Seeds of Hope

by Barbara Cameron

  But at times like this, when she held a tiny gift from God in her arms, she wanted one of her own.

  One day she’d have a kind of her own. One day. If only she could find an Amish man as interesting as Mark.

  Mark saw reporters and two film crews at the entrance of the firm the next day. He drove past them and parked in the parking garage.

  The ride up to Mark’s office was totally silent.

  Five people got onto the elevator.

  Five people wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Mark! You’re here!” Lani exclaimed as soon as Mark entered the firm. She jumped up from her chair, her face pale, her hands shaking. “Mr. Sampson wants to see you right away.”

  “I’ll just bet he does,” Mark muttered under his breath. He walked into his office and set his briefcase down on his desk. He turned and nearly ran into Lani, who’d followed him into the room.

  “Everyone was talking about Maurice when I came in this morning.” She closed the door behind her.

  “You’re the only one who’s spoken to me.” He told her about his ride up on the elevator and sighed.

  “Did you stop by the jail and see him?”

  He shook his head. “There were news people everywhere. I’m going later.”

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t think he did. Maybe someone had it in for him since he was found not guilty.”

  Mark sighed. “I just don’t know what to think.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I guess I’d better go see Sampson and get it over with.”

  “It’ll be all right,” she reassured him.

  Somehow he didn’t think it could be. He made the long walk down the hall, took the stairs instead of the elevator, then walked into the ultra-plush office suite of the head of the firm.

  “Go on in,” Sampson’s assistant said. “He’s expecting you.”

  Sampson was pacing the thick carpet in front of the huge glass window that looked out over the city. He spun around when he heard Mark come in.

  “Have you seen the reporters swarming the building? It’s a media frenzy!” He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “This is bad, really bad.”

  “I know.”

  “This is unprecedented in the history of this firm. Why, we’ve been here since Philadelphia was established. It’s going to cause repercussions for the firm,” Sampson said, running a hand through his thinning hair. “We can’t have this. We just can’t have this.”

  He looked at Mark for a long moment. “We’ve never had a client found not guilty go out and murder someone. We’re getting dozens of calls. People are saying we got a murderer off to murder again. It’s outrageous!”

  “How can we be blamed? We can’t control our clients.”

  “We have to create some distance here,” Sampson muttered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The name of the firm is being impugned.” He stopped pacing and stared at Mark. “The television stations have been showing film of you on the courthouse steps after the not guilty verdict. Every time they do they mention the name of the firm. We’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

  This wasn’t sounding good. “Are you saying you don’t want me to represent him again if he asks?”

  “It’s going to take more than that. I think you need to take a break.”

  “Are you firing me?”

  “No, no, the partners and I just feel you should take some time off.”

  “But I have a lot of cases coming up. I—”

  “Parker, Morelli, and Standish can take them over.”

  “But I—”

  “You’re officially taking a leave of absence,” Sampson said firmly. “Until further notice.”

  Mark stared. “But that’s unfair.”

  “That’ll be all.” He crossed to the window to stare out at the city. Then he spun around. “And you’re not to take on that client again under any circumstances!”

  Mark turned and strode from the room. When he reached the outer office where Sampson’s assistant sat, he saw Bill, one of the security officers, waiting. The man looked embarrassed.

  “Sorry, sir, but I’m supposed to escort you from the building.”

  So Sampson had never intended to discuss anything. He’d been determined to get him out before he had a chance to defend himself.

  “It’s all right, Bill. I need to get my briefcase from my office.”

  Bill nodded and they walked down to Mark’s office. Lani looked up as they approached and she paled. “What’s going on?”

  “Sampson decided I need a break.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until the negative publicity about Maurice dies down.”

  She jumped up and followed him into his office. “He can’t blame you for that.”

  “He’s the owner of the firm. He can do anything he wants. He’s turning my caseload over to other attorneys.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Mark. This is a tough break.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep in touch.”

  He walked down the hallway with Bill, conscious of the curiosity of those they passed. Once they were in the garage, Bill shook his hand and left him.

  Mark supposed it could have been worse. He wasn’t leaving with a cardboard box of his possessions from his office. But who knew how long he was going to be on leave?

  He stopped at the jail on his way home. This time the news hounds were gone. He went through the routine and got a smirking acknowledgment from one of the guards as he signed in.

  “Gonna defend him again?”

  “It’s up to him,” Mark told him briefly.

  “Say, did you hear the one about the lawyer who—”

  “Heard them all. You gonna let me in to see him?”

  “Sure, sure. No need to get your dander up.” He checked a clipboard. “You’re on the approved list.”

  Lucky him.

  Maurice was dressed again in jail orange. Mark had only seen him in regular clothes during court appearances.

  “Mr. Byler! I didn’t think you’d come!” Maurice looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes. “Listen, you’ve gotta get me outta here! I didn’t do it!”

  He’d said that once and he’d been acquitted. Mark stared at him, unsure what to say.

  “I’m telling you, I wasn’t anywhere near that guy when he was killed. I barely knew him!”

  “But you did know him?”

  “Yeah, sure. We grew up in the same lousy neighborhood, that’s all. That doesn’t make me a murderer. I wasn’t before. I’m not now. You gotta help me.”

  Mark sat back in his metal chair. “I can’t. My boss doesn’t like the publicity from you being arrested again. I’ve been put on leave and I doubt anyone from the firm will represent you.”

  Maurice stared at him. “Man, now what am I going to do?”

  “I have a friend from law school who might be willing to take your case on a pro bono basis like I did. He’s young, but really good. I’ll give him a call and have him contact you. If he can’t represent you, the court will appoint a public defender.” Mark stood. “I . . .” He stopped. What could he say? Good luck? How would that sound? “Take care,” he said finally.

  “Thank you, Mr. Byler. I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble. But I didn’t kill that guy. I swear!”

  Mark heard the metal door slam behind him and felt the sound reverberate through him.

  He headed home and surprised his neighbor in the condo hallway when she saw him unlocking his door.

  “You’re home awfully early on a work day,” she said. “Shush, Lily,” she told the yapping poodle at her feet. “Mark’s a neighbor, remember?” She glanced up at him and shook her head. “She’s usually friendly. Guess she doesn’t see you often enough.”

  “No, I’m not home much.” Well, didn’t use to be, he thought. But he wasn’t telling her that.

  When Lily continued to growl, the woman pi
cked her dog up and stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t get fired, did you? I saw the news last night.”

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Just taking a little personal time.”

  She made a tsking sound. “I hope you’re not going to help him get off again.”

  Mark debated telling her the jury had found Marcus not guilty, but when other occupants of the building began to approach, he decided to beat a hasty retreat. “Sorry, I have to go, Mrs. Winkelman. Got a conference call scheduled in a few minutes.”

  He slipped inside his condo and leaned against the door, feeling like he’d escaped.

  Six

  Miriam was working in the kitchen garden when she saw the flash of a fancy Englisch car drive past on the road in front of the house.

  It looked very much like Mark’s car—with Mark driving it.

  She was seeing things. Mark was in Philadelphia. Maybe she’d had too much sun. “I think it’s time for a break,” she told her schweschders. “Finish filling your baskets and we’ll go inside for a bit.”

  No one argued with her. They quickly finished picking the zucchini, plump red tomatoes, beans, and other vegetables.

  Every one of them had berry stained mouths from picking strawberries earlier. She didn’t blame them; she’d had a handful or two herself. Allrecht, three.

  She supervised the prayer of thanks. “Patties on the table,” she whispered to Katie, demonstrating with her own hands and smiling when Katie pressed her chubby little hands on her high-chair tray. “Patties on the table” was something all young Amish children learned to do during prayers.

  Then she poured lemonade and passed out glasses. Emma brought the cookie jar to the table and began placing cookies on a plate. Emma liked to be artistic, but the kinner weren’t having any of that. They snatched at the platter. Isaac had one in each hand.

  “He just took the last oatmeal raisin,” Linda wailed, tears springing into her eyes.

  “Looks like it’s time for a lesson in manners,” Miriam said sternly, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Oh, man,” Isaac said. He turned to Linda. “Here, I’ll give you one of them if you don’t squall like a boppli.”

  “I’m not a boppli!” Linda glared at him but took the cookie.

  “Nee, you’re not, and Isaac is going to apologize.” Miriam gave him a pointed look.

  “Geez, I gave her the cookie,” he muttered. But he apologized. It wasn’t the most sincere apology, but Miriam let it pass.

  “So, let’s figure out what we picked today,” she said brightly.

  Isaac groaned. “Oh, no. She’s gonna turn this into a math lesson.”

  “C’mon, it’ll be fun.” She didn’t want them to lose their skills over the summer. And after all, math was a part of everyday life. “Get your baskets.”

  She waited until they were lined up in front of her, then handed Isaac a pad of paper and a pencil. “Isaac, since you helped Daed in the field, you can write the totals down. Let’s do tomatoes first. We’ll go around the table and each of you tell Isaac how many tomatoes you picked.”

  “Are you gonna make them count green beans, too? We’ll be here all day!”

  “As if you mind sitting here instead of helping Daed outside. Hmm,” she pretended to consider. “Maybe you should go back outside. One of the others can help make notes.”

  “I’ll do it.” Isaac looked at Emma. “How many tomatoes, Emma?”

  “Thirteen,” she said proudly.

  “Ten,” said Mary.

  “Eleventy-seven,” David told them. He chuckled. “Just six. I helped Daed for a while.”

  Isaac marked each down, then they went around the table and gave their totals for zucchini—big numbers. Zucchini was always a bumper crop and turned up in all sorts of recipes. Some cooks even put it into chocolate cake to use it up.

  Miriam passed out paper and pencil and the kinner proceeded to add up the totals. She smiled when all her scholars gave correct answers. She sent the boys back out to their dat and she and the girls worked on canning the tomatoes. It was hot, tiring work, but they’d be grateful for God’s bounty when winter came. Their mudder took Katie upstairs for a nap, then returned and joined in the work.

  “It’s such a blessing to have your help,” she said to Miriam after the canning was finished and Emma and Mary had left the kitchen.

  “You know I don’t need thanks. I love helping with the kinner.”

  “Maybe you don’t need thanks, but I appreciate how much you do.”

  “I hope Emma will help you the same way one day.” She hesitated. “But she doesn’t seem as interested.”

  “She just needs to be encouraged,” Sarah said. “So what if she doesn’t do it right the first time? Let her learn. Don’t do it for her.”

  Miriam winced. “Have I discouraged her?”

  “A bit.” She smiled. “I did it a few times when your dat did the dishes or helped with a household chore. He said it made him feel he couldn’t do anything right. Emma needs to learn so she can be of help after you marry and start your own family.”

  “That’s a long way away.”

  “I’m not so schur about that. I saw the way Amos looked at you in church last week.”

  Miriam had noticed. She shrugged. “We’re just friends.”

  “Have you given him a chance to be more?”

  Surprised, Miriam looked at her. Her mudder didn’t often press her like this. Amish parents gave their kinner privacy in such matters and Miriam was grateful. She didn’t want to share the reason why she wasn’t interested in any of the men she knew.

  But had she really given Amos a chance? Or any other man? She knew too often she compared men to Mark . . .

  The day went quickly, and soon it was time to think about supper. The spaghetti sauce they’d cooked and jarred left a heavy, pungent scent in the kitchen that was almost overpowering. Definitely not what anyone who’d worked all day in the heat would want to eat. But hardworking parents and kinner wouldn’t want just a salad.

  “So what shall we have for supper?” Sarah asked, standing at the refrigerator and staring into it with Miriam. There was a baked chicken and two dozen eggs—they always had lots of eggs since they had chickens. Plus tomatoes, carrots, and greens from the garden. And hamburger in the freezer.

  “Salads,” Sarah decided. Mary and Emma sat at the kitchen table to cut up vegetables as their mudder browned hamburger in a skillet on the stove and boiled eggs in a pan.

  They cubed the chicken, then mixed it with mayonnaise, celery, and pickle relish and stuffed it into tomatoes. Emma giggled as she placed boiled eggs in the egg slicer and then reversed the egg to chop them. Egg salad sandwiches were popular with the younger kinner so she helped make them.

  An hour later, the family sat down to supper. In some ways, Amish haystacks were a version of a taco salad, but the Amish placed rice or crackers on the bottom, then heaped lettuce, chopped tomatoes, hamburger, chopped egg, even chopped vegetables on top. The salad ended up looking like a colorful haystack, which was how it had gotten its name. Miriam had eaten many haystacks at Amish fundraisings and special events and loved them.

  Sarah sent the kinner outside to enjoy big, juicy slices of watermelon before sending them upstairs for their baths. What was better than watermelon in summer and having the juice running down your cheeks after a hot day? Miriam even joined them in a contest to see who could spit a seed the farthest, putting several in her mouth and spitting one several feet off the porch.

  “Wow! That one went so far!” Isaac cried.

  Miriam spit another just as Emma said, “Hi, Mark!”

  She spun around and one of the seeds in her mouth came flying out. It hit Mark’s chest and plopped on the ground at his feet.

  “Impressive!” he said with a chuckle.

  Isaac snickered and the other kinner laughed.

  Miriam gaped. “Mark! What are you doing here? Is John all right?”

  Mark chuckled a
s Miriam pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe red juice from her chin.

  She’d always behaved like such a quiet, sedate young woman when she was around him. Now she stood in the midst of her brothers and sisters, all of them with juice dripping from their chins and wearing wide grins.

  “Miriam spit the seed the longest,” David announced.

  “The farthest,” she corrected. “I spit it the farthest, not the longest.”

  “And modest, too,” Mark said. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels.

  She blushed and turned to the kinner. “Time for baths,” she said. “Tell Mamm I’ll be up in a minute. And behave yourselves!”

  “Cute kids.”

  “I like them.” She smiled. “Even when they’re being little monsters. So, you didn’t answer my question.” Her hand flew to her throat. “Is John allrecht?”

  “That’s what I came over to ask. He wasn’t home when I arrived.”

  “He told me he had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon,” she said, relieved. “I spoke to him yesterday when I took him some supper.”

  “That’s good to know.” Mark rubbed his temple where a headache had been brewing. “I was worried something else had happened.”

  “Would you like to come inside and have a glass of iced tea?”

  “That sounds good.”

  They went inside and he sat at the table while she filled two glasses with ice and poured tea from a pitcher.

  “Have you had supper?” she asked as she handed him the tea.

  He shook his head. “Haven’t been hungry much lately.”

  She nodded sympathetically. “I get that way when it gets warm.” Then she shook her head. “I forgot. You have air conditioning.”

  He smirked. “And not just in my car. But the heat’s not why my appetite’s been off.” He rubbed his temple again and wished for aspirin. “Well, a different kind of heat is responsible.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.” He sighed and sipped his tea. “Long story.”

  There was a knock on the door. Miriam excused herself and went to answer it. When she returned, Mark’s grandfather was with her.