple orchard, open pasture, and scrub woods of mountain laurel and hemlock. Although Isaiah avoided the dark paths of the deep forest, he took her on an adventure through a world of unknown sights, sounds, and smells. Neither spoke. No one had to. The night was alive with hoots, cackles, croaks, howls, and whispers. Isaiah was at home in the shadowy darkness, with only the moon and stars to point the way. So Catherine relaxed in the saddle and gave herself up to the unexpected.

  At no point was she ever afraid.

  And if she lived to be one hundred and ten, she doubted she would ever again enjoy herself so much.

  Nathan awoke from fitful sleeping to the sound of a coyote howling up in the hills. He bolted upright in bed and scrubbed his face with his palms; then he realized it was no coyote. His son was kicking up a fuss in the next bedroom. He settled back on damp warm sheets in a hot, airless room and heard his windup clock tick…tick…tick. No breeze stirred the curtains as he listened, overtired from long hours in the relentless sun and strung out from worry. How would he pay off all the money he owed? Amish folks weren’t supposed to be in debt, yet Nathan Fisher owed money to just about everyone. The district members didn’t wish to be repaid for their contribution toward the baby’s medical bills or Ruth’s funeral. Instead, he would be expected to chip in for future expenses, such as barn raisings or unexpected surgeries. But Nathan couldn’t imagine himself staying in this district once his one-year lease was up.

  Not without Ruth. The memory of that horrible night trailed him around the house like a malevolent shadow. He would never stop hearing her cries of anguish as long as he lived here. So he planned to pay the district and that hospital every dollar he owed and then he would leave this land of painful broken dreams.

  In the meantime, how could a man sleep with this racket? He needed to rise at four o’clock for milking and then cleaning stalls while the horseflies were still asleep. Plus, he would have a full day if he wanted to finish cutting hay. After another minute of listening to Abraham wail, Nathan swung his legs out of bed and shrugged into his robe. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked in his aunt’s open doorway.
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  Iris paced the length of the room with the red-faced infant on her hip. “I’m not sure. He has some heat rash on his back and legs, so that’s probably why he’s fussy.” The boy appeared oblivious to her attempts to soothe or comfort. “I’ll pick up ointment tomorrow when I’m in town.”

  “Is there nothing you can do tonight? A man needs to get his rest.”

  She knit her brows and glared at him. “So does a woman, I assure you.”

  Nathan blew out his breath with a whistle. “True enough, I suppose.” Although he didn’t sound wholly convinced.

  “Here, nephew. Hold him while I use the bathroom.” Before he could object, Iris foisted the crying child into his arms and marched from the room.

  He peered into his son’s pinched, beet-colored face, uncertain what to do. He tried rocking him in his arms to no avail. He lifted him up and down while making the silly noises he’d heard women do at social events. But Abraham Fisher was having none of it.

  As unknowledgeable as Nathan was, he knew the heat wasn’t helping the situation. He carried the child down the hall and out the front door, despite it being the middle of the night. By the time Iris found them, the boy had settled down as Nathan rocked in the porch swing.

  “Looks like you’re managing,” she said, slumping into a plastic chair.

  “Jah, as long as I keep rocking him out here where it’s cooler. What do you suppose will happen if I lay him down in his cradle?”

  “I imagine he’ll start crying again.” She answered without a moment’s hesitation. “That’s part of being a parent.”

  “I am not cut out for this, Iris. I need to milk cows in the morning.” He continued rocking, afraid to stop.

  “Then you’d better get cut out for it, Nathan Fisher. You worry more about those Holsteins than your own flesh and blood.” Her tone revealed more than simple discomfort from a hot, humid night.

  “That’s because I know how to deal with cows. This baby was Ruth’s idea. She wanted a boppli to fuss over like the other women. With her gone I can’t step into her shoes.”

  “Shame on you! Your wife died giving you a fine son, and yet you fret and moan and feel sorry for yourself.”

  Anger spiked through his blood, but when he opened his mouth to deny her allegations, to lash out against her unfair judgment, no words came to mind. Instead, his eyes filled with moisture, and despite every attempt to control his emotions, two tears ran down his face.

  “I know you’re hurting, Nathan. I know you miss your wife,” she murmured. “But your son knows nothing about that. He needs his daed. He needs you.”

  It was a good thing she couldn’t see his face, because Nathan sat with tears falling freely. Soon his whole body was racked with sobs. Iris lifted the boppli from his arms and then sat back in her chair. The child, blessedly, drifted off to sleep in the crook of her arm. “How long are you going to carry around this anger toward Abraham?”

  Hearing her speak his name filled Nathan with shame. After a little while he spoke with a mouth gone dry. “I don’t want to blame him, to be mad as though this were his fault, but I don’t know how to stop.” He buried his face in his hands and cried.

  “I don’t know how to help you, but that lady social worker does. Maybe you should give her a call. The business card she left behind is in the drawer with the pot holders.”

  He glanced up. All the fight had gone out of him. He couldn’t argue because every word his aunt spoke was true. “I’ll walk to the neighbors’ tomorrow and call her.”

  “No, you’ll be watching your son tomorrow. My daughter-in-law is picking me up in a hired van to take me to the doctor’s office. After that, I’m buying her lunch at the buffet restaurant and then we’ll do a little shopping.”

  He stared at her through the near darkness, but her expression didn’t waver. “I know this will be a trial by fire for you, nephew, but that’s your own fault. You should have been learning about diaper changing and whatnot along the way. I’ll leave his bottles ready in the fridge with instructions on how to warm them.” She paused to take in a breath. “I won’t leave until after your cows are milked. I do understand the importance of that chore.” She offered a wry smile.

  “Danki, Aunt. And don’t worry. I will do whatever needs to be done.”

  She rose to her feet with the sleeping child. “To save you some time, I’ll call the social worker while I’m in Wooster. I’ll ask her to stop out when she can. You have to start somewhere.”

  Nathan watched her carry Abraham inside. He hoped the boy would sleep until morning so Iris could get some rest. He, however, would sleep no more that night. He had to figure out how to be a daed by tomorrow.

  Eleven

  July

  Abby awoke with a start. The nightmares that had plagued her since A her incarceration had grown more unsettling. Images of sick children, husbands reaching the end of their patience, and stern fathers shaking their fists conspired to provide another restless night. Kneeling beside her bed, she prayed for strength. Later today she would appear again in court. Her lawyer indicated there was a chance she could be released on her own recognizance.

  Home. Reunited with Daniel and Laura and Jake. Thinking of loved ones filled her with a tangible ache that neither food nor water could satisfy. Yet, as the specters of her nightmares retreated to the shadows, Abby doubted the judge would be merciful. Her fellow inmates often spoke of his harsh sentences and brusque treatment. Why would her case be any different?

  Opening her Bible to the book of Daniel, she read the story of someone far braver than she. Daniel had lived in Jerusalem. After the Babylonians captured the city, he was taken back to Babylon, where he would spend the next sixty years of his life. During this time of great warring tribes, the Persians marched on Babylon and captured the city. Although Daniel was forced to work for the conquering king of Persia as an adviser, he continued to serve God faithfully. Jealous associates plotted to have him thrown into a lions’ den, but God protected faithful Daniel from the hungry beasts. The following morning he walked unscathed from the den.

  Abby tried to remember Daniel’s devotion when the deputy arrived at the door carrying her Amish clothes. Today they hung from a hanger instead of being rolled up in a plastic sack.

  “Did you launder my dress, Deputy Todd?” Abby asked, surprised.

  The woman blushed, her cheeks turning bright pink. “Yes. They wouldn’t have fared well in the jail laundry because the fabric isn’t permanent press. We can’t have you looking a mess when you stand before the judge.” She laid the outfit across the bed.

  “Thank you,” Abby said. “I am in your debt.”

  After showering and pinning her hair beneath her kapp, she left the cell common area flanked by two deputies. They didn’t handcuff or bind her wrists, yet nevertheless she felt oddly constrained. Even her steps mimicked someone whose ankles had been shackled. At least the court appearance didn’t require a long, jarring car ride. The Wayne County Justice Center housed both jail cells and courtrooms. On the night of her arrest, she’d become nauseated in the backseat of the sheriff’s cruiser.

  Mr. Blake, a fresh-faced, shiny penny of a man on this hot July day, sat with her in the hallway. He repeated his warnings of potential consequences if she didn’t comply with the judge’s requests. However, as they waited Abby’s mind drifted back to summer afternoons picking raspberries with Laura and then making gooey cobblers and pies. She remembered other warm days when she would take them swimming in the creek. Once Jake had caught a crayfish and kept it all summer as a pet. Laura helped him to collect dead flies trapped behind the barn windows to feed the critter.

  “They have called us, Mrs. Graber. Are you ready?” Mr. Blake broke her reminiscence with a tight grip on her elbow.

  She shivered, either from the air-conditioning or from apprehension of what was to come. “As ready as I ever will be,” she said, staggering to her feet. They entered the courtroom and headed toward the polished wooden tables and the ra
iling that separated those whose lives hung in the balance from those who had come to watch. She spotted the woman who typed into a machine and the same gray-haired judge, whose mood hadn’t improved since her previous visit, if his scowl was any indication.

  After being seated, Abby scanned the crowd in the packed courtroom. A knot of pain tightened in her chest when she found Daniel, her beloved ehemann. She yearned to reassure him that God would make this and all things right again in His own perfect timetable, but how could she? How could she tell him she wasn’t afraid, knowing what she must do? Forcing a smile, she lifted her hand in a wave. Daniel waved back, looking haggard. Then Judge William O’Neil spoke and Abby’s legs turned weak and rubbery.

  “Please stand, Mrs. Graber.”

  Abby complied with Mr. Blake at her side. Hearing murmurs behind her, she focused her attention on the man who held her earthly fate in his hands. The judge flipped through and scanned the papers before him while she waited for what seemed like an eternity.

  “These are very serious charges against you. Has your attorney explained them adequately so that you understand these proceedings?” he asked.

  She nodded. Her tongue felt as though it was glued to the roof of her mouth.

  “You must speak in my courtroom, Mrs. Graber. A nod of the head will not suffice for my court reporter.”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “I see you have been a guest of the county for a couple of weeks now, despite your attorney successfully petitioning the court for a reduction in your bail to a fraction of the original amount.” He peered at her over the glasses resting on his nose.

  “Yes. Thank you,” she answered, uncertain of the correct response.

  “What I’m curious about is why you’re still here.” He leafed through the folder again and sighed. “Does it run contrary to Amish laws or customs to raise money against the equity in one’s property?”