Abigail's New Hope (24 page)

After showering and pinning her hair beneath her
kapp
, she left the cell common area flanked by two deputies. They didn’t handcuff or bind her wrists, yet nevertheless she felt oddly constrained. Even her steps mimicked someone whose ankles had been shackled. At least the court appearance didn’t require a long, jarring car ride. The Wayne County Justice Center housed both jail cells and courtrooms. On the night of her arrest, she’d become nauseated in the backseat of the sheriff’s cruiser.

Mr. Blake, a fresh-faced, shiny penny of a man on this hot July day, sat with her in the hallway. He repeated his warnings of potential consequences if she didn’t comply with the judge’s requests. However, as they waited Abby’s mind drifted back to summer afternoons picking raspberries with Laura and then making gooey cobblers and pies. She remembered other warm days when she would take them swimming in the creek. Once Jake had caught a crayfish and kept it all summer as a pet. Laura helped him to collect dead flies trapped behind the barn windows to feed the critter.

“They have called us, Mrs. Graber. Are you ready?” Mr. Blake broke her reminiscence with a tight grip on her elbow.

She shivered, either from the air-conditioning or from apprehension of what was to come. “As ready as I ever will be,” she said, staggering to her feet. They entered the courtroom and headed toward the polished wooden tables and the railing that separated those whose lives hung in the balance from those who had come to watch. She spotted the woman who typed into a machine and the same gray-haired judge, whose mood hadn’t improved since her previous visit, if his scowl was any indication.

After being seated, Abby scanned the crowd in the packed courtroom. A knot of pain tightened in her chest when she found Daniel, her beloved
ehemann
. She yearned to reassure him that God would make this and all things right again in His own perfect timetable, but how could she? How could she tell him she wasn’t afraid, knowing what she must do? Forcing a smile, she lifted her hand in a wave. Daniel waved back, looking haggard. Then Judge William O’Neil spoke and Abby’s legs turned weak and rubbery.

“Please stand, Mrs. Graber.”

Abby complied with Mr. Blake at her side. Hearing murmurs behind her, she focused her attention on the man who held her earthly fate in his hands. The judge flipped through and scanned the papers before him while she waited for what seemed like an eternity.

“These are very serious charges against you. Has your attorney explained them adequately so that you understand these proceedings?” he asked.

She nodded. Her tongue felt as though it was glued to the roof of her mouth.

“You must speak in my courtroom, Mrs. Graber. A nod of the head will not suffice for my court reporter.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“I see you have been a guest of the county for a couple of weeks now, despite your attorney successfully petitioning the court for a reduction in your bail to a fraction of the original amount.” He peered at her over the glasses resting on his nose.

“Yes. Thank you,” she answered, uncertain of the correct response.

“What I’m curious about is
why
you’re still here.” He leafed through the folder again and sighed. “Does it run contrary to Amish laws or customs to raise money against the equity in one’s property?”

Abby looked into the man’s eyes while her hands turned clammy. He studied her like a bug under a magnifying glass. “Yes, sir. I believe it does. It’s left up to the district leaders because…this seldom happens to people in my community.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t. But the reality of the matter is that although the Amish live by their own rules, you’re still in the state of Ohio and subject to our laws also. I’m well aware that local midwives have operated outside the legal system for years—flying beneath the radar—primarily because the Amish don’t carry health insurance. I might be an advocate for freedom of choice, but certain lines cannot and will not be crossed. Dispensing medications is one of those lines. You cannot interpret the law to fit your particular situation.”

“Your Honor, Mrs. Fisher wasn’t my client’s patient. Mrs. Graber was functioning in a humanitarian…”

“Save it for the trial, Mr. Blake,” the judge interrupted. “Today I’m not interested in what extenuating circumstances prompted your client’s actions.” He glared at Abby, not the lawyer. “But I’ll tell you what I am interested in. The grand jury would like to know where you obtained that syringe of…Pitocin.” His gaze drifted to the paper in his hand. “It’s not as though you can drive your buggy to the local drug store and pick some up. It’s a controlled substance available only by prescription.”

Abby felt the weakness in her legs spread throughout her body. She feared she might crumple into a ball if she didn’t do something. Clearing her throat, she spoke in a calm voice. “No, Your Honor, I did not purchase the medicine. It was a gift.” She focused on the American flag instead of his stern face.

“A
gift
?” He frowned at her word choice, and then he shook his head. “Because I do not consider you a flight risk, and because you are a mother of two young children with strong ties to your community, I may be inclined to release you on your own recognizance until the trial date on one condition.” He set the paper back on the pile. “I want the name of the individual who gave you that drug. I won’t have medical personnel in this county breaking the law besides the ethical standards of their profession.” He waited a few moments and then added, “You could go home to await your trial.”

He uttered the words she had longed to hear since her arrest.
I could go home today with Daniel, to my
kinner
and my house, back to my world
. She could sleep in her own bed, wash with soap that smelled of fruit instead of disinfectant, and wake up in the fresh country air of her farm. Tears rushed to her eyes while Judge O’Neil tapped the papers into a stack and returned them to the folder.

Abby hung her head, staring at the floor. “I cannot say, Your Honor.”

“
What?
Speak up, Mrs. Graber.”

Despite her tears, she lifted her head and met the gaze on the learned man of the law. “I cannot tell you who supplied the medicine.”

A voice from somewhere behind her spoke a single plaintive word: “No!”

Abby knew exactly whom that voice belonged to.

“You cannot or you will not?” The judge’s voice rose with indignation.

“I will not. My life has been ruined by my misjudgment. I won’t ruin another life too.” Without a handkerchief, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

“This court hereby orders you to release that name. Do not compound your problems by sheltering another criminal. Whoever supplied the drug was well aware that they were breaking the law.”

“She did so on good faith, despite her personal reservations.”

“
She
showed good faith? I don’t think so, not if she ever witnessed what improperly administered pharmaceuticals can do in inexperienced hands. The wrong dosage of a lifesaving drug can kill a person. And a medical professional would know that.”

Abby bit the inside of her jaw, mortified that she had revealed the nurse-midwife’s gender
. I’m not good at answering questions without time to consider or pray on the matter
.

“Mrs. Graber, I could hold you in contempt of court and throw you in jail for thirty days. But as you’re already incarcerated, I don’t see what good that would do.” He shook his head with resignation.

The courtroom crowd had grown restless; their chatter had steadily increased. “Order in the court!” He banged his gavel. Abby flinched from the sharp noise.

“Should you change your mind about testifying before the grand jury, contact your attorney. I shall set your trial for the earliest available date on the docket. We might as well get this over with, no?”

She nodded despite his request for audible replies and watched her chance to be restored to her family slip away, feeling powerless to do anything about it. Another rap of his gravel—this one a half-hearted tap—set off the start of a headache. The deputy clutched her upper arm, indicating it was time to go. Her day in court was over. Now other criminals would take their turns before Judge O’Neil’s bench. Oddly, she felt no animosity for the man. He had a difficult job to do. Upholding English law couldn’t be easy.

Turning, Abby caught sight of Daniel’s face as she left the courtroom. And the sight would stay with her for weeks, if not for the rest of her life. His eyes looked moist and sorrowful, but his lips had thinned to a hard line. He was angry, hurt, and confused.

How could I disobey a direct order from the English judge?
Haven’t I been taught to obey the laws of the land?

How could I place an English nurse-midwife before my
ehemann
and
kinner
?
Haven’t I taken an oath to obey my husband and believe that he, not I, is the head of the family?

She would write to him when she returned to her cell to ask for forgiveness and understanding. She loved Daniel with every fiber of her being. He deserved a wife worthy of his tender devotion, not a willful sinner who acted impetuously without consideration of the consequences.

On the long walk back to her cell, through drafty corridors, elevators, and many locked doors, she considered the person who hadn’t been in the courtroom today—her
daed
. He could have appeared in support as either her father or her bishop, yet his absence spoke volumes to the once-favored daughter—the practical, dutiful, solemn Abigail Yost. Now Abigail Graber had become a pariah, an embarrassment to the man who had taught her to fly a kite and catch tadpoles in a jar. Maybe her district would choose to shun her, making her an outcast even after her years in jail were finished. Maybe even Daniel would turn cold to her. Although the Amish didn’t divorce, a shunned wife would receive only the barest necessities from a spouse. Could she live without his love?

As Abby reentered her cell, words from Scripture came to mind:
I will never leave you, nor will I forsake you. We will be together until the end of time
. If a woman has God the Father and His Son, Jesus, what else could she possibly need?

Nathan drummed his fingertips on the table, waiting like a condemned man for the executioner. His aunt had wasted no time in calling the social worker. She must have made the call as soon as she arrived in town and had reached the woman immediately. No answering machines or messages left with family members that could easily go astray had stood between Iris and the grief therapy counselor. Mrs. Daly had been delighted to hear from the Fishers, according to Aunt Iris. And she’d promptly volunteered to pick him up for the next session, which just happened to be today.
Why couldn’t the meeting be the following week or sometime next month? Am I ready to spill my guts in front of strangers?

Nathan didn’t think so.

It wasn’t as though he doubted the usefulness of such sessions…for
Englischers
. Most of them and some Amish women liked to talk. They could blab about any subject all day long until the air in their lungs ran out. But he and Ruth had always been folks of few words. He remembered when they had been courting. He had driven her home after a singing for the fourth time that summer. He’d pulled down a farm lane off the county road so they could marvel at a night sky filled with stars. The moon shone so bright it nearly hurt their eyes. A breeze from the west carried a chill, heralding autumn.

Ruth had scooted closer on the bench for warmth, and he’d draped his
mamm
’s old quilt across her knees. She nodded but had kept her gaze on that moon. Beneath the patchwork he found her fingers, and with a thrill, he wrapped his hand around hers. She neither pulled her hand back nor admonished him for his boldness. When her tiny smile grew into a full-fledged grin, he
knew
. She was the one for him, and he for her.