Abigail's New Hope (19 page)

Laura also stayed close, grasping a tight fistful of Catherine’s skirt. “
Daed
says that Isaiah talks to those who cannot talk back,” she whispered as the path turned to follow the river.

Catherine stopped in midstride. “What do you think he meant by that?”

The child gazed up. “I dunno, but I hope we find out today.” Her grin expanded to fill her face.

The aunt and niece didn’t have long to wait for their answer.

The deeper they ventured into the forest, the quieter they became. Soon they were creeping like mice past a sleeping cat. Even Jake watched with owl-round eyes as he clung to Catherine’s neck.

In a sun-dappled clearing with pine needles for carpet and blue sky peeking between the treetops, Isaiah Graber stood motionless with his hand outstretched. A single black crow perched on his shoulder, cocking his head from left to right. A large doe with huge eyes and twitching tail nibbled dried corn kernels from Isaiah’s palm. Two speckled tan-and-white fawns stood on spindly legs beneath their mother’s belly. The braver of the fawns timidly approached some fallen corn, even though he was too young to have been weaned.

The attention span of a four-year-old only lasted so long. “Hi, Is-sah,” called Jake. He squirmed to be set down. The deer family ran off into the woods while the bird flew to an overhead branch with an annoyed
caw
.

“Hullo,” said Isaiah, not appearing surprised to see them.

When Laura and Jake ran to him, he stooped to give each a loose embrace. Laura tugged on his sleeve. “Can we go to the swing?” She made a half circle pendulum motion with her hand through the air.

“
Jah, jah
.”

“Can we go, Aunt Catherine?” Laura asked as an afterthought.

“Well, I don’t know.” Suddenly, the hot sun was making her sweat despite a breeze through the trees. “Is the swing safe?”

The girl looked baffled. “I guess. It’s not high off the ground.”

“All right, then.” Catherine thought to add, “Stay where I can see you” too late. They had already run off. She walked to where the doe had stood, feeling Isaiah’s gaze on her. Finally, she looked up and drew in a sharp breath. He was chuckling at her—not smiling or smirking—but laughing, at what she didn’t know.

With a sweep of his hand he indicated the direction the
kinner
had gone. Catherine marched down the path as though on a mission… right to the log cabin with the green metal roof and comfortable wide porch.

Isaiah easily kept pace by her side. While she breathed heavily and perspired, he remained cool and unaffected by the heat or humidity. At the steps he went around her to open the front door, and then he motioned for her to enter.

Her heart rose up her throat as she looked into the unknown interior. She knew she shouldn’t go in. She had no business here. Daniel had gone to town, and no one knew her whereabouts. She was supposed to be the responsible person in the group. Yet maybe Jake and Laura were already inside. Inhaling deeply, Catherine walked past him into the dim, cool, sweet-smelling cabin. She waited for her eyes to adjust, and then she perused the room with fascination. Her eyes landed on a small wooden platform under the window. Twin aluminum bowls sat side-by-side, nestled in the recessed openings of the stand. The first bowl contained water, while kibble filled the second to the rim. Someone had burned the word “Boots” into the face of the wood, as though with the tip of a hot poker. Catherine stared as the memory of the phantom yellow dog provided explanation for the handmade apparatus.
A feeding station so the dog wouldn’t have to bend down
. Duly impressed, she scanned the rest of the room.

Isaiah owned no curtains, upholstered sofa, or comfortable recliner to read by the fire.
Because nobody lives close enough to peek in windows and Isaiah can’t read anyway
, she thought. But the furnishings he owned were tidy, functional, and possessing their own charm and beauty: an oak table and two chairs with slat backs and woven rush seats, two bentwood rockers that must have taken someone months to make; and a rough-sawn bedstead with four high posts and an intricately carved headboard. Catherine crept deeper into the room to examine the woodcarving on the headboard. It was of a deer family like the one they had seen in the forest clearing. A backdrop of tall pines and knee-high wildflowers indicated Isaiah hadn’t journeyed far for his inspiration. A thick multicolored quilt, probably sewn by her sister Abigail, covered the rustic bed, while a plump pillow leaned against one bedpost. A braided rug in soft, muted colors lay beneath her feet. The sparse room looked inviting in its simplicity.

She suddenly felt shy and embarrassed by her intrusion. Wheeling around, her gaze locked with Isaiah’s. He stood in the open doorway, silhouetted by the light, with his arms crossed over his dark shirt. The no-longer-mysterious golden Labrador lay at his feet.

He tucked a lock of shoulder-length hair behind one ear. “
Gut?
” he asked.

“What?” she croaked, transfixed by his black eyes.

“
Gut?
” He gestured with his head toward the corners of the large cabin.

“
Jah, gut
, very nice. I must be going now.” Catherine set his lunch bag on the table, and strode past him out the door, practically jumping over the dog. She ran around the cabin on the narrow band of yard next to the river, where she found the
kinner
. Jake sat in a tree swing while Laura pushed him from behind.

“There you are!” She swept the boy up in her arms, grabbed Laura’s hand, and didn’t stop running until she almost reached the apple orchard. She ignored their questions as to what was wrong and why were they hurrying so fast.

Because Catherine Yost didn’t have a clue.

A
bby had curled up on her bed after lunch with her Bible. Today she was reading out of the book of Joshua. After Moses died, the Lord told Moses’ servant Joshua that he should lead the Israelites across the Jordan River into the Promised Land. Great battles were fought and the conquered territories divided up between the twelve tribes. God told Joshua’s army to march around the fortified town of Jericho for six days. On the seventh day, they marched around the walled city seven times, and then the priest blew a loud horn and the people began to shout. Suddenly, the walls of Jericho fell to the ground and Joshua’s army stormed in and destroyed the city. No one was spared except a prostitute who had helped Joshua’s spies.

Frankly, Abby didn’t enjoy reading about wars and bloody battles, but the amazing power of the Lord revitalized her spirits. She loved learning about the ancient cities of refuge, created for those who had killed someone unintentionally. The accused person would be protected from those out for revenge until their trial.
How much simpler life was when God spoke to His people directly
, she thought.

“Abby,” a voice called. “Your attorney is here to see you.”

She glanced up to see Deputy Todd standing in her doorway. She’d been so engrossed in reading that she hadn’t heard the cell door open.

“Thank you, Deputy.” Setting down her Bible, she hurried into the common area, where most of the women spent their days. Her lawyer, a young man with blond hair and pale skin, stood as she approached the table.

“Hello, Mrs. Graber. How are you doing?”

Abby bit back her initial retort. “Very well, thank you, Mr. Blake. How’s the weather? Humid today?”

“Yes. That rain last night didn’t cool things off one bit.”

It rained last night? Has the dry spell finally broken or will Daniel’s corn shrivel on the stalks, stunted from lack of water?
She shook off thoughts of home and focused on the man with a folder of papers before him.

Mr. Blake cleared his throat. “The grand jury met yesterday and indicted you for practicing medicine without a license—a fifth-degree felony. That charge we were expecting.” He peered at her through thick-lensed glasses. “They also charged you with possession of a dangerous drug. That one I was hoping to avoid.”

“Dangerous drug? Pitocin isn’t a dangerous drug. It slows down bleeding until the woman can get to a hospital.”

“Yes, I agree, but the grand jury doesn’t because Pitocin requires a doctor’s prescription to obtain and a medical license to administer.”

Abby stared at her hands. “I know I shouldn’t have had it.”

“Regarding the other two charges, ‘practicing midwifery,’ is a misdemeanor and shouldn’t give us much trouble. And after reviewing statements from the EMTs and the medical examiner’s report, the county prosecutor decided to drop the charge of involuntary manslaughter.” He grinned with pleasure. “That is
very
good news. Apparently, nothing in the evidence indicated you were responsible for the woman’s death.”

“Mrs. Ruth Fisher,” said Abby.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked while shuffling through his papers.

“Her name was Ruth Fisher.”

He glanced up. “Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Ruth Fisher. I didn’t mean to sound callous.” He extracted the sheet he’d been searching for. “Now, for the bad news. The two felonies carry minimum sentences of one year on the first charge and eighteen months on the second. If you are convicted—and, based on your signed statements made in the sheriff’s office, that’s highly likely—you could face two and a half years in prison if they run consecutively.” He tugged on the cuffs of his shirtsleeves beneath his coat.

Two and a half years away from my family? Away from the little ones whose lives change in countless ways every day? And apart from Daniel, who I have pledged to love, honor, and obey? How can he manage that long without his wife?

She shook off the idea like a chill from an open window. “Two and a half years, Mr. Blake? I can’t be gone from my family that long.” Her voice was barely a whisper over the nearby television set.

“I understand. And your sentence wouldn’t be served here in Wooster. You would be sent to a women’s correctional facility in the western part of the state. Too far to go by horse and buggy,” he added unnecessarily.

Abby felt sick to her stomach. She gripped the table for support as the whole room swam before her eyes for several seconds.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Graber? Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine,” she lied. She wasn’t fine. She’d never felt so afraid in all her life. Laura would be almost nine and Jake nearly seven by the time she got out of jail. A common criminal—that’s all she was. She would be treated like an outcast if not outright shunned by her district. Tears filled her eyes but she forced them back.
Inmates in the Wooster jail do not sit around crying
.

“That’s the worst-case scenario—the one we’re trying to avoid. I don’t wish to scare you, Mrs. Graber, but you must understand what we’re up against.”

She blinked several times. “I won’t stand up in court and lie, Mr. Blake, if that’s what you mean. I won’t say I didn’t give that shot when I did.”

“No, no, I understand that. But the jury will be curious as to where an Amish lady without a car or easy access to a pharmacy came by a syringe of Pitocin. I’m advising you to cooperate with the judge and the prosecutor in this case. And I don’t always tell my clients that,” he said rather smugly. “But you should do exactly that. Tell the truth when the judge starts asking you questions at your pretrial hearing.” He tucked the papers back into her file folder. “Just answer his questions and things will go much better for you.”

He glanced around at the other inmates. “How are you doing in here? Are any of the ladies giving you trouble?” He focused on one particular woman who looked to be in a permanent bad mood.

“No, everybody’s been nice enough. Some ask rather nosy questions, but most
Englischers
are like that.” Abby realized the rudeness of her words the moment they left her mouth. “Excuse me, Mr. Blake. That was an awful thing to say. Here I am complaining about rude behavior by others, and I say something like that.”