Four
Abby bolted upright with a start following a particularly stressful dream. She had been running away from an unknown adversary. Each place she had chosen to hide from her pursuer turned into another trap of danger—gaping holes in the floor, stairs climbing into the clouds without end, and dangerously canted hallways in buildings that shook with earthquake intensity. Each time she felt that her nemesis had either lost her trail or lost interest in her, the faceless stalker would show up to send her fleeing to another condemned building or shifting sandbar.
When she awoke her heart was racing, her breath came in jagged, shallow gasps, and sweat was soaking through her nightgown. After perusing her surroundings, Abby realized the danger was real, not imagined. Even though no slippery slopes into dark abysses threatened her path, a cell offered an equal amount of anxiety to her jangled nerves.
She was in jail.
Abigail Graber, God-fearing woman and respected member of the Amish community, had been locked up like a common criminal. She contemplated that fact as she knelt beside her uncomfortable bunk for morning prayers. At least she was alone in the sparsely furnished cell and the matron had allowed her to keep her well-worn Bible. Opening it to the book of Deuteronomy, she read a few paragraphs of Old Testament tribulations and changed her mind about the chapter selection. Perhaps Psalms or Ephesians could lift her spirits from self-pity and remorse—remorse for the effect her arrest would have on Daniel and her two kinner.
Would her husband hang his head in shame, keeping to their farm for fear of district censure for her actions? Crawling beneath a rock had never been his habit in the past. Would her children suffer embarrassment because of her arrest? At least school was recessed for the summer, but would other children point fingers or ask questions that would frighten Laura and Jake? The Amish were raised to not sit in judgment of others but to follow their Ordnung. How she longed to know how her daed, her district’s bishop, would react to his daughter going to jail. Because it happened only last night, she doubted he’d even heard the news yet.
After her devotions, Abby dressed and was just lacing her shoes when suddenly the door swung open and a middle-aged woman entered carrying a tray. “Breakfast is served,” she announced. “Nothing gourmet, but the eggs are real and the coffee is hot.” She offered a pleasant smile along with the food. “From now on, you’ll take meals in the common room with the other women, but you have a hearing in half an hour, so eat fast.”
“Dank—thank you,” Abby said, remembering to use only English. She looked over the tray—coffee with powdered creamer, scrambled eggs, two slices of white toast, margarine spread, and a plastic dish of fruit cocktail.
“I’ll go get your own clothes,” the woman said. “I suppose you’ll be glad to get out of our duds for a while. Camouflage green isn’t exactly an Amish color.”
Abby’s face flushed with shame. The matron probably meant no offense with her comment, but drawing attention to her mannish, ghastly outfit only made Abby feel worse. She took a bite of toast and looked up. “Will I be allowed to wear my own clothes from now on?”
“No, only during your appearance in court today. The judge will read the charges against you and set the amount of your bail.”
Abby swallowed the dry bread and asked, “Then I can go home?” She reached for the coffee and drank half the cup, forgoing her usual cream and two sugars.
“No, then he’ll ask if you have counsel to represent you. You know… a lawyer,” she added upon Abby’s bewildered expression.
She rubbed her forehead. “Amish folks don’t usually hire lawyers. I wouldn’t know who to call.” Because Amish folks don’t usually get themselves thrown in jail. “We try to settle our differences among ourselves and go to the ministerial brethren only if we can’t come to agreement.”
The matron looked sad and somewhat uncomfortable. “Yes, but this is Wooster, so I’m afraid if you don’t have an attorney, the court will appoint one for you. That’s what the judge will tell you today. I don’t recommend you trying to represent yourself in court.”
Abby nodded. “After I am assigned a court-appointed lawyer, then will I be allowed to go home?” She ate some of the bland, undercooked scrambled eggs, trying not to reveal her distaste.
“Mrs.—” The matron glanced down at her clipboard. “—Graber. Do you realize that you have been charged with a felony?”
“I understand the law says practicing midwifery in Ohio without the proper license is a crime, but Amish midwives have been delivering babies in our community since we settled here a hundred years ago.”
“That may be, but it’s still considered a crime. Usually you would have been charged with a misdemeanor. If that were the case, they would release you after your hearing and expect you to come back for your trial date. That is, if you didn’t cop a plea. But it looks like you’ll be charged with a felony, and that’s much more serious. They must have something else on you other than just delivering a baby.”
Abby swallowed as much of the eggs as she could stomach and washed them down with the rest of her coffee. She couldn’t ask the woman about everything she didn’t understand or the other inmates might not get their breakfast trays until lunchtime.
“So the judge will read the charges against you, assign a lawyer, and then set the amount of your bail.”
“The bail is money I must pay to get out?”
“Yes, but you’ll get the money back if you show up for trial.”
“Why wouldn’t I show up?”
The woman laughed softly. “Good question. I know you will, but some people hightail it and run. That makes them look guilty, and it also makes things go a lot worse when they’re finally caught and dragged before the judge.”
Abby nodded as she ate her fruit cocktail. Each fruit in the syrup tasted exactly the same. “I hope my husband remembers to bring whatever cash we have on hand if he comes to the courthouse today.” She spoke more to herself than to her jailer.
The woman laughed again. “It’ll take more than the proceeds from selling eggs and garden produce from your farm stand. Bail for felonies can run into a couple hundred thousand dollars.”
Abby set the fruit cup back on the tray and stared in disbelief. Her appetite vanished while the food in her stomach started to curdle. “Then I guess I’ll be staying here until the trial. We don’t have that kind of money.” Her calm tone of voice belied her inner turmoil.
“Nobody has that kind of money. That’s what bail bondmen are for.” She glanced at her watch and then over her shoulder. “Look, I can’t spend any more time jawboning with you. I need to supervise the breakfast room so no food trays accidentally hit the walls. Your lawyer will explain about bonding and bail money.” She walked out carrying Abby’s tray but reentered within a couple minutes. “Here are your regular clothes,” she said, handing Abby a plastic sack. “They want you to appear in court looking normal. You can wash up at the sink and change outfits. There’s no time for a shower. If I finish up early, I’ll stop back to explain more of the goings-on so you won’t be afraid.”
Abby glanced up to meet the jailer’s gaze. “Thank you for breakfast, and for your kindness in speaking to me today.” She didn’t mention that knowing what would happen did nothing to alleviate her fear.
“Sure thing. For what it’s worth, I’m on your side. There are too many laws telling us what to do in this country. They take away every personal freedom we once had in an effort to protect us from ourselves. Doesn’t make sense to me.” She marched out the door, shaking her head. At least no bolt clicked behind her as it had last night. Abby hated the thought of being locked inside a room. What if there was a fire?
She washed, changed clothes, and then tried her best to pin up her hair without benefit of a hairbrush. The guard’s words swam through her mind like bees around a hive, making her more agitated by the minute.
Be still and know that I am God.
One of her favorite Scriptures helped to calm her nerves. As she contemplated the events at the Fisher farm, preparing to explain her actions to the judge, there wasn’t a thing she would have done differently. If she was a woman faith, she needed to show some now as she waited for the hearing. Opening her Bible, she turned to the book of Genesis. “Might as well start at the beginning,” she whispered and began to read.
By the time the deputy arrived to take her to court, God had created heaven and earth in six days and rested on the seventh; Adam and Eve had eaten the forbidden fruit and lost paradise; Cain had slain his brother Abel; a great flood had covered the earth; the Babylonians had erected the tower of Babel, separating people forever by language barriers; God had destroyed the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah; and the faith of the great prophet Abraham had been tested by the Lord. While walking the corridors of the Justice Center, Abby’s problems seemed minor by comparison.
She walked into a courtroom filled with people, while many more stood along the back wall. She spotted Daniel and Dr. Weller but recognized no one else. “Who are all these people?” she asked the guard. “Have all of them come to hear my case?”
The question seemed to take the man by surprise. “No, ma’am. The judge will preside over many cases this morning—some to set bail, some to request continuances, while others informed their lawyers they wish to enter or change a plea. But this sure isn’t your lucky day. Judge O’Neil is sitting on the bench. He can be a tough one. Sit there, ma’am. You’re next on the docket.”
Abby did as instructed, wondering about this Judge O’Neil, who looked no different than most English folk to her. She stole a glance over her shoulder at Daniel. Dark circles beneath his eyes made him look as though he hadn’t slept in days. He clutched his hat between his large hands, while his hair still showed the impression left by his hatband. He seemed as comfortable as a hen in a fox lair. She hoped she could go home with him after she explained to the judge that she’d tried everything within her power to save Mrs. Fisher. Did Jake and Laura wonder what had happened? Her little girl had trouble sleeping whenever her mamm was out on a call.
“Case number 9645287, the State of Ohio versus Abigail Graber.”
Abby’s head snapped up at the mention of her name. She felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a voice near her ear. “Stand up, Mrs. Graber.” Her legs felt as though she’d run up a mountain and back as she rose to her feet.
The judge, a portly man with florid cheeks, studied her over his half-moon glasses. Most of his head was completely bald, yet his hair remained thick beneath ear level.
“Are you Abigail Graber of Shreve, Ohio?”
“Yes,” she answered. Her words sounded more like the squeak of a rusty door hinge.
“Yes, Your Honor,” he corrected, continuing to study her.
“Yes, Your Honor, sir.”
“You are here today to enter a plea on the charges against you.” He glanced down at his papers. “Abigail Graber, you have been charged with practicing midwifery without a license, involuntary manslaughter, practicing medicine without a license, and possession and sale of a dangerous controlled substance—the last two charges being felonies. How do you plead, Mrs. Graber?”
“I’m not sure how to plead, Your Honor.”
While the judge rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, his forehead furrowed into deep creases. “Do you have legal counsel? That is, do you have the means to hire a lawyer?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think I do.” She desperately wanted to look back at her ehemann, but she didn’t dare. The judge might interpret turning around as disrespect.
“In that case, this court will appoint legal counsel for you. Your pretrial hearing will be one month from now, and your bond is set at five hundred thousand dollars—cash or bond.” He thumped his gavel halfheartedly. “Next case, Bailiff.” He opened another folder from the stack in front of him.
Abby gasped. Half a million dollars? Their house, land, livestock, savings account, and everything added up wouldn’t come close to being worth that much. And she would never allow Daniel to sell their farm to raise money. Where would her family live? What would he do for a living? Their farm was his livelihood as well as their home.
She felt a gentle tug on her upper arm. The deputy had returned to her side to lead her away from the raised platform. Her time before the heartless Judge O’Neil was apparently over, and she hadn’t been allowed to explain anything.
“You will return to your cell now, but your lawyer will probably visit this afternoon,” the deputy said. “He or she will tell you how your family can raise your bail through a bondman and all that. He might even file a motion to have your bail reduced, seeing that you’re Amish.”
They had exited the courtroom through a side door and stood in the chilly outer hallway. She slanted him a wary glance. “What does my being Amish have to do with the amount of my bail?”
“I don’t think anybody could call you a flight risk. It’s hard to make a fast getaway in a horse and buggy.” His grin looked genuine.
“If you ever saw a standardbred horse get stung by a bee, you just might change your opinion,” she said with a wry smile.
The deputy’s hearty laughter echoed off the high ceilings.
Laughing felt odd to her, considering the stew of emotions churning in her belly. There wasn’t anything funny about the serious charges against her. Her hope that the nightmare would end once she explained what had happened faded the moment she looked into the judge’s bland face.
She was just another criminal to him.
He thought she had killed Mrs. Fisher. Wasn’t that what “manslaughter” meant?
He thought she had “practiced medicine” on a dying woman. But in a way she had, in an attempt to save her life.
And she certainly had been practicing midwifery without a license for several years. Guilty as charged.
Once she was back in her cell, Abby knelt in prayer to ask for relief from her stupidity, forgiveness for her sins, and clear direction as to what she should do next. Because never before in her life had she felt so confused.
Twenty minutes later she rose from her knees, took a pen and some paper she’d found in the common room, and began a letter to her sister. Catherine loved children and had worked as a nanny to an English family since leaving school almost nine years ago. Daniel would need help tending the children and keeping up with household chores. No better choice came to Abby’s mind other than her schwester. He might not relish someone else in his house, but with bail set at half a million dollars, who knew how long Abby would be here?
Catherine spent the two-hour drive to her sister’s home trying to concentrate on the countryside instead of her sad thoughts. At least her brother James had volunteered to drive her to Daniel and Abby’s farm instead of her daed. Her father would have spent the time cautioning her on what constituted proper behavior in her brother-in-law’s home.
Don’t chatter at meals.
Keep busy with household tasks. Don’t be idle.
Don’t change your schwester’s rules with her kinner.
Keep your opinions to yourself about Abigail’s troubles.
Instead, her brother talked about the ongoing dry spell and his hope for a downpour once his hay had been cut and stored. Afterward, he remained quiet for the rest of the drive.
Considering Catherine’s frame of mind, his silence proved to be a blessing. After receiving Abby’s letter, she had jumped at the chance for a change of scenery. A week or two with her niece and nephew would get her mind off a person better off forgotten. At twenty-three, she had some experience with courting. But after mustering the courage to ask a certain young man for a ride home from a singing, the result had been disastrous. The man of her dreams had agreed to give her a lift home—in the backseat. Another gal had apparently captured his heart and therefore the front seat at his side. Along the way home, he couldn’t have hung onto Rachel Hawk’s words more than if they’d been made of glue.
Life wasn’t fair.
Rachel had her pick of beaus. Why did she have to pick the plum Catherine had been eyeing? Rachel was also younger, while prime marriageable age was about to pass Catherine by.
“I said, how long do you think you’ll be staying at Abby’s?” Her bruder’s question finally roused her from her mental replay of Sunday’s heartbreak.
“Mir leid,” she apologized. “I was daydreaming.”
“Jah, you’ve been doing that a lot lately.” His dark hair, in need of a trimming, hung in his eyes.
She chose to ignore his comment. “I don’t know how long Abby will be…gone. Maybe just a few days. But don’t worry, James. I’m sure Daniel will drive me home once she’s back.” She couldn’t bring herself to think about Abby being in a jail, let alone speak the words aloud. She had never known a person who’d been arrested. Her sister must be mortified with shame.
“That’s gut. I need to rake, bale, and store the hay in the barn while the dry weather holds. But if you want me to come get you, call the Wainwrights on Abby’s cell phone. They’ll know how to get word to me.”
“Danki,” she murmured. As they rounded a bend, the Graber farm came into view. Catherine loved the three-story white frame house. With porches on all four sides and plenty of windows, there was always somewhere to sit and catch a cool breeze. It was one of the few Amish homes in their district that had never had a dawdi haus added during previous generations of residents.
As the buggy rolled to a stop, no friendly Graber faces came bounding out to greet them.
“Are you sure Daniel is home?” James asked, lifting her suitcase from behind the seat and setting it on the ground.
“Of course he is. He knew I would come as soon as I received my sister’s letter. Don’t worry. I see Laura peeking from behind the kitchen curtain.”
“I’ll look for Daniel in the barn. I’m not leaving here until I know there hasn’t been some kind of mix-up.”
“Danki, but I will be fine.” She picked up her suitcase and some desserts her mamm had baked, and then she headed toward the house. The curtain had fallen back in place. Catherine pushed open the Graber back door and walked into an empty kitchen. “Laura?” she called. “It’s your Aunt Catherine. Where are you?” She heard only the sounds of squirrels raiding the bird feeder for sunflower seeds. “Jake?” She waited a few moments and then went in search of her niece and nephew.
Their behavior struck her as odd. It wasn’t as though she were a stranger. Abby once mentioned her daughter was very shy, but she felt assured that would change once Laura started school in the fall.
Catherine searched the front room, dining room, bathrooms, and the side and back screened porches before climbing the steps to the second floor. One of the bedroom doors had been closed, making that room the likely hiding place. “Hello, Laura? Jake?” She pushed open the door. “It’s Aunt Catherine. Are you playing a game of hide-and-seek with me?”
Laura and Jake Graber sat on the floor near the window overlooking the backyard. Jake was playing with a barnyard building set while Laura rocked a faceless doll nestled between both arms. Both kinner looked scared and upset. “What’s wrong, dear ones? Don’t you remember me?” Catherine approached them slowly.
Laura shook her head affirmatively. “Jah, I remember you. You’re mamm’s little schwester.” When the child turned up her face, her eyes were moist and round.
“That’s right. I saw you on a preaching Sunday last month. You were eating peanut butter cookies after lunch. Your daed said, ‘Save some of those for other folks.’”
Laura’s lower lip quivered while a large tear rolled down her pale cheek. The girl’s white kapp was wrinkled and in need of laundering. Her brother’s shirt and trousers were equally unkempt. “Jah, I ate six cookies. You brought chocolate brownies with fat walnuts sitting on top.” Despite the discussion centering on sweet treats, a second tear slid down the child’s streaky face.
Their sadness broke Catherine’s heart. She knelt down beside them on the braided rag rug. Looming over them like a giant wouldn’t calm their fears. “Did you try one of my walnut brownies?”
After the child lifted one index finger, Catherine plodded on. “How did you like my baking?”
The girl shook her head furiously. “I only like my mamm’s cookies!” With that, her face crumpled with abject misery. Jake stopped snapping in logs to create the barn’s second floor and stared at his sister. Seeing her tears, he decided to cry too.
Catherine felt somehow guilty for their unhappiness. “What’s wrong, Laura. Tell me why you’re crying and maybe I can help.”
“I want my mamm,” she managed to say in between sobs. “Daed says she can’t come home because we don’t have enough money.” Sobs nearly strangled her speech.
Didn’t have enough money? What on earth? Catherine patted the child’s knee gently. “What else did your daed say?”
“He said he didn’t know when mamm could come back, but that you would live here and take care of us.”
Jake soon tired of crying without knowing the reason and returned to snapping plastic logs together to create the barn loft.
“Because you came here to live, does that mean mamm isn’t ever coming home?” Hiccups joined her sobs to create additional problems for Laura. “I want my mamm!”
Catherine wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Of course you do. And she will be home as soon as she can. My being here won’t prevent her from returning. She wrote me a letter and asked me to stay here while she’s gone.” She withdrew the folded sheet from her apron pocket, grateful for the intuition to bring it along. Opening the letter, she held it out for Laura’s examination.
Although the girl couldn’t read either Deutsch or English yet, Laura studied the paper with interest. Perhaps she recognized Abby’s handwriting, but more likely she yearned for any reason to believe things weren’t as grim as they seemed. “She will come home to us?” Laura sniffed as her nose began to run.
Catherine pulled out the clean handkerchief she kept up her sleeve and handed it to the child. “Dry your eyes and blow your nose. Everything will be all right. Your mamm will be home soon. In the meantime, you and I need to rustle up dinner in the kitchen. What would my sister say if we allowed the menfolk to go hungry?”
“She would get mad. My daed likes his supper on time. He says he gets hungry trying to keep crows from eating the corn all day.”
Catherine laughed, rose to her feet, and stretched out a hand to her niece. “Then we’d better go downstairs and get something started. Do we need Jake’s help or should he stay up here?”
Laura pursed her lips while considering the question. “He’s not much help in the kitchen.” To Jake she said, “You stay up here and work on the barn. Those cuhs need a roof over their heads before the next rain.” She pointed at the plastic cows. “We’ll call you when it’s time to eat.” Then she shyly accepted her aunt’s hand.
Catherine marveled at the way the six-year-old readily assumed a near-parental role over her four-year-old sibling. Abigail’s absence would affect these two, but she silently vowed not to let those changes affect them adversely.
When they reached the kitchen, they saw James sitting at the table drinking a Coke. “I found Daniel in the barn sharpening his cutting blades,” he said. “I see you found the missing kinner.” He offered his niece an exaggerated wink and wiggled his dark eyebrows.
“Go wash your hands and face, Laura, before we start cooking.” Catherine waited until the girl scampered off before addressing her brother. “They were afraid that if I stayed here, their mamm would never come home,” she whispered.
James shook his head. “You have to wonder where youngins get their ideas.” He took a long drink.
“What did Daniel say? Is he on his way up to the house?”
He met her gaze over the rim of the can. “Jah, I talked to him. He said he has two chickens plucked, cut up, and ready to fry for supper. They are in the fridge.”
She waited but he relayed nothing else. “That’s all you two talked about—a pair of plucked hens? What is the news about our sister?” She glanced at the closed bathroom door. “Should I walk to the barn to speak to him?”
James shook his head while slowly rising to his full height. “No, I think you should stay in here and fry up those chickens. Try to keep a low profile, if that’s possible, Cat.” He crushed the soda can with one powerful fist and tossed it in the blue recycle bin. “Our brother-in-law has never been a man of long speeches, but today he was downright uncommunicative. This whole mess with Abigail riled him up. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready. I wouldn’t press him.” James locked gazes with her for a long moment. “Tend to Abby’s kinner and cut Daniel a wide swath. He wants his wife at home, not sitting in some jail cell. Until that happens, he probably won’t be in the best of moods.” He set his straw hat on the back of his head. “Now, I’d better head for home. Take care of yourself, sister. And send word or leave a message on the neighbor’s answering machine if you need me.” With a toss of his head, he motioned toward the barn.
The meaning of his cryptic gesture was lost on Catherine. “I will stay until Abby is back to care for her family herself.” She followed James onto the porch. “Wait. There’s one more thing. Laura mentioned that Abby must stay in jail because they didn’t have enough money. What could that mean?”
He glanced toward the driveway where his horse scratched impatiently in the dirt. “The court must have set her bail too high for Daniel to pay.”
“Aren’t there people to help with that sort of thing? I saw an ad in an English newspaper about loans against farm equity.”
“That’s Daniel and Abby’s business, little sister. Don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong—it might get bit off.” He started down the steps with Catherine on his heels.
“She’s my schwester and I’d bet she’s suffering in that cell. I’d say that makes it my business.”
James stopped short. He turned around so fast she bumped into him. His facial expression needed no words of explanation.
“At least it’s somewhat my business.” She backed up two paces.
“Remember that I warned you, Catherine. But you’ll probably listen the same way you heeded my warnings about the honeybee hive and the pond’s thin ice. Just keep our neighbor’s phone number handy, and I’ll come get you—missing a nose and all.” He strode toward his buggy with a broad grin.
She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Both of those incidents were more than ten years ago,” she called.
“Tigers and willful sisters seldom change their stripes.” With a wave of his hand, James left for home, leaving Catherine in the dusty driveway. She glanced toward the barn—still no sign of her brother-in-law—and then she looked at the house. Her niece was peeking from behind the kitchen curtain again. Catherine walked back to the house to chickens that needed frying and a niece and nephew who required reassurance. But a tiny seed of unease took root in her heart and began to grow.