Abigail's New Hope (9 page)

“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.