by Susan Wiggs
Watching Hannah—humble, brave, vulnerable—Reese clenched her jaw until it hurt. She’d learned so much, working among the people here. She’d come to value the deep connections of family and community that defined their way of life. Now she couldn’t suppress a hot jolt of anger. The closed society was toxic to Hannah, driving her to hide a pregnancy and abandon a baby. As a physician, Reese was obligated to respect a patient’s beliefs without judgment. As a woman, she wasn’t sure that was possible.
“Something happened the next morning,” Hannah said to the judge. She turned slightly to indicate Reese. “When I went to the hospital and held my baby in my arms, I realized she’s more than a responsibility. She’s my very soul, and I must keep her no matter what punishment and shame I’ll have to face. I named her Sarah Jane Stoltz, and she’s my very own child, and I love her with every beat of my heart. I aim to be her mother.”
No one said a word. The judge stared at Hannah, his face inscrutable. “You came here on your own from the hospital?”
“I was not on my own. I came in a taxi.”
The inscrutable face softened. “You got yourself to the hearing, then.”
“They said I didn’t have to be here but I had to come. I want everyone to know I’m ready to take care of my daughter.”
“You mentioned facing a punishment,” the judge said. “Can you explain what you mean?”
Hannah cleared her throat, then swallowed. “I will be called on to confess and repent before the elders in our community, and I’ll be put under the Bann. Those who’ve been baptized into the church will shun me so they won’t be tainted by my shame.”
Reese felt a fresh wave of anger. Being a new mother was hard for anyone. Being shunned would add a layer of difficulty no girl should have to face. She tensed, preparing to get to her feet, to speak up, to do something. Domenico gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
At the same moment, Caleb stood up. “My name is Caleb Stoltz,” he said. “I’d like to speak on behalf of my niece, Hannah. Ever since her parents died I’ve raised her over in Middle Grove, the way her parents wanted her raised. Hannah’s a good girl, hardworking and good to her family and friends. She’ll be good to her baby, and she’ll live under my roof for as long as she needs me.”
Reese stopped breathing. It seemed everyone else did, too, as the judge stared at Caleb for several silent seconds. Then he said, “So you won’t take part in the shunning?”
A tic leaped in Caleb’s jaw. “I’m not obliged to, as I’ve not been baptized into the faith.”
Another long pause. The judge addressed the hospital lawyer. “There’s a lot to consider in this situation,” he said. “DCFS will conduct a child protective investigation and a home study, and their recommendations will be submitted to the district court. In the meantime, Ms. Stoltz is to be taken back to the hospital and allowed to bond with her baby. I’m granting temporary custody to Hannah Stoltz on the condition that she resides at her family residence. I order that a social worker will monitor the situation to make sure the baby is receiving proper care until such time as the district court rules on the petition.”
The gavel came down with a decisive thud.
22
Reese stared at the email message on her screen. Her finger hovered over the Delete button to dismiss the note, which came with an information attachment. But her gaze snagged on some key phrases—unexpected opening, combined program, med-ped. Palm Springs. Riverside, California.
“Jesus Christ, Mom,” she murmured, suspecting her mother’s hand was behind the invitation to apply for the special program. Okay, maybe just a peek. She opened the attachment. To her surprise, the referral had not come from her mother at all, but from Dr. Jimenez of Mercy Heights. He’d attached a note: This is a rare opportunity for an elite program. Give it due consideration. She read the document with an undeniable tingle of interest. It was everything a resident could dream of in one program—internal medicine and pediatrics—two specialties that would allow her to take care of patients for their whole lives.
Mose came into the kitchen and sat down next to her. “Your coffee is getting cold.”
Wordlessly, she turned the laptop screen so he could see it. He was silent for a few minutes. Then he took off his spectacles and set them on the table. “This sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“Yes.” Damn it all to hell. She didn’t want to want this. Yes, she did. That was undeniable. Still, she didn’t want to be tempted by something that would take her far away.
“It’s a rare chance.” He folded his arms and looked directly at her. “More than we can offer here. If you decide to pursue it, I’ll support you.”
“You think I should.”
Mose was nothing if not plainspoken. “I think the decision is up to you.”
The incident with Hannah had shaken Reese’s confidence along with her standing with her preceptor. She had been subjected to an inquiry by the hospital. As her program directors, Mose and Penelope had conducted an inquiry of their own. By failing to disclose her hunch about the baby’s birth mother, she had wandered into a gray area of protocol. Although her actions were not specifically in violation of policy and practice, she’d allowed a personal situation to intrude on her judgment. Or had she?
Yes, she was obligated to turn the girl in, to subject her to interrogation and a physical examination, but in that moment, she believed—no, she knew—that the invasive actions would shatter the fragile teenager.
She stared at the screen a moment longer. One finger hovered over Delete, and another over Save.
She hadn’t seen Caleb in a week—an exhausting, stressful, eventful week. And unlike most guys, he didn’t call or send text messages or email. Their relationship was tenuous, stretched taut between unbearable yearning and immovable obstacles. And despite this, he was the first person she wanted to talk to about the decision she had to make. He had somehow become the best friend she’d ever had, but she was losing him. What she felt was more than the chemistry that blazed like the sun every time he was near. It was also that unexpected, settled calm she’d always sensed in his presence, practically from the first moment they’d met. She had no idea where that came from, but it was as palpable and undeniable as her physical passion for him.
She drove to Middle Grove in the evening, hoping to find him at home. Slowing down to make way for the occasional buggy or pedestrian, she took in the purity of the rural landscape, untainted by billboards, flashing signs, or even phone and electrical lines. The macadam lane took her past a farm stand selling brown eggs and whirligigs from the adjacent wood shop. Behind a horse-drawn cart, a rusty contraption plucked corn stalks from the ground and fanned them onto a cart bed. At the edge of town, a baseball game was in progress, the action gilded by the setting sun. Families watched the action from quilts spread on the ground. No one had their face in a phone. No one was tweeting. They were just . . . being. In moments like this, she understood on the deepest level the appeal of living Plain.
At the Stoltz farm, she spied Caleb walking toward the horse barn carrying two galvanized pails. His silhouette against the evening sky sketched a lonely picture. Though he never complained, she knew there was too much weighing on him. He worked all the time, pulled between his job at Grantham Farm and working the farm, and now looking after Hannah and her newborn.
Following their discharge from the hospital, Hannah and the baby were home under strict conditions imposed by the court, and those conditions included support from Caleb. Now he had not two, but three children to raise according to the promise he’d made to his brother. She’ll live under my roof for as long as she needs me, Caleb had told the judge. That could mean years, Reese realized. Decades, even. What did that mean to a man who had once tried to leave the community?
The barn was warm with the scents of sweet feed, oats, and hay, and she could hear Caleb murmuring to the horses. He came out of a stall, still speaking in a friendly patter. She could not look at him
without wanting to touch him. He made her weak in the knees, painfully uncertain in a way she’d never been before.
He turned to look at her, and a stillness came over him. After a few seconds, after an eternity, he said, “Reese. It’s good to see you.”
That was all it took to send her running into his arms. He enfolded her in a big, protective embrace, and for the first time in a week, she felt balanced and calm. Inhaling his evocative odor of man and horse, she placed her cheek against his heart. “How are Hannah and the baby doing?” she asked.
“A house call, is it?” he asked, a smile in his voice as he let go of her.
“A social call,” Reese admitted. “Caleb . . .”
He took a cloth from his pocket and wiped off his hands, gazing down at her thoughtfully. “She’s shunned,” he said.
“I’m sorry. It must have been horrible for her.”
“She had to confess on her knees before the elders. I thought she would faint dead away of humiliation. The church elders want her to marry Aaron Graber. The boy himself has no interest in taking responsibility but has said he’s willing. Hannah, now, she’s refusing to consider it. For my father, this is a fate worse than death—having an unwed mother in the family. The bishop even suggested the baby could be adopted by a family in another district, but Hannah won’t hear of it. I won’t either.”
Reese’s stomach knotted. “I simply don’t get the point of shunning.”
He studied her for a moment. “No. You wouldn’t. It’s a ritual to remind the wayward of their sin.”
“How is she supposed to function—let alone thrive—without a support system?”
“I’m her support system.”
“She’s lucky to have you. But she needs more.” Reese thought about all he did for Jonah and Hannah, for his miserable father and all their neighbors. He’d even been willing to marry Rebecca Zook, thinking it was a way to get her to accept treatment. “Caleb, you can’t save everyone.”
“No, that’s your job.”
It was the first time Reese had heard an edge of anger in his voice. She bit back a retort. “I’d like to see her.”
“She’s in the house.”
They didn’t speak as they walked together to the farmhouse. Twilight hovered across the hilltops, etching the broken silhouettes against the darkening sky. Reese stepped inside, pausing to let her eyes adjust. Hannah sat in a wooden rocking chair, holding the baby in nursing position. At the opposite end of the room, Asa Stoltz sat at a rough-hewn table, reading one of his German papers by the soft glow of a lantern. Across the table from him, Jonah was reading a book. Jubilee lay at his feet, and her tail thumped gently against the floor.
Just for a moment, the scene resembled a family in a tableau of contentment, at peace with each other, cocooned in their world. Then Asa looked up at her and Caleb. He said something in German, dismissed Reese with a glare, and went back to his reading. He had the ability to chill a whole room. Caleb had once told her that Asa had never remarried because he’d never divorced his wife. He was too proud to admit defeat, and local women knew he was mean.
She went over to Hannah and pulled a stool up next to her. “How is little Sarah?” she asked, leaning forward to peer at the bundle.
Hannah moved the thin, wispy blanket aside. She’d opened her top and stuck the fastening pins in her shoulder cape. The baby was nursing, the curve of her tiny cheek echoing the shape of Hannah’s pale breast. “You can see for yourself,” she said quietly. “Everyone else does.”
Reese tried to imagine the crushing pressure of the social workers. “She looks wonderful. How are you feeling?”
“How do you think? I had to make my confession before the whole community. Everyone who’s been baptized into the faith shuns me, including my own grandfather. When Alma and the other quilters come over, they bring food and do the washing, but they never say a word to me. I’m a ghost.”
“I’m sorry,” Reese said. She hadn’t thought this through—encouraging Hannah to keep the baby. What did I do to this poor girl? she wondered, imagining what it would be like for the baby to grow up this way. Maybe she’d overstepped, recklessly plunging into a world she didn’t understand.
“You should have left things alone.”
“You don’t mean that. Look at your precious child.”
Hannah’s face softened as she gazed down at Sarah. “One day, she’ll be old enough to understand that I did a terrible sin, and she’ll be ashamed of me.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“That’s exactly how it works.” Hannah didn’t look at Reese. Though she didn’t move, the girl withdrew, talking only to the infant in a soft, nonsensical patter, keeping everything else away and slowly slipping into the baby, living inside it as it had once lived inside her.
“I want to help,” Reese said. “Tell me how I can help.”
“I have the help I need from Caleb.” She absently rubbed her thumb across the baby’s forehead. “He doesn’t speak of love. It’s just something he does. Something he is. Love is the something he does while other folks sit around talking about it.”
Reese understood this completely. What wouldn’t she give for a love like that? Change her future? Alter her life’s plans? Submit to a different sort of shunning?
Hannah kept whispering to the baby as she finished nursing. Then she stood and padded on bare feet to the stairs. “I’m putting Sarah down,” she said. “Good night, everyone.” She added something in German to Asa, but he didn’t react. Then she went up the stairs, the only sound the creak of the wood beneath her bare feet.
Asa closed his book with a snap and got up, walking out through the back door. Caleb followed him, and Reese could hear them speaking in tense, urgent tones.
“What are you reading?” she asked Jonah, hoping to distract him and dissolve the worried frown from his face.
He held up the book—Theodore Boone: The Activist. “Domenico gave me some more of these books by John Grisham when he found out how much I like them.”
“That looks really good. Domenico thinks you’re quite a guy.”
Asa spat something loudly in German, and Jonah winced. His face turned pale, his expression stony.
Reese’s throat felt thick with emotion. “Is your arm doing all right?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I need to practice more. Grandfather thinks the robotic arm is too modern. He and Caleb fuss about it all the time.”
“I’m sorry about that, too. Do you think it’s too modern?”
Another shrug. “I’m just a kid. I don’t get to say.” He reached over and made an expression of deep concentration. The arm grasped the handle of the lantern, and he picked it up.
“Hey, that’s pretty good,” Reese said. “I think if you like it, you should keep practicing.”
“Yah, okay. I’m going upstairs to finish my book. Good night, Reese.”
She smoothed her hand over the top of his head and placed a kiss there, inhaling the little-boy smell, something like dry leaves and puppy dog. He went to the stairs, Jubilee following at his heels.
She found Caleb alone in the darkened yard. “You’re dealing with so much,” she said, touching his arm. “I want to help.”
“You’ve been a great help to us,” he said, “in many ways. But now with Hannah and the baby, it’s all too much. It’s best you step away, Reese.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What are you saying? How is any of this my fault?”
“None of it is your fault. I caused it. I became so caught up with you and all the English ways, I failed my own family.”
“Good God, you haven’t failed anyone or anything. If not for you—”
“Reese. I understand what you’re saying. I wanted to believe our lives could be different somehow. That’s a dream, though. It’s best we accept that it’s over now.”
“I don’t want it to be over. I’d miss you too much,” she whispered and rose up on tiptoe to kiss him.
He felt sti
ff and hesitant, already distancing himself.
“Caleb? What’s the matter?”
“We have to stop,” he said, his voice quiet and firm. “We never should have started . . . this.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Is it about what happened to Hannah?”
“It’s about everything. But, yes, that is the catalyst. The wake-up call.”
“What does our relationship have to do with Hannah’s situation?” she asked, feeling her heart splinter.
“I had a duty to Hannah. A duty to my brother. And I failed.”
“Because of us?”
“Because of me. You’re all I think about, when I need to be thinking of so many other matters.”
“See, when you say things like that, it makes me want this to go on forever.” It was the closest she’d coming to telling Caleb she loved him. It was clear that he didn’t want to hear it, though. He was eating himself up with guilt.
“Forever is an absolute term,” he said.
“I know that.” She paused, letting the words sink in, wondering if he realized what she was implying. Now was not the time for that discussion, though. “Listen,” she said, “Hannah is wonderful. So is the baby. So is Jonah. You can’t look at them and call yourself a failure.”
“Let’s consider all this wonderfulness. Jonah spends his time reading books he gets from your lawyer friend, Domenico, and hiding from the other kids at school, because they give him trouble. Hannah is watched like a freak by social workers from the county who follow her every move, clear down to the way she pegs out the washing to dry.”
“That’s temporary. Assuming she makes good choices for her child—and it appears that she’s doing fine so far—then the monitoring will end. Then you and I—”