SEVENTEEN

Plain Truth

B y the time Katie ran up the driveway, a stitch in her side, the men were doing the milking. She could hear the sounds coming from the barn and she found herself drawn to them. Around the edge of the wide door she could see Levi pushing a wheelbarrow; Samuel stooping to attach the pump to the udders of one of the cows. A suck, a tug, and the thin white fluid began to move through the hose that led to the milk can.

Katie clapped her hand over her mouth and ran to the side of the barn, where she threw up until there was nothing left in her stomach.

She could hear Ellie calling out as she limped her way up the drive. Ellie couldn't run as fast as she could, and Katie had shamelessly used that advantage to escape.

Slinking along the side of the barn, Katie edged toward the nubby, harvested fields. They were not much use for camouflage now, but they would put distance between her and Ellie. Lifting her skirts, she ran to the pond and hid behind the big oak.

Katie held out her hand, examining her fingers and her wrist. Where was it now, this bacteria? Was there any left in her, or had she passed it all on to her baby?

She closed her eyes against the image of her newborn son, lying between her legs and crying for all he was worth. Even then, she'd known something was wrong. She hadn't wanted to say it out loud, but she had seen his whole chest and belly work with the effort to draw in air.

But she hadn't been able to do anything about it, just like she hadn't been able to keep Hannah from going under, or Jacob from being sent away, or Adam from leaving.

Katie looked at the sky, etched with sharp detail around the naked branches of the oak. And she understood that these tragedies would keep coming until she confessed.

Ellie had defended guilty clients, even several who had patently lied to her, but somehow she could not recall ever feeling so betrayed. She fumed up the drive, furious at Katie for her deception, at Leda for leaving them three miles away, at her own sorry physical shape that left her breathless after a short jog.

This is not personal, she reminded herself. This is strictly business.

She found Katie at the pond. "You want to tell me what you meant back there?" Ellie asked, bending down and breathing hard.

"You heard me," Katie said sullenly.

"Tell me why you killed the baby, Katie."

She shook her head. "I don't want to make excuses anymore. I just want to tell the jury what I told you, so this can be over."

"Tell the jury?" Ellie sputtered. "Over my dead body."

"No," Katie said, paling. "You have to let me."

"There is no way in hell that I'm going to let you get up on that stand and tell the court you killed your baby."

"You were willing to let me testify before!"

"Amazingly enough, your story was different then. You said you wanted to tell the truth, to tell everyone you didn't commit murder. It's one thing for me to put you on as a witness if you don't contradict everything else my strategy has built up; it's another thing entirely to put you on so that you can commit legal suicide."

"Ellie," Katie said desperately. "I have to confess."

"This is not your church!" Ellie cried. "How many times do you need to hear that? We're not talking six weeks of suspension, here. We're talking years. A lifetime, maybe. In prison." She bit down on her anger and took a deep breath. "It was one thing to let the jury see you, listen to your grief. To hear you say you were innocent. But what you told me just now …" Her voice trailed off; she looked away. "To let you take the stand would be professionally irresponsible."

"They can still see me and hear me and listen to my grief."

"Yeah, all of which goes down the toilet when I ask you if you killed the baby."

"Then don't ask me that question."

"If I don't, George will. And once you get on the stand, you can't lie." Ellie sighed. "You can't lie-and you can't say outright that you killed that baby, either, or you've sealed your conviction."

Katie looked down at her feet. "Jacob told me that if I wanted to talk in court, you couldn't stop me."

"I can get you acquitted without your testimony. Please, Katie. Don't do this to yourself."

Katie turned to her with absolute calm. "I will be a witness tomorrow. You may not like it, but that's what I want."

"Who do you want to forgive you?" Ellie exploded. "A jury? The judge? Because they won't. They'll just see you as a monster."

"You don't, do you?"

Ellie shook her head, unable to answer.

"What is it?" Katie pressed. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"That it's one thing to lie to your lawyer, but it's another to lie to your friend." Ellie got to her feet and dusted off her skirt. "I'll write up a disclaimer for you to sign, that says I advised you against this course of action," she said coolly, and walked away.

"I don't believe it," Coop said, bringing together the corners of the quilt that he was folding with Ellie. It was a wedding ring pattern, the irony of which had not escaped him. Several other quilts, newly washed, flapped on clotheslines strung between trees, huge kaleidoscopic patterns of color against a darkening sky.

Ellie walked toward him, handing him the opposite ends of the quilt. "Believe it."

"Katie's not capable of murder."

She took the bundle from his arms and vigorously halved it into a bulky square. "Apparently, you're wrong."

"I know her, Ellie. She's my client."

"Yeah, and my roommate. Go figure."

Coop reached for the clothespins securing the second quilt. "How did she do it?"

"I didn't ask."

This surprised Coop. "You didn't?"

Ellie's fingers trailed over her abdomen. "I couldn't," she said, then briskly turned away.

In that moment, Coop wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms. "The only explanation is that she's lying."

"Haven't you been listening to me in court?" Ellie's lips twisted. "The Amish don't lie."

Coop ignored her. "She's lying in order to be punished. For whatever reason, that's what she needs psychologically."

"Sure, if you call life in prison therapeutic." Ellie jerked up the opposite end of the fabric. "She's not lying, Coop. I've probably seen as many liars as you have, in my line of work. Katie looked me in the eye and she told me she killed her baby. She meant it." With abrupt movements, she yanked the quilt from Coop and folded it again, then slapped it on top of the first one. "Katie Fisher is going down, and she's taking the rest of us with her."

"If she's signed the disclaimer, you can't be held responsible."

"Oh, no, of course not. It's just my name and my accountability being trashed along with her case."

"No matter what her reasoning, I doubt very much that Katie's doing this right now in order to spite you."

"It doesn't matter why, Coop. She's going to get up there and make a public confession, and the jury won't give a damn about the rationale behind it. They'll convict her quicker than she can say ‘I did it.'"

"Are you angry because she's ruining your case, or because you didn't see this coming?"

"I'm not angry. If she wants to throw her life away, it's no skin off my back." Ellie grabbed for the quilt that Coop was holding but fumbled, so that it landed in a heap in the dirt. "Dammit! Do you know how long it takes to wash these things? Do you?" She sank to the ground, the quilt a cloud behind her, and buried her face in her hands.

Coop wondered how a woman so willow-thin and delicate could bear the weight of someone else's salvation on her shoulders. He sat beside Ellie and gathered her close, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. "I could have saved her," she whispered.

"I know, sweetheart. But maybe she wanted to save herself."

"Hell of a way to go about it."

"You're thinking like a lawyer again." Coop tapped her temple. "If you're afraid of everyone leaving you, what do you do?"

"Make them stay."

"And if you can't do that, or don't know how to?"

Ellie shrugged. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. In fact, you've done it. You leave first," Coop said, "so you don't have to watch them walk away."

When Katie was little, she used to love when it rained, when she could skip out to the end of the driveway where the puddles, with their faint sheen of oil, turned into rainbows. The sky looked like that now, a royal purple marbled with orange and red and silver, like the gown of a fairytale queen. It settled over all these Plain folks' farms; each piece of land butting up against something lush and rich that seemed to go on forever.

She stood on the porch in the twilight, waiting. When the hum of a car's engine came from the west, she felt her heart creep up her throat, felt every muscle in her body strain forward to see if the vehicle would turn up the driveway. But seconds later, through the trees, the taillights ribboned by.

"He isn't coming."

Katie whirled at the sound of the voice, followed by the heavy thumps of boots on the porch steps. "Who?"

Samuel swallowed. "Ach, Katie. Are you gonna make me say his name, too?"

Katie rubbed her hands up and down her arms and faced the road again.

"He went into Philadelphia. He'll be back tomorrow, for the trial."

"You came to tell me this?"

"No," Samuel answered. "I came to take you for a walk."

She lowered her gaze. "I don't figure I'd be very good company right now."

He shrugged when Katie didn't answer. "Well, I'm going, anyway," Samuel said, and started down from the porch.

"Wait!" Katie cried, and she hurried to fall into step beside him.

They walked to a symphony of wind racing through trees and birds lighting on branches, of owls calling to mice and dew silvering the webs of spiders. Samuel's long strides made Katie nearly run to keep up. "Where are we going?" she asked after several minutes, when they had just reached the small grove of apple trees.

He stopped abruptly and looked around. "I have no idea."

That made Katie grin, and Samuel smiled too, and then they were both laughing. Samuel sat, bracing his elbows on his knees, and Katie sank down beside him, her skirts rustling over the fallen leaves. Empire apples, bright as rubies, brushed the top of Katie's kapp and Samuel's brimmed hat. He thought suddenly of how Katie had once peeled an apple in one long string at a barn raising, had tossed the skin over her shoulder like the old wive's tale said to see who she would marry; how all their friends and family had laughed to see it land in the shape of the letter S.

Suddenly the silence was thick and heavy on Samuel's shoulders. "You've sure got a good harvest here," he said, removing his hat. "Lot of applesauce to be put up."

"It'll keep my mother busy, that's for certain."

"And you?" he joked. "You'll be in the barn with us, I suppose?"

"I don't know where I'll be." Katie looked up at him, and cleared her throat. "Samuel, there's something I have to tell you-"

He pressed his fingers against her mouth, her soft mouth, and let himself pretend for just a moment that this could have been a kiss. "No talking."

Katie nodded and looked into her lap.

"It's near November. Mary Esch, she's got a lot of celery growing," Samuel said.

Katie's heart fell. The talk of November-the wedding month-and celery, which was used in most of the dishes at the wedding dinner, was too much to bear. She'd known about Mary and Samuel's kiss, but no one had said anything more to her in the time that had passed. It was Samuel's business, after all, and he had every right to go on with his life. To get married, next month, to Mary Esch.

"She's gonna marry Owen King, sure as the sunrise," Samuel continued.

Katie blinked at him. "She's not going to marry you?"

"I don't think the girl I want to marry is gonna look kindly on that." Samuel blushed and glanced into his lap. "You won't, will you?"

For a moment, Katie imagined that her life was like any other young Amish woman's; that her world had not gone so off course that this sweet proposition was unthinkable. "Samuel," she said, her voice wavering, "I can't make you a promise now."

He shook his head, but didn't lift his gaze. "If it's not this November, it'll be next November. Or the November after that."

"If I go away, it'll be forever."

"You never know. Take me, for example." Samuel traced his finger along the brim of his hat, a perfect black circle. "There I was, so sure I was leaving you for good … and it turns out all that time I was just heading back to where I started." He squeezed her hand. "You will think about it?"

"Yes," Katie said. "I will."

It was after midnight when Ellie silently crept upstairs to the bedroom. Katie was sleeping on her side, a band of moonlight sawing her into two like a magician's assistant. Ellie quietly dragged the quilt into her arms, then tiptoed toward the door.

"What are you doing?"

She turned to face Katie. "Sleeping on the couch."

Katie sat up, the covers falling away from her simple white nightgown. "You don't have to do that."

"I know."

"It's bad for the baby."

A muscle tightened along the column of Ellie's throat. "Don't you tell me what's bad for my baby," she said. "You have no right." She turned on her heel and walked down the stairs, hugging the bedding to her chest as if it were an armored shield, as if it were not too late to safeguard her heart.

Ellie stood in the judge's chambers, surveying the legal tracts and the woodwork, the thick carpet on the floor-anything but Judge Ledbetter herself, scanning the disclaimer that she'd just been given.

"Ms. Hathaway," she said after a moment. "What's going on?"

"My client insists on taking the stand, although I've advised her against it."

The judge stared at Ellie, as if she might be able to discern from her blank countenance the entire upheaval that had occurred last night. "Is there a particular reason you advised her against it?"

"I believe that will make itself evident," Ellie said.

George, looking suitably delighted, stood a little straighter.

"All right, then," the judge sighed. "Let's get this over with."

You could not grow up Amish without knowing that eyes had weight, that stares had substance, that they could sometimes feel like a breath at your shoulder and other times like a spear right through your spine; but usually in Lancaster the glances came one on one-a tourist craning his neck to see her better, a child blinking up at her in the convenience store. Sitting on the witness stand, Katie felt paralyzed by the eyes boring into her. A hundred people were gawking at once, and why shouldn't they? It was not every day a Plain person confessed to murder.

She wiped her sweating palms on her apron and waited for Ellie to start asking her questions. She had hoped that when they came to this moment, Ellie would make it easier-maybe Katie would even have been able to pretend it was just the two of them, having a talk down by the pond. But Ellie had barely spoken a word to her all morning. She'd been sick in the bathroom, had a cup of chamomile tea, and told Katie it was time to go without ever meeting her gaze. No, Ellie would be giving her no quarter today.

Ellie buttoned her suit jacket and stood up. "Katie," she said gently, "do you know why you're here today?"

Katie blinked. Her voice, her question-it was tender, full of sympathy. Relief washed over her, she started to smile-and then she looked into Ellie's eyes. They were just as hard and angry as they had been the night before. This compassion-it was all part of an act. Even now, Ellie was only trying to get her acquitted.

Katie took a deep breath. "People think I killed my baby."

"How does that make you feel?"

Once again, she saw that tiny comma of a body lying between her legs, slick with her own blood. "Bad," she whispered.

"You know that the evidence against you is strong."

With a glance at the jury, Katie nodded. "I've been trying to follow what's been said. I'm not sure I understand it all."

"What don't you understand?"

"The way you English do things is very different than what I'm used to."

"How so?"

She thought about this for a minute. The confession, that was the same, or she wouldn't be sitting up here now. But the English judged a person so that they'd be justified in casting her out. The Amish judged a person so that they'd be justified in welcoming her back. "Where I'm from, if someone is accused of sinning, it's not so that others can place blame. It's so that the person can make amends and move on."

"Did you sin when you conceived your child?"

Instinctively, Katie adopted a humble demeanor. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I wasn't married."

"Did you love the man?"

From beneath lowered lashes, Katie scanned the gallery to find Adam. He was sitting on the edge of his seat with his head bowed, as if this was his confession as well. "Very much," Katie murmured.

"Were you accused of that sin by your community?"

"Yes. The deacon and the bishop, they came and asked me to make a kneeling confession at church."

"After you confessed to conceiving a child out of wedlock, what happened?"

"I was put in the bann for a time, to think about what I'd done. After six weeks, I went back and promised to work with the church." She smiled. "They took me back."

"Katie, did the deacon and minister ask you to confess to killing your child?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Katie folded her hands in her lap. "That charge wasn't laid against me."

"So the people in your own community did not believe you guilty of the sin of murder?" Katie shrugged. "I need a verbal response," Ellie said.

"No, they didn't."

Ellie walked back to the defense table, her heels clicking on the parquet floor. "Do you remember what happened the night you gave birth, Katie?"

"Bits and pieces. It comes back a little at a time."

"Why is that?"

"Dr. Cooper says it's because my mind can't take too much too soon." She worried her bottom lip. "I kind of shut down after it happened."

"After what happened?"

"After the baby came."

Ellie nodded. "We've heard from a number of different people, but I think the jury would like to hear you tell us about that night. Did you know you were pregnant?"

Katie suddenly felt herself tumble backward in her mind, until she could feel beneath her palms the hard, small swell of the baby inside. "I couldn't believe I was," she said softly. "I didn't believe it, until I had to move the pins on my apron because I was getting bigger."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"No. I pushed it out of my head, and concentrated on other things."

"Why?"

"I was scared. I didn't want my parents to know what had happened." She took a deep breath. "I prayed that maybe I'd guessed wrong."

"Do you remember delivering the baby?"

Katie cradled her hands around her abdomen, reliving the burning pains that burst from her back to her belly. "Some of it," she said. "The pain, and the way the hay pricked the skin on my back … but there are blocks of time I can't picture anything at all."

"How did you feel at the time?"

"Scared," she whispered. "Real scared."

"Do you remember the baby?" Ellie asked.

This was the part she knew so well, it might have been engraved on the backs of her eyelids. That small, sweet body, not much bigger than her own hand, kicking and coughing and reaching out for her. "He was beautiful. I picked him up. Held him. I rubbed his back. He had … the tiniest bones inside. His heart, it beat against my hand."

"What were you planning to do with him?"

"I don't know. I would have taken him to my mother, I guess; found something to wrap him in and keep him warm … but I fell asleep before I could."

"You passed out."

"Ja."

"Were you still holding the baby?"

"Oh, yes," Katie said.

"What happened after that?"

"I woke up. And the baby was gone."

Ellie raised her brows. "Gone? What did you think?"

Katie wrung her hands together. "That this had been a dream," she admitted.

"Was there evidence to the contrary?"

"There was blood on my nightgown, and a little in the hay."

"What did you do?"

"I went to the pond and washed off," Katie said. "Then I went back to my room."

"Why didn't you wake anyone up, or go to a doctor, or try to find that baby?"

Her eyes brightened with tears. "I don't know. I should have. I know that now."

"When you woke up the next morning, what happened?"

She wiped her hand across her eyes. "It was like nothing had changed," she said brokenly. "If everyone had looked a little different; if I'd felt poorly, maybe I wouldn't have …" Her voice trailed off, and she looked away. "I thought that maybe I'd made it all up, that nothing had happened to me. I wanted to believe that, because then I wouldn't have to wonder about where the baby was."

"Did you know where the baby was?"

"No."

"You don't remember taking it anywhere?"

"No."

"You don't remember waking up with the baby in your arms at any time?"

"No. After I woke up, he was already gone."

Ellie nodded. "Did you plan to get rid of the baby?"

"No."

"Did you want to get rid of the baby?"

"Not once I'd seen him," Katie said softly.

Ellie was now standing only a foot away. Katie waited for her question, waited to speak the words she had come here to say. But with a nearly imperceptible shake of her head, Ellie turned to the jury. "Thank you," she said. "Nothing further."

Frankly, George was baffled. He'd expected more flashes of brilliance from Ellie Hathaway in a direct examination of her client, but she hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. More importantly, neither had the witness. Katie Fisher had said what anyone would expect her to say-none of which added up to Ellie's disclaimer in chambers this morning.

He smiled at Katie. "Good morning, Ms. Fisher."

"You can call me Katie."

"Katie, then. Let's pick up where you just left off. You fell asleep holding the baby, and when you woke up, he was gone. You were the only eyewitness that night. So tell us-what happened to that baby?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, a tear leaking from one corner. "I killed him."

George stopped in his tracks. The gallery erupted in confusion, and the judge rapped her gavel for quiet. Turning to Ellie, George lifted his palms in question. She was sitting at the defense table, looking almost bored, and he realized this had not been a surprise to her. Meeting his gaze, she shrugged.

"You killed your baby?"

"Yes," she murmured.

He stared at the girl on the stand, looking powerfully beaten as she curled into herself in misery. "How did you do it?"

Katie shook her head.

"You must answer the question."

She clenched her hands around her middle. "I just want to make my things right."

"Hang on now. You just confessed to killing your baby. Now I'm asking you to tell us how you killed him."

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I can't."

George turned to Judge Ledbetter. "Approach?"

The judge nodded, and Ellie walked up beside him to the bench. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

"Ms. Hathaway?"

Ellie raised a brow. "Ever hear of the Fifth Amendment, George?"

"It's a little late," the prosecutor said. "She's already incriminated herself."

"Not necessarily," Ellie said coolly, although she and George both realized she was lying through her teeth.

"Mr. Callahan, you know very well that the witness can take the Fifth whenever she chooses." The judge turned to Ellie. "However, she needs to ask for it by name."

Ellie glanced at Katie. "She doesn't know what it's called, Your Honor. She just knows she doesn't want to say anything else about this."

"Your Honor, Ms. Hathaway can't speak for the witness. If I don't hear the defendant officially plead the Fifth, I'm not buying it."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "May I have a moment with my client?" She walked to the witness stand. Katie was shaking like a leaf, and with no small degree of shame Ellie realized that was partly because she expected a tirade. "Katie," she said quietly. "If you don't want to talk about the crime, all you have to do is say in English, ‘I take the Fifth.'"

"What does that mean?"

"It's part of the Constitution. It means you have the right to remain silent, even though you're on the stand, so that your words can't be used against you. Understand?"

Katie nodded, and Ellie walked back to the defense table to sit down.

"Please tell us how you killed your baby," George repeated.

Katie darted a glance at Ellie. "I take the Fifth," she said haltingly.

"What a surprise," George muttered. "All right, then. Let's go back to the beginning. You lied to your father so that you could see your brother at college. You did this from the time you were twelve?"

"Yes."

"And you're eighteen now."

"Yes, I am."

"In six years' time did your father ever find out you were visiting your brother?"

"No."

"You would have just kept lying, wouldn't you?"

"I didn't lie," Katie said. "He never asked."

"In six years, he never asked how your weekend with your aunt went?"

"My father doesn't speak of my aunt."

"How lucky. Then, you lied to your brother about sleeping with his roommate?"

"He-"

"No, let me guess. He never asked, right?"

Confused, Katie shook her head. "No, he didn't."

"You never told Adam Sinclair he'd fathered a child?"

"He'd gone overseas."

"You never told your mother about your pregnancy, or anyone else for that matter?"

"No."

"And when the police came the morning after you gave birth, you lied to them as well."

"I wasn't sure it had actually happened," Katie said, her voice small.

"Oh, please. You're eighteen years old. You'd had sex. You knew you were pregnant, even if you didn't want to admit it. You've seen countless women in your community have babies. Are you trying to tell me you didn't know what had happened to you that night?"

Katie was crying silently again. "I can't explain how my head was, except that it wasn't working like normal. I didn't know what was real and what wasn't. I didn't want to believe that it might not have been a dream." She twisted the edge of her apron in her fists. "I know I've done something wrong. I know that it's time for me to take responsibility for what happened."

George leaned so close his words fell into her lap. "Then tell us how you did it."

"I can't talk about it."

"Ah. That's right. Just like you figured that if you didn't talk about your pregnancy, it would disappear. And like you didn't tell people you murdered your baby, assuming they'd never find out. But that's not the way things work, is it, Katie? Even if you don't tell us how you killed your baby, he's still dead, isn't he?"

"Objection," Ellie called out. "He's badgering the witness."

Katie hunched in the chair, sobbing openly. George's eyes flickered over her once; then he turned dismissively. "Withdrawn. I'm through here."

Judge Ledbetter sighed. "Let's take fifteen. Ms. Hathaway, why don't you take your client somewhere to compose herself?"

"Of course," Ellie said, wondering how to help Katie pull herself together when she herself was falling apart.

The conference room was dark and dingy, with nonfunctioning fluorescent bulbs that spit and hissed and emitted no viable source of light. Ellie sat at an ugly wooden table, tracing a coffee stain that was likely as old as Katie. As for her client, she was standing near the chalkboard in the front of the room, weeping.

"I'd like to have some sympathy for you, Katie, but you asked for this." Ellie pushed away from the table and turned her back. Maybe if she didn't look at Katie, the sobs wouldn't be quite so loud. Or upsetting.

"I wanted it to be over," Katie stammered, her face swollen and red. "But it wasn't like I expected."

"Oh, no? What were you expecting-some movie-of-the-week where you break down and the jury breaks down right along with you?"

"I just wanted to be forgiven."

"Well, it doesn't look like that's going to happen right now. You just kissed your freedom good-bye, sweetheart. Forget about forgiveness from your church. Forget about seeing your parents, or having a relationship with Adam."

"Samuel asked me to marry him," Katie whispered miserably.

Ellie snorted. "You might want to let him know that conjugal visits are hard to come by in the state correctional facility."

"I don't want conjugal visits. I don't want to have another baby. What if I-" Katie broke off suddenly and turned away.

"What if you what?" Ellie shot back. "Smother it in a moment of weakness?"

"No!" Katie's eyes filled with tears again. "It's that disease, that bacteria. What if it's still in me? What if I give it to all of my babies?"

Above Ellie's head, the bulb fizzed and popped. She slowly stared at Katie, from her obvious remorse to the way her fingers now clutched at the thick fabric of her bodice, as if this illness was something that might be scratched out of her. She thought of how Katie had once told her that you confessed to whatever the deacon charged you with. She thought of how a girl used to having others accuse her of sinning might hear the pathologist's testimony and take the blame for something that was, in truth, an accident.

She looked at Katie, and saw the way her mind worked.

Ellie walked across the room and grasped her shoulders. "Tell me now," she said. "Tell me how you killed your baby."

"Your Honor," Ellie began, "I'd like to redirect."

She could feel George looking at her like she'd lost her mind, and for good reason: with a confession on the court record, there wasn't too much Ellie could do to erase all the damage that had been done. She watched Katie take the stand again and shift restlessly in the seat, nervous and pale. "When the prosecutor asked you if you killed your baby, you said yes."

"That's right," Katie answered.

"When he asked you to explain the method of homicide, you didn't want to talk."

"No."

"I'm asking you now: Did you smother the baby?"

"No," Katie murmured, her voice cracking wide open over the syllable.

"Did you intentionally end the baby's life?"

"No. Never."

"How did you kill your baby, Katie?"

She took a deep, rattling breath. "You heard the doctor. He said I killed him by having that infection, and passing it on. If I wasn't the baby's mother, he would have lived."

"You murdered your baby by passing along listeria from your body?"

"Yes."

"Is that what you meant when you told Mr. Callahan you'd killed your baby?"

"Yes."

"You told us before that in your church, if you sin, you have to confess in front of the other members."

"Ja."

"What's that like?"

Katie swallowed. "Well, it's terrifying, that's what. First there's the whole Sunday service. After the sermon comes a song, and then all the nonmembers, they leave. The bishop calls your name, and you have to get up and sit right in front of the ministers and answer their questions loud enough that the entire congregation can hear you. The whole time, everyone's watching, and your heart is pounding so loud you can hardly hear the bishop talk."

"What if you didn't sin?"

Katie looked up. "What do you mean?"

"What if you're innocent?" Ellie thought back to the conversation they'd had months ago, praying that Katie remembered too. "What if the deacon says you went skinny-dipping, and you didn't?"

Katie frowned. "You confess anyway."

"Even though you didn't do it?"

"Yes. If you don't show how sorry you are, if you try to make excuses, it just gets more embarrassing. It's hard enough walking up to the ministers with all your family and friends watching. You just want to get it over with, take the punishment, so that you can be forgiven and welcomed back."

"So … in your church, you have to confess in order to be forgiven. Even if you didn't do it?"

"Well, it's not like people get accused of sinning for nothing. There's a reason for it, most of the time. Even if the story isn't quite right, usually you still did something wrong. And after you confess, the healing comes."

"Answer the question, Katie," Ellie said, smiling tightly. "If your deacon came to you and said you'd sinned, and you hadn't, you'd confess anyway?"

"Yes."

"I see. Now-why did you want to be a witness in your trial?"

Katie looked up. "To confess to the sin that I've been accused of."

"But that's murder," Ellie pointed out. "That means you intentionally killed your baby, that you wanted it dead. Is this true?"

"No," Katie whispered.

"You had to know that coming here today and saying you killed your baby was going to make the jury believe you were guilty, Katie. Why would you do that?"

"The baby is dead, and it's because of me. It doesn't matter if I smothered him or not, he's still dead because of something I did. I should be punished." She brought the hem of her apron up to wipe her eyes. "I wanted everyone to see how sorry I am. I wanted to confess," she said quietly, "because that's the only way I can be forgiven."

Ellie leaned on the edge of the witness box, blocking everyone else's view for a moment. "I'll forgive you," she said softly, for Katie's ears alone, "if you forgive me." Then she turned to the judge. "Nothing further."

"Okay, so this is all twisted around now," George said. "You killed the baby, but you didn't murder it. You want to be punished so that you can be forgiven for something you didn't mean to do in the first place."

"Yes." Katie nodded.

George hesitated for a moment, as if he was considering all this. Then he frowned. "So what happened to the baby?"

"I made it sick, and it died."

"You know, the pathologist said that the baby was infected, but he admitted there were several reasons it might have died. Did you see the baby stop breathing?"

"No. I was asleep. I don't remember anything until I woke up."

"You never saw the baby after you woke up?"

"It was gone," Katie said.

"And you want us to believe you had nothing to do with that?" George advanced on her. "Did you wrap the baby's body in a blanket and hide it?"

"No."

"Huh. I thought you said you don't remember anything after you fell asleep."

"I don't!"

"Then technically, you can't tell me for certain that you didn't hide the baby."

"I guess not," Katie said slowly, puzzled.

George smiled, his grin as wide as a wolf's. "And technically, you can't tell me for sure that you didn't smother the baby."

"Objection!"

"Withdrawn," George said. "Nothing further."

Ellie cursed beneath her breath. George's pointed statement was the last thing the jury would hear as part of testimony. "The defense rests, Your Honor," Ellie said. She watched Katie open the gate of the witness box and step down, crossing the room with studied caution, as if she now understood that something as stable as solid ground might at any moment tilt beneath her feet.

"You know," Ellie said to the jury. "I wish I could tell you exactly what happened in the early hours of the morning of July tenth, in the Fishers' barn, but I can't. I can't, because I wasn't there. Neither was Mr. Callahan, and neither were any of the other experts you've seen paraded through here during the past few days.

"There's only one person who was actually there, who also spoke to you in this courtroom-and that's Katie Fisher. Katie, an Amish girl who can't remember exactly what happened that morning. Katie, who stood up here wracked with guilt and shame, convinced that the accidental transmission of a disease in utero to her fetus made her responsible for the baby's death. Katie, who is so upset over losing her child she thinks she deserves to be punished, even when she's innocent. Katie, who wants to be forgiven for something she did not intentionally do."

Ellie trailed her hand along the rail of the jury box. "And that lack of intention, ladies and gentlemen, is quite important. Because in order to find Katie guilty of murder in the first degree, the prosecution must convince you beyond a reasonable doubt that Katie killed her child with premeditation, willfulness, and deliberation. First, that means she planned this murder. Yet you've heard that no Amishman would ever consider such violence, no Amishman would choose an action that valued pride over humility or an individual decision over the society's rules. Second, it means that Katie wanted this baby dead. Yet you've witnessed the look on Katie's face when she first saw the father of her child again, when she told you that she loved him. Third, it means that she intentionally murdered her baby. Yet you've been shown proof that an infection transmitted during pregnancy could very well have caused the baby to die-a tragedy, but an accident all the same.

"It is the prosecution's job to prove to you that Katie Fisher's baby was killed. My job is to show you that there might be a viable, realistic, possible reason for the death of Katie's infant other than first-degree murder. If there's more than one way to look at what happened that morning, if there's even the slightest doubt in your mind, you have no choice but to acquit."

Ellie walked toward Katie and stood behind her. "I wish I could tell you what happened or did not happen the morning of July tenth," she repeated, "but I can't. And if I don't know for sure-how can you?"

"Ms. Hathaway's right-but only about one thing. Katie Fisher doesn't know exactly what happened the morning she gave birth." George surveyed the faces of the jury. "She doesn't know, and she's admitted to that-as well as to killing her baby."

He stood up, his hands locked behind his back. "However, we don't need the defendant's recollections to piece together the truth, because in this case, the facts speak for themselves. We know that Katie Fisher lied for years to her family about her clandestine visits to the outside world. We know that she concealed her pregnancy, gave birth secretly, covered up the bloody hay, and hid the body of her infant. We can look at the autopsy report and see bruises around the baby's mouth due to smothering, the cotton fibers shoved deep in its throat, the medical examiner's diagnosis of homicide. We can see the forensic evidence-the DNA tests that place the defendant and the defendant alone at the scene of the crime. We can point to a psychological motive-Ms. Fisher's fear of being shunned from her family forever, like her brother, for this transgression of giving birth out of wedlock. We can even replay the court record and listen to the defendant confess to killing her child-an admission made willingly, which the defense then desperately tried to twist to its advantage."

George turned toward Ellie. "Ms. Hathaway wants you to think that because the defendant is Amish, this crime is unthinkable. But being Amish is a religion, not an excuse. I've seen pious Catholics, devout Jews, and faithful Muslims all convicted of vicious criminal acts. Ms. Hathaway also would like you to believe that the infant died of natural causes. But then, why wrap up the body and hide it under a pile of blankets-actions that suggest a cover-up? The defense can't explain that; they can only offer a red-herring testimony about an obscure bacterial infection that may have led to respiratory failure in a newborn. I repeat: may have led. But then again, it may not have. It may just be a way of covering up the truth: that on July tenth, Katie Fisher went out to her parents' barn and willfully, premeditatedly, and deliberately smothered her infant."

He glanced at Katie, then back at the jury. "Ms. Hathaway would also like you to believe one other falsehood-that Katie Fisher was the only eyewitness that morning. But this is not true. An infant was there, too; an infant who isn't here to speak for himself because he was silenced by his mother." He let his gaze roam over the twelve men and women watching him. "Speak up for that infant today," he said.

George Callahan's father, who had won four consecutive terms as the district attorney in Bucks County a few decades ago, used to tell him that there was always one case in a man's legal career he could ride all the way into the sunset. It was the case that was always mentioned in conjunction with your name, whenever you did anything else noteworthy in your life. For Wallace Callahan, it had been convicting three white college boys of the rape and murder of a little black girl, right in the middle of the civil rights protests. For George, it would be Katie Fisher.

He could feel it the same way he could feel snow coming a day ahead of its arrival, by a tightening in his muscles. The jury would find her guilty. Hell, she'd found herself guilty. Why, he wouldn't be surprised if the verdict came back before suppertime.

He shrugged into his trench coat, lifted his briefcase, and pushed out the doors of the courthouse. Immediately reporters and cameramen from local networks and national affiliates engulfed him. He grinned, turned his best side to the majority of the video cameras, and leaned in to the knot of microphones being shoved beneath his chin.

"Any comments about the case?"

"Do you have a sense of how the jury will find?"

George smiled and let the practiced sound bite roll off his tongue. "Clearly, this will be a victory for the prosecution."

"There's no question in my mind that this will be a victory for the defense," Ellie said to the small group of media reps huddled in the parking lot of the superior court.

"Don't you think that Katie's confession might make it hard for the jury to acquit?" one reporter yelled out.

"Not at all." Ellie smiled. "Katie's confession had less to do with the legal ramifications of this case than the moral obligations of her religion." She politely pushed forward, scattering the reporters like marbles.

Coop, who had been waiting for her impromptu press conference to finish, joined her as she made her way to Leda's blue sedan. "I ought to just stick around," she said. "Chances are the jury will be back by the time we finish grabbing a bite."

"If you stick around, Katie's going to be bombarded with people. You can't keep her locked in a conference room."

Ellie nodded and unlocked the door of the car. By now, Leda and Katie and Samuel would be waiting for her at the service entrance of the court.

"Well," Coop said. "Congratulations."

She snorted. "Don't congratulate me yet."

"But you just said you're going to win."

Ellie shook her head. "I said it," she admitted. "But the truth is, Coop, I don't know that at all."