Plain Truth

by Jodi Picoult

  "No. If anything, she was the opposite--always bringing in stray squirrels and birds, and feeding the calves whose mothers died birthing. Taking care of whoever needed caring."

  "Did she watch her little sister often?"

  "Yes. Hannah was her shadow."

  "How did your youngest die, again?"

  Sarah's eyes shuttered as she stepped back from herself. "She drowned in a skating accident when she was seven."

  "I'm so sorry. Were you there at the time?"

  "No, she and Katie were out at the pond by themselves." When Lizzie did not ask another question, Sarah looked up at the detective, at the conclusion written across her face. "You cannot be thinking that Katie had anything to do with her own sister's death!"

  Lizzie raised her eyebrows. "Mrs. Fisher," she murmured, "I never said I did."

  In a perfect world, Lizzie thought, Samuel Stoltzfus would be gracing the pages of magazines dressed in nothing but Calvin Klein underwear. Tall, strong, and blond, he was so classically lovely that a woman of any faith would have had trouble turning him away--but Lizzie had been questioning the young man for twenty minutes, and knew that even if he looked like a Greek god, he sure as hell didn't have the smarts of Socrates. So far, although she'd verbally held up every single piece of medical evidence of his girlfriend's pregnancy, Samuel wouldn't budge from saying Katie hadn't had a baby.

  Maybe denial was catching, like the flu.

  Exhaling heavily, Lizzie backed off. "Let's try another tack. Tell me about your boss."

  "Aaron?" Samuel seemed surprised, and with good reason; all the other questions had been about his relationship with Katie. "He's a good man. A very simple man."

  "He seemed sort of stubborn to me."

  Samuel shrugged. "He is used to doing things his way," he said, then hastened to add, "but of course he should, since this is his farm."

  "And after you're a member of the family? Won't it be your farm, then, too?"

  Samuel ducked his head, clearly uncomfortable. "That would be his decision."

  "Who else is going to take over the farm, especially once Katie marries? Unless he's got a son waiting in the wings that no one's mentioned."

  Without meeting her eye, Samuel said, "He has no sons anymore."

  Lizzie turned. "Was there another child that died? I was under the impression it was a little girl."

  "Yes, Hannah." Samuel swallowed. "No one else died. I meant that he has no sons. Sometimes, with the English, I forget how to say it."

  Lizzie eyed the blond man. Samuel stood to inherit the farm--as long as he managed to claim Katie Fisher. Having Aaron Fisher's grandchild would cement that deal. Had Katie killed the infant because she didn't want to be tied to Samuel? Because she didn't want him to inherit?

  "Before the baby was found," Lizzie asked, "were you and Katie having any fights?"

  He hesitated. "I don't think I have to tell you this."

  "Actually, Samuel, you do. Because your girlfriend's on trial for murder here, and if you had any part in it you could be charged as an accessory. So--the fights?"

  Samuel blushed. It made Lizzie stare; she'd never seen shame sprawled across the face of such a large man. "Just small things."

  "Such as?"

  "Sometimes she didn't want to kiss me good night."

  Lizzie grinned. "That's a little like locking the barn door after the horse has run out."

  Samuel blinked at her. "I don't understand."

  Now it was Lizzie's turn to blush. "I just meant that a kiss seems fairly inconsequential once you've gotten her pregnant."

  His cheeks flamed brighter. "Katie did not have a baby."

  Back to square one. "Samuel, we've been over this. She had a baby. There's medical proof."

  "I don't know these English doctors, but I know my Katie," he said. "She says she didn't have that baby, and it's true; she couldn't have."

  "Why not?"

  "Because." Samuel turned away.

  "Because isn't good enough, Samuel," Lizzie said.

  He turned around, his voice rising. "Because we have never made love!"

  Lizzie was silent for a moment. "Just because she's never slept with you," the detective gently pointed out, "doesn't mean she hasn't slept with someone else."

  She waited for the words to sink in, the awful battering ram that knocked down the last of Samuel's defenses. The big man curled into himself, the brim of his hat touching his knees, his arms folded tight around his middle.

  Lizzie remembered a case she'd worked on years ago, where the girlfriend of a jewelry store manager had cheated on her boyfriend and gotten pregnant. Rather than admitting to it, she saved face by claiming the guy had raped her and going to court. This newborn's murder might not hinge on an argument between Katie and Samuel, but the very opposite. Instead of admitting that she had slept with another man, going against her religious principles, hurting her family, and ruining her prospects with Samuel, Katie had simply gotten rid of the evidence of her transgression. Literally.

  Lizzie watched Samuel's shoulders shake with emotion. Patting him once on the back, she left him to come to terms with the truth: It was not that he didn't believe Katie had had a baby; it was that he didn't want to.

  "Would she do that?" Samuel whispered, holding onto Ellie's hands like a lifeline. "Would she do that to me?"

  She had never believed that you could see a heart break, yet here she was watching it. And it was much like the time she'd watched a skyscraper demolished in Philly, floor crumbling into floor until there was nothing but a memory hanging in the air. "Samuel, I'm sorry. I barely know her well enough to make that judgment."

  "But did she say anything to you? Did she tell you his name?"

  "We don't know there was another 'he, '" Ellie said. "The detective wants you to jump to conclusions, in the hope that you'll slip up and tell her something the prosecution can use."

  "I didn't say anything," Samuel insisted.

  "Of course not," Ellie said dryly. "I'm sure they have plenty to work with right now." In fact, just the thought of it sent her head spinning: in a nutshell, here was the prosecution's motive--Katie committed murder to cover up an indiscretion.

  Samuel looked at Ellie seriously. "I would do anything for Katie."

  "I know." And Ellie did. The question was, just how far did Samuel's promise extend? Could he simply be a very good actor, and have known all along about his girlfriend's pregnancy? Even if Sarah hadn't noticed, Samuel would have easily discovered physical differences in Katie during a simple embrace--and would naturally have known if he wasn't the father. Without any Fisher sons, Samuel stood to inherit the farm--as long as he managed to claim Katie. A Lancaster County farm was a tremendous boon, the real estate value of some of these properties reaching into the millions. If Katie had given birth and then married the father of the child, Samuel would be left out in the cold. It was a clear motive for murder--but pointed at a very different suspect.

  "I think you need to speak to Katie," Ellie said gently. "I'm not the one who's going to be able to give you the answers."

  "We were going to be together. She told me so." Samuel's voice was shaking; although no tears had fallen, they were shining in his eyes. Another thing about heartbreaks--you could not watch one without feeling your own heart suffer a hairline fracture as well. Samuel turned away from Ellie, his shoulders rounded. "I know that it's the Lord's way to forgive her, but I can't do that right now. Right now, all I want to know is who she was with."

  Ellie nodded, and silently thought, You're not the only one.

  Vines twined around the footing of the railroad bridge, stretching toward the high water mark and the rivets that anchored steel to concrete. Katie rolled up the legs of her jeans and took off her shoes and socks, following Adam into the shallow water. Pebbles bit at the arches of her feet; on the slick, smoother stones, her heels slipped. As she reached for the pillar to steady herself, she felt Adam's hands grasp her shoulders. "It's December, 1878," he whispe
red. "An ice storm. The Pennsylvania Line's carrying two hundred and three passengers headed toward New York City for Christmas. The train derails there, just at the edge of the bridge, and the cars tumble over into the icy water. One hundred and eighty-six people die."

  His breath fanned against the side of her neck, and then just as suddenly, he stepped away from her. "Why aren't there a hundred and eighty-six ghosts, then?" Katie asked.

  "For all we know, there are. But the only one that's been seen by a number of different people has been Edye Fitzgerald." Adam walked back to the bank of the river and sat down to fiddle with a long, flat mahogany box. "Edye and John Fitzgerald were newlyweds, on their way to New York City for their honeymoon. John survived the crash, and supposedly kept going into the wreckage with the relief workers, calling out for his wife. After identifying her body, he went to New York City alone, took the honeymoon suite in some fancy hotel, and killed himself."

  "That's a sin," Katie said flatly.

  "Is it? Maybe he was just trying to get back to Edye again." Adam smiled faintly. "I'd like to check out that suite, though, and see if he's haunting it." He opened the cover of the wooden case. "Anyway, there are over twenty accounts of people who've seen Edye walking around in the water here, people who've heard her calling John's name."

  He withdrew two long L-shaped rods from the box and twirled them in his hands like a sharpshooter. Katie watched, wide-eyed. "What can you do with those?"

  "Catch a ghost." At her shocked expression, he grinned. "You ever use dowsing rods? I guess not. People play around with these to find water, or even gold. But they'll pick up on energy, too. Instead of pointing down, you'll see them start to quiver."

  He began to walk around the cement pylon so soundlessly that the water barely whispered over his legs. His hands curved around the rods, his head bowed to his task.

  She could not imagine her parents doing what John and Edye had done in the extremes of love. No, if a spouse died, that was the natural course of things, and the widow or widower went on with his business. Come to think of it, she'd never seen her Dat even give her Mam a quick kiss. But she could remember the way he kept his arm around her the whole day of Hannah's funeral; the way he'd sometimes finish his meal and beam at Mam like she'd just hung the moon. Katie had always been taught that it was similar values and a simple life that kept a husband and wife together --and after that, passion came privately. But who was to say it didn't come before? That sigh pressing up from the inside of your chest; the ball of fire in the pit of your stomach when he brushed your arm; the sound of his voice curling around your heart --couldn't those things bind a man and a woman forever, too?

  Suddenly Adam stilled. His hands were shaking slightly as the rods jumped up and down. "There's something ... right here."

  Katie smiled. "A cement pillar."

  A dark shadow of disappointment passed over Adam's face so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it. The rods began to jerk more forcefully. Adam wrenched away from the spot. "You think I'm making this up."

  "I don't--"

  "You don't have to lie to me. I can see it on your face."

  "You don't understand," Katie began.

  Adam thrust the rods at her. "Take these," he challenged. "Feel it."

  Katie curled her hands over the warm spots his own hands had left. She stepped gingerly toward the place where Adam had been standing.

  At first it was a shiver that ran up her spine. Then came an unspeakable sorrow, falling over her like a fisherman's net. Katie felt the rods tugging, as if someone was standing at the other end and grabbing onto them like a lifeline. She bit her lower lip, fighting to hold on, understanding that this restlessness, this unseen energy, this pain --this was a ghost.

  Adam touched her shoulder, and Katie burst into tears. It was too much --the knowledge that the dead might still be here on earth; that all those years, all those times she'd seen Hannah, Katie hadn't been losing her mind. She felt Adam's arms close around her, and she tried to hold herself at a distance, embarrassed to find herself sobbing into his shirt. "Ssh," he said, the way one would approach a wild, wary animal. "It's all right."

  But it wasn't all right. Was Hannah carrying around the same despair that Katie had sensed in Edye Fitzgerald? Was she still calling out for Katie to save her?

  Adam's lips were warm against Katie's ear. "You felt her," he whispered with awe, and Katie nodded against his palm.

  Katie felt the quivering again, but this time it was coming from inside her. Adam's eyes were bright, the blue you see when you twirl in a cornfield and fall dizzy onto your back to gaze up at the sky. With her heart pounding and her head spinning, she thought of Edye and John Fitzgerald. She thought of someone who would love her so, he'd spend eternity calling her name. "Katie," Adam whispered, and bent his head.

  She had been kissed before; dry, hard busses that felt like a bruise. Adam rubbed his mouth gently over hers, so that her lips tingled and her throat ached. She found herself leaning into him. He tasted of coffee and peppermint gum; he held her as if she was going to break.

  Adam drew back suddenly. "My God," he said, taking a step back. "Oh, my God."

  Katie tucked her hair behind her ear and blushed, staring at the ground. What had gotten into her? This was not the way for a Plain girl to carry on. But then, she wasn't Plain now, was she? Wearing these clothes Jacob had gotten her; with her hair English-styled loose and free, she felt like someone entirely different. Someone who might believe in ghosts. Someone who might believe in love at first sight, in love that lasts forever.

  Finally, gathering her courage, Katie looked up. "I'm sorry."

  Slowly, Adam shook his head. His mouth, his beautiful mouth, quirked at the corner. He lifted her palm and kissed the center of it, a token to hold tight and slip into her pocket as a keepsake. "Don't be," he said, and took her into his arms again.

  Ellie stormed into the bedroom she shared with Katie, slamming the door behind her.

  "Did she leave?"

  The question stopped Ellie in her tracks. "Who?"

  "The detective. The woman who drove up before."

  God, she had completely forgotten about Lizzie Munro roaming the farm. "As far as I know she's out interviewing the goddamned herd," Ellie snapped. "Sit up. You and I, Katie Fisher, are going to have a talk."

  Startled, Katie curled from her bed into a sitting position. "What--what's the matter?"

  "This is what's the matter: The investigator for the prosecution is downstairs getting a precious commodity--facts-- from your friends and relatives. And me, I've been cooling my heels here for a week, and can't even get a straight answer out of you." Katie opened her mouth, but Ellie silenced her by raising her hand. "Don't. Don't even think about saying that you've already told me the truth. You know that baby you didn't have? Your boyfriend Samuel just told me that you didn't sleep with him to conceive it."

  Katie's eyes went wide, so that a ring of white shone around the blue irises. "Well, no. I wouldn't do that before taking marriage vows."

  "Of course not," Ellie said sarcastically. "So now we have a virgin birth."

  "I didn't--"

  "You didn't have a baby! You didn't have sex!" Ellie's voice rose, shaking. "God, Katie, how do you expect me to defend you?" She stood above Katie, her anger flowing over the girl like heat. "You have a guy walking around out there devastated to find out that he's not your one and only. You duck your head and yes, yes the bishop when he suggests that you might have had intercourse. But you sit here like some damn block of cement, unwilling to budge the tiniest bit to give me something to work with!"

  Katie bent back under the force of Ellie's wrath. She crossed her arms over her stomach and turned away from Ellie. "I love Samuel, I do."

  "And who else, Katie? Who else?"

  "I don't know." By now she was sobbing. Her hands crept up to cover her face; her kapp became unpinned and fell to the floor. "I don't know. I don't know who it was!"

  "We're talking
about a sexual partner, for God's sake--not what cereal you had for breakfast a week ago. It's not something that you typically forget!"

  Katie wound herself into a fetal position on the bed, crying and rocking her body back and forth. "What aren't you telling me?" Ellie asked. "Were you drunk?"

  "No."

  "High?"

  "No!" Katie buried her face in the pillow. "I don't remember who touched me!"

  Katie's cries wound around Ellie's chest, squeezing so tightly she could barely find the strength to breathe. With a groan of surrender, she sat down on the mattress and gathered the girl close, stroking her hair and whispering words of comfort.

  Katie felt like a child in her arms. An overgrown toddler who'd knocked over a vase with a ball, never knowing that she'd done something that would make the rest of the world rear up and roar. A big child, but one just as lost, just as needy, just as desperate for forgiveness.

  A terrible suspicion began to rise in Ellie, filling her heart and lungs and mind with a powerful and sudden rage. She clamped it down, calming herself before she lifted Katie's chin. "Did someone rape you?"

  Katie stared at her, her swollen eyes drifting closed. "I don't remember," she whispered.

  For the first time since meeting Katie, Ellie believed what she was saying.

  "Oh, Christ." Lizzie lifted her loafer and stared at the muck and manure stuck to the sole. They just weren't paying her enough for this interrogation, and Aaron Fisher could go hang for all she cared. She raised her head and sighed, then started off across the field again. Fisher, seeing her approach, pulled his team of mules to a stop.

  "If you are looking for the way home," Fisher said in accented English, "it's that way." He pointed toward the main road.

  Lizzie bared her teeth at him. Just her luck to find an Amishman who fancied himself a stand-up comic. "Thanks, but I've already found what I've been searching for."

  That brought him up short. Lizzie let him stew a minute, imagining all the grisly pieces of evidence that might turn up in a murder investigation. "What would that be, Detective?"

  "You." Lizzie shaded her eyes. "I wonder if you've got a minute."

  "I have many minutes, all of them used toward a common purpose." He clucked to the horses, and Lizzie jogged beside them until the farmer stopped again.