Sarah's Gift (Pleasant Valley 4)

by Marta Perry

  “Well, no.” She hesitated, as if framing her answer. “You see, I’ve never represented an Amish client before. Never known all that much about the Amish, in fact. It seemed to me I should see for myself.”

  “That is only right. You had no way of knowing I was telling you the truth about what we do here.”

  Her lips twitched. “I didn’t really doubt you, Sarah, not when Bishop Mose brought you in. He’s pretty impressive. Somehow you can’t believe he’d ever do anything but what’s right.”

  “Ja.” She had to blink back tears. “He is a gut man.”

  “And it’s obvious this isn’t some hole-in-the-wall operation.” Her gesture took in the birthing room.

  “It is modeled after the birthing center where I worked in Ohio,” Sarah said. “We had a much bigger operation there and a local doctor who worked with us.”

  Sheila Downing nodded. “I’ve already spoken with him. He’s not able to travel here for the hearing, but he is sending a statement of his support, both for midwifery in general and for you in particular.”

  “That is gut of him.” She paused, trying not to give in to the fear that was her constant companion these days.

  “Do we have a chance?”

  Ms. Downing leaned against the foot of the bed. “Remember, this is just a hearing to determine whether there’s a case to go to trial. The judge could rule that there isn’t. That would be best from our point of view.”

  “Do you think that’s what will happen?”

  “Honestly, it’s impossible to say. The law is pretty murky, it seems to me. If the judge feels that way, he’ll be looking for a reason to dismiss the charges. My job is to give him a tool to do that.”

  Sarah nodded. “I understand, I think.”

  “You know, that’s what your friend asked me, too. I gave him the same answer.”

  “My friend?” Her mind was blank.

  “Aaron Miller. You have a strong advocate in him.”

  Sarah turned away, not wanting the woman to see her face. “He is grateful that I helped his sister.”

  But not grateful enough to think her practice worth fighting for. No matter how much she appreciated what Aaron had done in going to the attorney, she couldn’t forget that.

  Aaron walked the shoveled path from the shop to the house, consciously trying to force a smile onto his face. Molly was sharp as a whip at reading his moods, and it wouldn’t do to have her guess his feelings.

  He’d been trying to keep Sarah out of his thoughts—trying and failing. He’d offered Sarah his love, a life together, and she’d turned him down for a fight she couldn’t win.

  He was right. He had to believe that. So why did he feel so wrong?

  He glanced up as he approached the steps. Molly stood in the open doorway, holding Baby Jacob in her arms.

  “Ach, Molly, what are you doing?” He took the steps quickly, caught her arm, and ushered her back into the warm kitchen. “You should not be going out into the cold. Or the boppli, either.”

  “I have to talk to you.” Molly’s eyes were suspiciously bright, as if she hovered on the brink of tears.

  Sarah had warned him that Molly might be more easily upset these days. He should be comforting and reassuring. But why did every thought have to lead back to Sarah?

  “Komm, now.” He shed his coat, hanging it in the back hall. “You don’t want to catch a cold and greet Jacob with a red nose, do you?”

  Molly’s husband should arrive tomorrow, if all went well, and none too soon. She’d been missing him.

  “I’m fine, and so is little Jacob. But I have to talk to you.”

  “Well, I am here, so you can talk. Where is Katie?”

  Why isn’t she keeping you from worrying? That was what he wanted to say, but he supposed that was an unreasonable expectation, even for their determined cousin.

  “Katie is upstairs, changing the bed. She doesn’t have to be coddling me every minute, you know.” Little Jacob wiggled in her arms, making small sounds, and she bounced him gently. “Anna was here.”

  “Ja, I saw her buggy.” He lifted the towel that covered the basket on the counter. “Looks like she brought schnitz pies. Better make sure Benjamin doesn’t get his hands on them before supper. You know how he is about dried apples.”

  “She also brought news. Sarah’s hearing in front of the judge is on Friday. Friday!” Her voice rose. “Did you know that?”

  His heart winced. “I heard.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her fingers dug into his arm. “We must do something.”

  Calm and reassuring, he reminded himself. “Komm, sit down.” He detached her fingers from his arm and tried to lead her to the rocking chair.

  She dug in her heels, refusing to be moved. “Stop talking to me as if I’m a six-year-old.”

  Obviously he wasn’t so gut at the calming and reassuring. “I’m sorry.”

  A tear spilled over onto her cheek. “No, I’m sorry. But, Aaron, this is serious. Poor Sarah.”

  “Ja.” His voice was flat. “I know it is serious.” It was what he’d tried to prevent. If Sarah had listened to him ...

  “We have to do something,” Molly insisted. “We must help Sarah.”

  He caught her hand, holding it firmly in his. “You must calm down. That is what Sarah would be saying right now.”

  “I will calm down when you tell me there is something we can do to help Sarah.”

  “Molly ...” She was pummeling his already sore heart. “I have already done what I can. I don’t see what else we can do.”

  “Anna says she is going to the hearing, to show Sarah her support. I should go, too.”

  “No, that you must not do. You’re not ready to go so far.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Here is Katie, and I know she will agree with me.”

  Katie looked from him to Molly’s tear-stained face. “And what is it that I will agree with, Aaron?”

  A man could never take Katie’s acceptance of his opinion for granted. Maybe that was why Katie was still unmarried at twenty-five.

  “Molly wants to go clear to Lewisburg on Friday to go to a hearing in the Englisch court.”

  “Ja, the midwife. I heard about it.” Katie looked thoughtful. “I would like to go, too. But Aaron is right. It is too much for you.” She put her arm around Molly. “We must think of the baby first. That is what your midwife would say, ain’t so?”

  Molly nodded, and Aaron could breathe again.

  “I’m sure Aaron will go in your place,” Katie added.

  Much as he appreciated Katie’s help with Molly, she had hit upon the one thing he couldn’t do. How could he sit in an Englisch court and watch Sarah’s pain, unable to help her?

  “I think perhaps Sarah would rather I didn’t go.”

  He found himself pinned by two pairs of eyes.

  “Ach, Aaron, that is nonsense and you know it,” Molly said. “Do you think I am blind? Sarah cares for you. And you care for her, too. You must help her.”

  He seemed to freeze. “There is nothing I can do.” The words choked him. There was nothing.

  “Don’t say that.” Molly’s eyes sparked. “Aaron, I thought sure you were over your feelings about midwives.”

  “I don’t—”

  She thrust the baby toward him, and his arms curved automatically to take little Jacob. “Look at him,” Molly demanded. “We owe his safe arrival to Sarah. I had the birth I wanted thanks to Sarah. Don’t you see?”

  He looked down at the soft, warm bundle in his arms. Jacob stretched, yawning. He stared up at Aaron with the wide, unswerving gaze of a newborn. His milky blue eyes seemed focused on Aaron’s face, as if he already knew his onkel and had known him from the moment he entered the world.

  For an instant Aaron was back in the upstairs room, looking at Sarah, sharing the joy of the baby’s birth. His heart seemed to twist in his chest, almost as if it were cracking open to let something out. Or maybe to let something in.

  That moment . .
. how could he think that was wrong, for their Molly to have her babe there, in the room that had always been hers, with those she loved helping her? With the gaze of his tiny nephew on his face, how could he set himself up to judge how women should have their babies?

  “Ja.” He said the word softly, tears choking his voice. He put Jacob gently back into his mammi’s arms. “Ja. I must help Sarah. And I think I know how it might be done.”

  Sarah took a last look around the birthing rooms, unable to stop herself even though it hurt. She’d had such high hopes when she’d come here to Pleasant Valley, and opening the birthing rooms had been a confirmation of those hopes.

  Now . . . was it all to end today? She grasped the footboard of the bed, closing her eyes.

  Father, guide me. I hope I am doing the right thing. I hope I am honoring the gift You gave me. If I am to suffer for that, grant me the courage You gave the martyrs of old.

  “Sarah,” Aunt Emma called. “I see Ben’s car coming down the lane. Are you ready?”

  She must be ready. She fastened her coat and tied her bonnet strings, then picked up her gloves and walked out of the birthing room, closing the door behind her.

  She could hear the car now, too, coming to a stop by the front porch. She crossed the living room and found Aunt Emma in the hall, also wearing her outdoor clothes.

  “Aunt Emma? What are you doing?”

  “I am going with you.” It was the tone her aunt used when she didn’t want an argument.

  Still, Sarah had to try. “You shouldn’t. I mean, I know that Jonas doesn’t want you to go, and I’ll be fine on my own.” Alone. Her heart was heavy in her chest.

  “There is no point in arguing, because I am going. My son should know by now that he can’t tell me what to do.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. He’s only trying to protect you.” Once again her cousin had succeeded in putting his mother’s back up.

  Aunt Emma clasped her hand. “If they accuse you, they accuse me, too. Komm. We must go.”

  There was no argument left to make. She followed Aunt Emma outside to where Ben waited beside the car.

  “Morning, ladies.” He held the door open, his breath coming out in a frosty plume. “We’ll get there in good time, leaving now. And don’t you worry, Sarah. You’re going to be fine.”

  She would like to be sure of that. “Denke, Ben.”

  She slid onto the seat next to her aunt. Ben closed the door, climbed in, and turned the car carefully between the snow banks that lined the lane. They were on their way.

  She tried to think of all the things the lawyer had told her, but her mind seemed curiously empty. They passed the pond where she and Aaron had joined in rescuing Louise. There was the Miller house, a spiral of smoke from the chimney the only sign of life.

  “Don’t grieve too much.” Aunt Emma’s hand clasped hers. “If Aaron cannot open his heart for you, then it is not meant to be.”

  Sarah nodded. She knew that, but somehow knowing didn’t lessen the pain.

  The road unwound before them, faster than seemed possible, with familiar farms and shops scrolling by on either side. Pleasant Valley slept in the quiet of winter under its blanket of snow. In moments they were driving down the main street of town. She had been here such a short time, but already Pleasant Valley had begun to feel like home. She didn’t want to say good-bye.

  They passed Bishop Mose’s harness shop, and she turned her head to look. The shop seemed to be closed. She’d hoped Bishop Mose would turn up to go with them today, but he hadn’t. Still, since the shop was closed, that might mean he would meet them in Lewisburg.

  “You remember all the things the lawyer said you should say?” Aunt Emma asked.

  Sarah took a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts. “I think so. I’m as ready as I can be. We must hope that is enough.”

  “Ja. The rest is in God’s hands.”

  She nodded, breathing a silent prayer. Whatever happened today, she would accept it as God’s will.

  Traffic became heavier as they approached Lewisburg, with several busses that seemed out of place on the tree-lined streets.

  “Busier than usual,” Ben said. “I might have trouble parking, so I’ll let you off in front of the courthouse and then go find a place to park.”

  “That will be fine,” Aunt Emma said, pulling on her gloves. She sounded perfectly composed. Whatever might happen, it seemed she was ready.

  Sarah reached inside herself, seeking that calm. It was in God’s hands.

  They turned the corner, and the courthouse loomed in front of them, large and imposing. But that was not what made Sarah catch her breath.

  The steps of the building, the sidewalk in front, even the street itself—all were crowded with people. Not just people. Amish. Mennonite. Others.

  “Sarah, look.” Aunt Emma’s voice filled with wonder. “Look. The People. They are here to support you.”

  She shook her head, hardly able to believe it. But it seemed to be true. Black-garbed Amish stood silently. Some of the Mennonites, distinguished by the women’s print dresses, held signs. Scattered among them were Englisch, too, with more signs ... signs supporting her, supporting midwives, declaring a woman’s right to choose how her baby would be born. Beyond the crowd she glimpsed people with cameras, but the press of the crowd kept them back.

  Ben slid out, grinning, and opened the door. To judge by the expression on his face, he had known about this.

  She got out, turning to help Aunt Emma, but Bishop Mose was already there, assisting her. Then he straightened, nodding gravely to Sarah.

  “We are ready,” he said.

  “Ja.” They walked together through a path people made for them. Murmurs of support reached her, smiles of encouragement. She still could hardly take it in.

  They passed a reporter at the courthouse door talking into a microphone. “ . . . in an unprecedented show of silent support, Amish, Mennonites, and others gathered at the courthouse . . .”

  The door cut off the woman’s words, and they were inside. Bishop Mose guided them quickly down an echoing hallway. “Ms. Downing is waiting for us in the hearing room. Wait until you see.”

  A uniformed officer held the door open for them, and they passed through. Sarah’s breath caught. Whatever she had imagined, it wasn’t this.

  The entire room was filled with people in Amish dress, sitting in rows as still and expectant as if they were at worship. Familiar faces turned to greet her as she walked down the aisle . . . the whole Beiler family was there, and the Fishers, the Schmidt family, and so many more.

  “We had to hire several buses to bring everyone who wanted to come. We have been waiting at the doors since seven, so we could be here in the room when you arrived,” Bishop Mose said quietly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

  Sarah’s heart was so full she couldn’t speak. If she had wondered whether she was accepted in Pleasant Valley, she had her answer now.

  Ms. Downing stood to greet them, clearly excited. “Can you believe this? The news crews are all over it, and the DA has been looking sicker and sicker all morning. This is not the kind of publicity any elected official wants.”

  Sarah nodded, tried to smile, but there was only one question on her mind right now. She turned to Bishop Mose.

  “How?” she asked. “Did you do this?”

  “I wish I had thought of it,” he said. “It was all Aaron’s idea. He started organizing people, and then Anna and her Englisch friend got involved, and the people from the clinic. Everyone wanted to help, it seemed.”

  She heard it all, but her mind had snagged on one name. Aaron. Aaron had done it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The lawyer drew Sarah to a seat behind a long table. Stomach lurching, Sarah sat down. The hearing was beginning, then. Even with the community solid behind her, would she be able to do what she should?

  Bishop Mose bent over her. “We are all praying,” he said simply. He turned,
moving into the row of seats behind the table where a place had apparently been saved for him.

  “Okay?” Sheila Downing gave her a questioning look.

  Sarah glanced to the front of the room, to the high carved seat flanked by flags where the judge would sit. She swallowed hard.

  We are praying for you.

  The fear subsided. “I am all right.”

  “Good.” The attorney slid papers from her briefcase onto the shining surface of the table. “We don’t have much time,” she went on, her voice low. “You understand, don’t you, why this demonstration of support is important?”

  “It means I am not alone.”

  The woman seemed faintly surprised. “Well, yes. More importantly, both the district attorney and the judge are aware of it. The DA is already wondering why he let himself in for this battle. They’re both elected officials, after all.”

  “I see.” At least, she was trying to. “How can that make a difference in determining what is right and what is wrong?”

  The lawyer paused for a moment. “It shouldn’t, but in a courtroom, sometimes it does. Trust me, this is a good thing.”

  They could agree on that, at least, if not on the reason why.

  A door opened at the front of the room. The judge came in, imposing in his black robe. He took a step or two, glanced toward the room, and his stride checked. Then he mounted the platform to his seat.

  After a few formalities, most of which Sarah didn’t understand, the judge leaned forward, seeming to look directly at her over the tops of his glasses. Sarah steeled herself to meet his gaze.

  Oddly enough, she didn’t find it as frightening as she’d expected. The judge must be about Bishop Mose’s age, and he had the same calm, the same air of weighing facts carefully before he made a decision.

  He cleared his throat. “Let’s make a few things clear, shall we? Mrs. Mast is not on trial here. This is a hearing, held to determine whether there is a case for trial or not.”

  Sarah gave a small nod, not sure whether he was speaking to her or to the mass of Amish behind her.

  “So we’re going to keep this simple and, I trust, brief.” He looked from Ms. Downing to the district attorney, as if in warning. “I will hear statements from each of you, as well as any experts who can shed light on the subject.” He glanced around the crowded room. “That’s all. Mr. Hoagland, you may proceed.”