would not come.
“For what?” Daniel asked. “What are the charges, sir?”
The sheriff gazed at Daniel with more pity than anything else. “Your wife has been charged with practicing midwifery without a license, involuntary manslaughter, practicing medicine without a license, and possession and sale of a dangerous controlled substance. Those last two charges are felonies, Mr. Graber.”
He seems more comfortable addressing Daniel than me
, she thought.
“Manslaugher? Practicing medicine?” Daniel’s voice rose in agitation. “That’s absurd. She doesn’t kill people or practice medicine. She delivers babies.”
The officer turned back to Abby. “Did you make a statement to the attending paramedic that you injected Mrs. Fisher with the drug Pitocin?”
Abby felt the blood drain from her head. “Yes. I wanted them to know so there would be no possible drug interaction with anything else or potential overdose. I did it in an attempt to save her.” Her final admission was barely audible.
Daniel turned on the gravel and stared at her, his face a mask of confusion.
Excuses, explanations, pleas for understanding all swam through her brain, yet Abby couldn’t think of anything to say to mitigate the wrong she had done.
“Then I’m afraid I must take you into custody, Mrs. Graber,” the sheriff said.
His deputy brought forth handcuffs from his chest pocket, but the sheriff shook his head. “Bob, I think we can trust one skinny Amish lady to behave herself on the way to county booking.”
With one last glance at Daniel, he turned back at her. “Ma’am, if you would be so kind?” He pointed toward the squad car.
Abby started to walk on legs threatening to collapse beneath her toward the police car on the second most terrifying day of her life.
Four
A bby 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
“For what?” Daniel asked. “What are the charges, sir?”
The sheriff gazed at Daniel with more pity than anything else. “Your wife has been charged with practicing midwifery without a license, involuntary manslaughter, practicing medicine without a license, and possession and sale of a dangerous controlled substance. Those last two charges are felonies, Mr. Graber.”
He seems more comfortable addressing Daniel than me
, she thought.
“Manslaugher? Practicing medicine?” Daniel’s voice rose in agitation. “That’s absurd. She doesn’t kill people or practice medicine. She delivers babies.”
The officer turned back to Abby. “Did you make a statement to the attending paramedic that you injected Mrs. Fisher with the drug Pitocin?”
Abby felt the blood drain from her head. “Yes. I wanted them to know so there would be no possible drug interaction with anything else or potential overdose. I did it in an attempt to save her.” Her final admission was barely audible.
Daniel turned on the gravel and stared at her, his face a mask of confusion.
Excuses, explanations, pleas for understanding all swam through her brain, yet Abby couldn’t think of anything to say to mitigate the wrong she had done.
“Then I’m afraid I must take you into custody, Mrs. Graber,” the sheriff said.
His deputy brought forth handcuffs from his chest pocket, but the sheriff shook his head. “Bob, I think we can trust one skinny Amish lady to behave herself on the way to county booking.”
With one last glance at Daniel, he turned back at her. “Ma’am, if you would be so kind?” He pointed toward the squad car.
Abby started to walk on legs threatening to collapse beneath her toward the police car on the second most terrifying day of her life.
Four
A bby 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
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