“Ellie,” Katie said desperately. “I have to confess.”
“This is not your church!” Ellie cried. “How many times do you need to hear that? We’re not talking six weeks of suspension, here. We’re talking years. A lifetime, maybe. In prison.” She bit down on her anger and took a deep breath. “It was one thing to let the jury see you, listen to your grief. To hear you say you were innocent. But what you told me just now . . .” Her voice trailed off; she looked away. “To let you take the stand would be professionally irresponsible.”
“They can still see me and hear me and listen to my grief.”
“Yeah, all of which goes down the toilet when I ask you if you killed the baby.”
“Then don’t ask me that question.”
“If I don’t, George will. And once you get on the stand, you can’t lie.” Ellie sighed. “You can’t lie-and you can’t say outright that you killed that baby, either, or you’ve sealed your conviction.”
Katie looked down at her feet. “Jacob told me that if I wanted to talk in court, you couldn’t stop me.”
“I can get you acquitted without your testimony. Please, Katie. Don’t do this to yourself.”
Katie turned to her with absolute calm. “I will be a witness tomorrow. You may not like it, but that’s what I want.”
“Who do you want to forgive you?” Ellie exploded. “A jury? The judge? Because they won’t. They’ll just see you as a monster.”
“You don’t, do you?”
Ellie shook her head, unable to answer.
“What is it?” Katie pressed. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“That it’s one thing to lie to your lawyer, but it’s another to lie to your friend.” Ellie got to her feet and dusted off her skirt. “I’ll write up a disclaimer for you to sign, that says I advised you against this course of action,” she said coolly, and walked away.
“I don’t believe it,” Coop said, bringing together the corners of the quilt that he was folding with Ellie. It was a wedding ring pattern, the irony of which had not escaped him. Several other quilts, newly washed, flapped on clotheslines strung between trees, huge kaleidoscopic patterns of color against a darkening sky.
Ellie walked toward him, handing him the opposite ends of the quilt. “Believe it.”
“Katie’s not capable of murder.”
She took the bundle from his arms and vigorously halved it into a bulky square. “Apparently, you’re wrong.”
“I know her, Ellie. She’s my client.”
“Yeah, and my roommate. Go figure.”
Coop reached for the clothespins securing the second quilt. “How did she do it?”
“I didn’t ask.”
This surprised Coop. “You didn’t?”
Ellie’s fingers trailed over her abdomen. “I couldn’t,” she said, then briskly turned away.
In that moment, Coop wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms. “The only explanation is that she’s lying.”
“Haven’t you been listening to me in court?” Ellie’s lips twisted. “The Amish don’t lie.”
Coop ignored her. “She’s lying in order to be punished. For whatever reason, that’s what she needs psychologically.”
“Sure, if you call life in prison therapeutic.” Ellie jerked up the opposite end of the fabric. “She’s not lying, Coop. I’ve probably seen as many liars as you have, in my line of work. Katie looked me in the eye and she told me she killed her baby. She meant it.” With abrupt movements, she yanked the quilt from Coop and folded it again, then slapped it on top of the first one. “Katie Fisher is going down, and she’s taking the rest of us with her.”
“If she’s signed the disclaimer, you can’t be held responsible.”
“Oh, no, of course not. It’s just my name and my accountability being trashed along with her case.”
“No matter what her reasoning, I doubt very much that Katie’s doing this right now in order to spite you.”
“It doesn’t matter why, Coop. She’s going to get up there and make a public confession, and the jury won’t give a damn about the rationale behind it. They’ll convict her quicker than she can say ‘I did it.’”
“Are you angry because she’s ruining your case, or because you didn’t see this coming?”
“I’m not angry. If she wants to throw her life away, it’s no skin off my back.” Ellie grabbed for the quilt that Coop was holding but fumbled, so that it landed in a heap in the dirt. “Dammit! Do you know how long it takes to wash these things? Do you?” She sank to the ground, the quilt a cloud behind her, and buried her face in her hands.
Coop wondered how a woman so willow-thin and delicate could bear the weight of someone else’s salvation on her shoulders. He sat beside Ellie and gathered her close, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. “I could have saved her,” she whispered.
“I know, sweetheart. But maybe she wanted to save herself.”
“Hell of a way to go about it.”
“You’re thinking like a lawyer again.” Coop tapped her temple. “If you’re afraid of everyone leaving you, what do you do?”
“Make them stay.”
“And if you can’t do that, or don’t know how to?”
Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. In fact, you’ve done it. You leave first,” Coop said, “so you don’t have to watch them walk away.”
When Katie was little, she used to love when it rained, when she could skip out to the end of the driveway where the puddles, with their faint sheen of oil, turned into rainbows. The sky looked like that now, a royal purple marbled with orange and red and silver, like the gown of a fairytale queen. It settled over all these Plain folks’ farms; each piece of land butting up against something lush and rich that seemed to go on forever.
She stood on the porch in the twilight, waiting. When the hum of a car’s engine came from the west, she felt her heart creep up her throat, felt every muscle in her body strain forward to see if the vehicle would turn up the driveway. But seconds later, through the trees, the taillights ribboned by.
“He isn’t coming.”
Katie whirled at the sound of the voice, followed by the heavy thumps of boots on the porch steps. “Who?”
Samuel swallowed. “Ach, Katie. Are you gonna make me say his name, too?”
Katie rubbed her hands up and down her arms and faced the road again.
“He went into Philadelphia. He’ll be back tomorrow, for the trial.”
“You came to tell me this?”
“No,” Samuel answered. “I came to take you for a walk.”
She lowered her gaze. “I don’t figure I’d be very good company right now.”
He shrugged when Katie didn’t answer. “Well, I’m going, anyway,” Samuel said, and started down from the porch.
“Wait!” Katie cried, and she hurried to fall into step beside him.
They walked to a symphony of wind racing through trees and birds lighting on branches, of owls calling to mice and dew silvering the webs of spiders. Samuel’s long strides made Katie nearly run to keep up. “Where are we going?” she asked after several minutes, when they had just reached the small grove of apple trees.
He stopped abruptly and looked around. “I have no idea.”
That made Katie grin, and Samuel smiled too, and then they were both laughing. Samuel sat, bracing his elbows on his knees, and Katie sank down beside him, her skirts rustling over the fallen leaves. Empire apples, bright as rubies, brushed the top of Katie’s kapp and Samuel’s brimmed hat. He thought suddenly of how Katie had once peeled an apple in one long string at a barn raising, had tossed the skin over her shoulder like the old wive’s tale said to see who she would marry; how all their friends and family had laughed to see it land in the shape of the letter S.
Suddenly the silence was thick and heavy on Samuel’s shoulders. “You’ve sure got a good harvest here,” he said, removing his hat. “Lot of applesauce to be put up.”
“It’ll keep my mother busy, that’s for certain.”
“And you?” he joked. “You’ll be in the barn with us, I suppose?”
“I don’t know where I’ll be.” Katie looked up at him, and cleared her throat. “Samuel, there’s something I have to tell you-”
He pressed his fingers against her mouth, her soft mouth, and let himself pretend for just a moment that this could have been a kiss. “No talking.”
Katie nodded and looked into her lap.
“It’s near November. Mary Esch, she’s got a lot of celery growing,” Samuel said.
Katie’s heart fell. The talk of November-the wedding month-and celery, which was used in most of the dishes at the wedding dinner, was too much to bear. She’d known about Mary and Samuel’s kiss, but no one had said anything more to her in the time that had passed. It was Samuel’s business, after all, and he had every right to go on with his life. To get married, next month, to Mary Esch.
“She’s gonna marry Owen King, sure as the sunrise,” Samuel continued.
Katie blinked at him. “She’s not going to marry you?”
“I don’t think the girl I want to marry is gonna look kindly on that.” Samuel blushed and glanced into his lap. “You won’t, will you?”
For a moment, Katie imagined that her life was like any other young Amish woman’s; that her world had not gone so off course that this sweet proposition was unthinkable. “Samuel,” she said, her voice wavering, “I can’t make you a promise now.”
He shook his head, but didn’t lift his gaze. “If it’s not this November, it’ll be next November. Or the November after that.”
“If I go away, it’ll be forever.”
“You never know. Take me, for example.” Samuel traced his finger along the brim of his hat, a perfect black circle. “There I was, so sure I was leaving you for good . . . and it turns out all that time I was just heading back to where I started.” He squeezed her hand. “You will think about it?”
“Yes,” Katie said. “I will.”
It was after midnight when Ellie silently crept upstairs to the bedroom. Katie was sleeping on her side, a band of moonlight sawing her into two like a magician’s assistant. Ellie quietly dragged the quilt into her arms, then tiptoed toward the door.
“What are you doing?”
She turned to face Katie. “Sleeping on the couch.”
Katie sat up, the covers falling away from her simple white nightgown. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“It’s bad for the baby.”
A muscle tightened along the column of Ellie’s throat. “Don’t you tell me what’s bad for my baby,” she said. “You have no right.” She turned on her heel and walked down the stairs, hugging the bedding to her chest as if it were an armored shield, as if it were not too late to safeguard her heart.
Ellie stood in the judge’s chambers, surveying the legal tracts and the woodwork, the thick carpet on the floor-anything but Judge Ledbetter herself, scanning the disclaimer that she’d just been given.
“Ms. Hathaway,” she said after a moment. “What’s going on?”
“My client insists on taking the stand, although I’ve advised her against it.”
The judge stared at Ellie, as if she might be able to discern from her blank countenance the entire upheaval that had occurred last night. “Is there a particular reason you advised her against it?”
“I believe that will make itself evident,” Ellie said.
George, looking suitably delighted, stood a little straighter.
“All right, then,” the judge sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
You could not grow up Amish without knowing that eyes had weight, that stares had substance, that they could sometimes feel like a breath at your shoulder and other times like a spear right through your spine; but usually in Lancaster the glances came one on one-a tourist craning his neck to see her better, a child blinking up at her in the convenience store. Sitting on the witness stand, Katie felt paralyzed by the eyes boring into her. A hundred people were gawking at once, and why shouldn’t they? It was not every day a Plain person confessed to murder.
She wiped her sweating palms on her apron and waited for Ellie to start asking her questions. She had hoped that when they came to this moment, Ellie would make it easier-maybe Katie would even have been able to pretend it was just the two of them, having a talk down by the pond. But Ellie had barely spoken a word to her all morning. She’d been sick in the bathroom, had a cup of chamomile tea, and told Katie it was time to go without ever meeting her gaze. No, Ellie would be giving her no quarter today.
Ellie buttoned her suit jacket and stood up. “Katie,” she said gently, “do you know why you’re here today?”
Katie blinked. Her voice, her question-it was tender, full of sympathy. Relief washed over her, she started to smile-and then she looked into Ellie’s eyes. They were just as hard and angry as they had been the night before. This compassion-it was all part of an act. Even now, Ellie was only trying to get her acquitted.
Katie took a deep breath. “People think I killed my baby.”
“How does that make you feel?”
Once again, she saw that tiny comma of a body lying between her legs, slick with her own blood. “Bad,” she whispered.
“You know that the evidence against you is strong.”
With a glance at the jury, Katie nodded. “I’ve been trying to follow what’s been said. I’m not sure I understand it all.”
“What don’t you understand?”
“The way you English do things is very different than what I’m used to.”
“How so?”
She thought about this for a minute. The confession, that was the same, or she wouldn’t be sitting up here now. But the English judged a person so that they’d be justified in casting her out. The Amish judged a person so that they’d be justified in welcoming her back. “Where I’m from, if someone is accused of sinning, it’s not so that others can place blame. It’s so that the person can make amends and move on.”
“Did you sin when you conceived your child?”
Instinctively, Katie adopted a humble demeanor. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t married.”
“Did you love the man?”
From beneath lowered lashes, Katie scanned the gallery to find Adam. He was sitting on the edge of his seat with his head bowed, as if this was his confession as well. “Very much,” Katie murmured.
“Were you accused of that sin by your community?”
“Yes. The deacon and the bishop, they came and asked me to make a kneeling confession at church.”
“After you confessed to conceiving a child out of wedlock, what happened?”
“I was put in the bann for a time, to think about what I’d done. After six weeks, I went back and promised to work with the church.” She smiled. “They took me back.”
“Katie, did the deacon and minister ask you to confess to killing your child?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Katie folded her hands in her lap. “That charge wasn’t laid against me.”
“So the people in your own community did not believe you guilty of the sin of murder?” Katie shrugged. “I need a verbal response,” Ellie said.
“No, they didn’t.”
Ellie walked back to the defense table, her heels clicking on the parquet floor. “Do you remember what happened the night you gave birth, Katie?”
“Bits and pieces. It comes back a little at a time.”
“Why is that?”
“Dr. Cooper says it’s because my mind can’t take too much too soon.” She worried her bottom lip. “I kind of shut down after it happened.”
“After what happened?”
“After the baby came.”
Ellie nodded. “We’ve heard from a number of different people, but I think the jury would like to hear you tell us about that night. Di
d you know you were pregnant?”
Katie suddenly felt herself tumble backward in her mind, until she could feel beneath her palms the hard, small swell of the baby inside. “I couldn’t believe I was,” she said softly. “I didn’t believe it, until I had to move the pins on my apron because I was getting bigger.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No. I pushed it out of my head, and concentrated on other things.”
“Why?”
“I was scared. I didn’t want my parents to know what had happened.” She took a deep breath. “I prayed that maybe I’d guessed wrong.”
“Do you remember delivering the baby?”
Katie cradled her hands around her abdomen, reliving the burning pains that burst from her back to her belly. “Some of it,” she said. “The pain, and the way the hay pricked the skin on my back . . . but there are blocks of time I can’t picture anything at all.”
“How did you feel at the time?”
“Scared,” she whispered. “Real scared.”
“Do you remember the baby?” Ellie asked.
This was the part she knew so well, it might have been engraved on the backs of her eyelids. That small, sweet body, not much bigger than her own hand, kicking and coughing and reaching out for her. “He was beautiful. I picked him up. Held him. I rubbed his back. He had . . . the tiniest bones inside. His heart, it beat against my hand.”
“What were you planning to do with him?”
“I don’t know. I would have taken him to my mother, I guess; found something to wrap him in and keep him warm . . . but I fell asleep before I could.”
“You passed out.”
“Ja.”
“Were you still holding the baby?”
“Oh, yes,” Katie said.
“What happened after that?”
“I woke up. And the baby was gone.”
Ellie raised her brows. “Gone? What did you think?”
Katie wrung her hands together. “That this had been a dream,” she admitted.
“Was there evidence to the contrary?”
“There was blood on my nightgown, and a little in the hay.”
“What did you do?”
“I went to the pond and washed off,” Katie said. “Then I went back to my room.”
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