by Jodi Picoult
So you see, I knew everything about this baby inside me—except why I wasn’t overjoyed to discover its existence.
* * *
I didn’t want anyone on the farm to know I was pregnant—at least not until I broke the news to Coop. The next morning, I slept late. I managed to make it out to a secluded spot behind the vegetable garden before I started dry heaving. When the smell of the horse grain made me dizzy, Katie wordlessly took over for me. I began to see her in a new light, amazed she had hidden her condition from so many people, for so long.
She came to join me outside the barn. “So,” she asked briskly, “you feeling poor, still?” She slid down beside me, our backs braced by the red wooden wall.
“Not anymore,” I lied. “I think I’ll be okay.”
“Till tomorrow morning, anyway.” Katie dug beneath the waistband of her apron and pulled out two teabags. “You’ll be needing these, I figure.”
I sniffed at them. “Will they settle my stomach?”
Katie blushed. “You put them here,” she said, grazing her breasts with the tips of her fingers. “When they’re too sore to bear.” Assessing my naïveté, she added, “You steep them, first.”
“Thank God I know someone who’s already been through this—” Katie reared back as if I’d slapped her, and too late I realized what I’d said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she murmured.
“It’s not okay. I know this can’t be easy for you, especially in the middle of the trial. I could say that you’ll have another baby of your own one day, but I remember how I felt every time one of my pregnant, married friends said something like that to me.”
“How did you feel?”
“Like I wanted to deck her.”
Katie smiled shyly. “Ja, that’s about right.” She glanced at my stomach, then away. “I’m happy for you, Ellie, I am. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. And I keep telling myself that my Mam lost three babies, four if you count Hannah.” She shrugged. “You can be happy for someone else’s good fortune, but that doesn’t mean you forget your own bad luck.”
I had never been more aware than I was at that moment of the fact that Katie had wanted her baby. She may have put off having it, she may have procrastinated owning up to her pregnancy—but once the infant was born, there had never been any question in her mind about loving it. With no little amazement I stared at her, feeling the defense I’d prepared for her trial dovetail into the truth.
I squeezed her hand. “It means a lot to me,” I said. “Being able to share this secret with someone.”
“Soon you’ll be able to tell Coop.”
“I guess.” I didn’t know when or whether he’d be by this weekend. We hadn’t made any official plans when he dropped us off at the farmhouse on Friday night. Still annoyed after my refusal to move in with him, he was keeping his distance.
Katie wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. “You think he’ll be happy?”
“I know he will.”
She looked up at me. “Suppose you’ll be getting married, then.”
“Well,” I said, “I don’t know about that.”
“I bet he’ll want to marry you.”
I turned to her. “It’s not Coop who’s holding back.”
I expected her to stare at me blankly, to wonder why on earth I’d shy away from the obvious, easy path. I had a man who loved me, who was the father of this child, who wanted this child. Even I didn’t understand my reluctance.
“When I found out I was carrying,” Katie said softly, “I thought about telling Adam. He’d gone away, sure, but I figured that I could have dug him up if I put my mind to it. And then I realized that I really didn’t want to tell Adam. Not because he would have been upset—ach, no, the very opposite. I didn’t want to tell him because then all the choices were gone. I’d know what I had to do, and I would have done it. But I was afraid that one day I’d look down at the baby, and I wouldn’t be thinking, I love you . . .”
Her voice trailed off, and I turned to catch her gaze, to finish her words. “I’d be thinking, how did I get here?”
Katie stared at the flat expanse of the pond in the distance. “Exactly,” she said.
* * *
Sarah headed toward the chicken coop. “You don’t have to do this,” she told me for the third time.
But I was feeling guilty about having slept the morning away. “It’s no trouble at all,” I said. The Fishers kept twenty-four hens for laying. Tending to the chickens was something Katie and I did in the mornings; the chore involved feeding the birds and gathering the eggs. I had been pecked hard enough to bleed at first, but finally learned how to slide my hand under the warm bottom of a chicken without suffering injury. In fact, I was looking forward to showing Sarah that I already knew a thing or two.
Sarah, on the other hand, wanted to pepper me with questions about Katie’s trial. With Aaron far out of earshot, she asked about the prosecutor, the witnesses, the judge. She asked whether Katie would have to speak out in court. Whether we would win.
That last question fell at the door to the coop. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m doing my best.”
Sarah’s face stretched into a smile. “Yes,” she said softly. “You do that well.”
She pushed open the wooden door, sending feathers flying as the birds squawked and scattered. Something about a chicken coop reminded me of a batch of ladies gossiping at a hairdresser’s salon, and I smiled as a high-strung hen flapped around my heels. Heading to the roost on the right, I began to search the beds for eggs.
“No,” Sarah instructed as I upended a russet-colored hen. “She’s still gut.” I watched her tuck a molting chicken beneath her arm like a football and press her fingers between the bones that protruded from its bottom. “Ah, here’s one that stopped laying,” she said, holding it out to me by the feet. “Let me just grab another.”
The chicken was twisting like Houdini, intent on escaping. Completely baffled, I fisted my hand more tightly around its nubby legs as Sarah found another bird. She headed for the door of the coop, shooing hens. “What about their eggs?” I asked.
Sarah looked back over her shoulder. “They’re not giving ’em anymore. That’s why we’ll be having them for dinner.”
I stopped in my tracks, looked down at the hen, and nearly let her go. “Come along,” Sarah said, disappearing behind the coop.
There was a chopping block, an ax, and a steaming pail of hot water waiting. With grace Sarah lifted the ax, swung the bird onto the block and cut off its head. As she released its legs, the decapitated chicken somersaulted and danced a jitterbug in a pool of its own blood. With horror I watched Sarah reach for the chicken I was holding; I felt her pull it from my grip just before I fell to my knees and threw up.
After a moment Sarah’s hand smoothed back my hair. “Ach, Ellie,” she said, “I thought you knew.”
I shook my head, which made me feel sick again. “I wouldn’t have come.”
“Katie don’t have the stomach for it either,” Sarah admitted. “I asked you because it’s so much easier than going back in there again after doing the first one.” She patted my arm; on the back of her wrist was a smear of blood. I closed my eyes.
I could hear Sarah moving behind me, dipping the limp bodies of the chickens into hot water. “The dumpling stew,” I said hesitantly. “The noodle soup . . .?”
“Of course,” Sarah answered. “Where did you think chickens came from?”
“Frank Perdue.”
“He does it the same way, believe me.”
I cradled my head in my hands, refusing to think about all the brisket and the hamburger meat we’d eaten, and of the little bull calves I’d seen born in the months I’d been on the farm. People only see what they want to see—look at Sarah turning a blind eye to Katie’s pregnancy, or a jury hanging an acquittal on the testimony of a certain sympathetic witness, or even my own reluctance to admit that the connection between Coop and me went beyond the
physical fact of creating a baby.
I glanced up to see Sarah stripping the feathers off one of the birds, her mouth set in a tight line. There were tufts of white fluff on her apron and skirt; a trail of red blood soaked into the hard-packed dirt before her. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “How do you do it?”
“I do what I have to do,” she said matter-of-factly. “You of all people should understand.”
* * *
I was hiding in the milk room when Coop found me that afternoon. “El, you’re not gonna believe this—” His eyes widened as he saw me, and he sprinted to my side, running his hands up and down my arms. “How did this happen?”
He knew; God, all he’d had to do was look at me, and he knew about the baby. I swallowed and met his gaze. “Pretty much the usual way, I guess.”
Coop’s hand slid from my shoulder to my waist, and I waited for him to move lower still. But instead, his fingers plucked at my T-shirt, rubbing at the bright red streak that stained it. “When was your last tetanus shot?”
He wasn’t talking about the baby. He wasn’t talking about the baby.
“Well, of course I am,” Coop said, making me realize I’d spoken aloud. “But for God’s sake, the stupid trial can wait. We’ll get you stitched up first.”
I pushed Coop’s hands away. “I’m fine. This blood’s not mine.”
Coop raised a brow. “Have you been committing homicide again?”
“Very funny. I was helping kill chickens.”
“I’d save the pagan rituals until after you’ve presented your defense, but then—”
“Tell me about him, Coop,” I said firmly.
“He wants answers. After all, the man jumped on a plane the day after finding out he was a father—but he wants to see Katie and the baby.”
My jaw dropped. “You didn’t tell him—”
“No, I didn’t. I’m a psychiatrist, Ellie. I’m not about to cause someone undue mental anguish unless I’m there, face to face, to help him deal with it.”
As Coop turned away, I put my hand on his shoulder. “I would have done the same thing. Except my motive wouldn’t have been kindness, but selfishness. I want him to testify, and if that works to get him here, so be it.”
“This isn’t going to be easy for him,” Coop murmured.
“It was no picnic for Katie, either.” I straightened. “Has he seen Jacob yet?”
“He just got off the plane. I picked him up in Philly.”
“So where is he now?”
“In the car, waiting.”
“In the car?” I sputtered. “Here? Are you crazy?”
Coop grinned. “I think I can tell you with some authority that I’m not.”
In no mood for his jokes, I was already walking through the barn. “We’ve got to get him out of here, fast.”
Coop fell into step beside me. “You may want to change first,” he said. “Just a suggestion—but right now you look like you’ve stepped out of a Kevin Williamson film, and you know how important first impressions are.”
His words barely registered. I was too busy considering how many times that day I would be called upon to tell a man the one thing he least expected to hear.
* * *
“Why is she in trouble?” Adam Sinclair asked, leaning across the table at the diner. “Is it because she wasn’t married when she had the baby? God, if she’d just written to me, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“She couldn’t write to you,” I said gently. “Jacob never forwarded your letters.”
“He didn’t? That bastard—”
“—was doing what he thought was in the best interest of his sister,” I said. “He didn’t think she could bear the stigma of having to leave her faith, and that’s what marrying you would have entailed.”
Adam pushed away his plate. “Look. I appreciate you getting in touch with me and letting me know that Katie’s in some kind of trouble. I appreciate the ride from the airport out here to East Paradise. I even appreciate the free lunch. But I’m sure that by now, Katie’s back home with the baby, and I really need to go speak to her directly.”
I watched his hands play over the table and imagined them touching Katie, holding Katie. And with a great and sudden rage I hated this man whom I hardly knew, for unwittingly bringing Katie to this point. Who was he, to decide that his affection for Katie overruled everything she’d been brought up to believe? Who was he, to lead an eighteen-year-old girl down a path of seduction when he clearly knew better?
Something must have shown on my face, because beneath the table, Coop pressed his hand against my thigh in gentle warning. I blinked, and Adam came into clear focus: his bright eyes, his tapping foot, his sideways glance at every jingle of the bell over the door, as if he expected Katie and his son to come strolling in any minute.
“Adam,” I said, “the baby didn’t survive.”
He froze. With precision he folded his hands on the table, fingers gripped so tight the tips turned bloodlessly white. “What . . .” he said softly, his voice breaking in the middle of the word. “What happened?”
“We don’t know. He was born prematurely and died shortly after delivery.”
Adam’s head sagged. “For the past three days, since you called, all I’ve been thinking of is that baby. Whether it’s got her eyes, or my chin. Whether I’d know him in an instant. Jesus. If I’d been here, maybe I could have done something.”
I looked at Coop. “We didn’t think it was right to tell you over the phone.”
“No. No, of course not.” Adam looked up, quickly wiping his eyes. “Katie must be devastated.”
“She is,” Coop said.
“Is that what you meant when you said she’s in trouble? Did you need me to come because she’s depressed?”
“We need you to stand up for her in court,” I said quietly. “Katie’s been charged with murdering the baby.”
He reeled back. “She didn’t.”
“No, I don’t think so either.”
Pushing to his feet, Adam threw down his napkin. “I have to see her. Now.”
“I’d rather you wait.” I stood in front of him, blocking his exit.
Adam loomed over me. “Do you think I give a flying fuck what you want?”
“Katie doesn’t even know you’re here.”
“Then it’s high time she found out.”
I put my hand on his arm. “As Katie’s lawyer, I believe that if the jury is given a front-row seat the first time she sees you again, they’re going to be moved by her emotion. They’re going to think that anyone who wears her heart on her sleeve like that couldn’t be cold enough to kill her own infant.” I stepped away. “If you want to see Katie now, Adam, I’ll take you there. But think hard about that. Because the last time she needed you, you weren’t here to help. This time, you can.”
Adam looked from me to Coop, and slowly sank back into his seat.
* * *
The moment Adam went to use the restroom, I told Coop we had to talk.
“I’m all ears.” Coop picked up a french fry from my plate and popped it into his mouth.
“In private.”
“My pleasure,” Coop said, “but what do I do with my baby-sitting charge?”
“Keep him far away from mine.” I sighed, and considered keeping the news to myself until after the trial; this was a moment I should have been concentrating on Katie, after all, and not myself. But I had only to look as far as Adam Sinclair to see the grief that could come from remaining silent, even with the best of intentions.
Before I could puzzle out a solution, Adam provided me with one. Coming from the restroom with red-rimmed eyes and the smell of soap fresh about him, he stood awkwardly at the edge of the table. “If it’s not too much trouble,” he asked, “could you take me to my son’s grave?”
* * *
Coop parked beside the Amish cemetery. “Take as long as you’d like,” he said. Adam stepped out of the back of the car, his shoulders hunched against
the wind, as I got out of my own seat and led him through the small gate.
We kicked up small tornadoes of fallen leaves as we crossed to the new grave. The stone, chipped by Katie’s hands, was the color of winter. Adam shoved his hands into his pockets and spoke without turning to me. “The funeral . . . were you here?”
“Yes. It was lovely.”
“Was there a service? Flowers?”
I thought of the brief, uncomfortable prayer said by the bishop, of the Plain customs that did not allow for any adornment of the grave, neither flowers nor fancy headstones. “It was lovely,” I repeated.
Adam nodded, then sat down on the ground beside the grave. He held out his hand, gently running one finger over the rounded edge of the headstone, the way a new father might reverently touch the soft curve of a newborn’s cheek. Eyes stinging, I turned abruptly and walked back to Coop’s car.
As I slid into the passenger seat, Coop watched Adam through the window. “Poor guy. I can’t even imagine.”
“Coop,” I said. “I’m pregnant.”
He turned. “You’re what?”
I folded my hands over my abdomen. “You heard right.”
The fact of this baby had tangled my thoughts. I had once left Coop for all the wrong reasons; I didn’t want to stay with him for all the wrong reasons, either. I stared at his face, waiting; telling myself that his reaction wouldn’t affect my decision about the future in the least; wondering why, then, I wanted to hear his response so badly. For the first time I could remember, I was unsure about Coop’s commitment to me. Sure, he had asked me to move in with him, but this wasn’t the same thing at all. Maybe he wanted to spend a lifetime together, but he might not have expected that lifetime to begin quite so suddenly or with such lasting consequences. He had never mentioned marriage. He had never mentioned children.
I’d provided Coop with the perfect reason to walk out of my life and leave me the breathing room I’d always craved—but now I realized I didn’t want him to go.