The Jodi Picoult Collection Read online

  Dr. Polacci patted Ellie’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t take this too hard. Actually, it’s sort of a compliment. Katie feels so close to you that she wants to live up to your expectations, even if it means coming up with a false recollection. In some ways, you’ve become a parent figure.”

  “Living up to parental expectations,” Ellie huffed. “Isn’t that what got her here in the first place?”

  Dr. Polacci chuckled. “In part. That, along with some guy. Some guy who’s got a hold on her like I’ve never seen.”

  * * *

  The night was so warm that Ellie had climbed outside the quilt and was now lying on top of it with her nightgown hiked to her thighs. She stayed perfectly still, trying to listen for Katie’s breathing, wondering how long it would take for the two of them to fall asleep.

  It made no sense to Ellie, this new obsession she had with the truth. As a defense attorney she usually had to stick her fingers in her ears to keep from hearing an admission she did not legally want to hear. But she would have traded her twelve-volt inverter for ten minutes inside Katie Fisher’s head.

  Then she heard it, the faintest of sighs. “I’m sorry,” Katie said quietly.

  Ellie did not bother to look at her. “What is the apology for, exactly? The baby’s murder? Or the more mundane crime of making me look like an idiot in front of my own witness?”

  “You know what I’m sorry for.”

  There was a long silence. “Why did you do it?” Ellie finally asked.

  She could hear Katie rolling onto her side. “Because you needed to hear it so badly.”

  “What I need is for you to stop lying to me, Katie. About this, and about what happened after that baby was born.” She passed a hand down her face. “What I need is to turn the clock back, so this time I can refuse your case.”

  “I only lied because you and Dr. Polacci were so sure I knew something,” Katie said, her voice thick with tears. “I don’t, Ellie. I promise I don’t. I’m not crazy, like you think . . . I just can’t remember. About how the baby got made, or how it got killed.”

  Ellie didn’t say a word. She heard the quiet creak of the bed as Katie curled on her side and cried. She clenched her fists to keep from going to the girl, then crawled beneath her own blanket and counted the minutes it took for Katie to fall asleep.

  * * *

  Samuel wiped the sweat off his brow and yanked another bull calf off its feet. After all these years helping Aaron, he had castration down to a science. He waited until the animal had gotten the urge to kick out of him, then slipped the rubber ring of the elestrator around the scrotum and let it constrict. Within seconds the two-month-old calf was up on its feet, casting an aggrieved, sidelong look at Samuel before heading out to pasture again.

  “He’s a sturdy one,” a voice said, startling Samuel.

  He turned to find Bishop Ephram standing on the other side of the fence. “Ja, he’ll bring Aaron enough beef.” Smiling at the older man, Samuel let himself out through the gate. “If you’re looking for Aaron, I think he’s in the barn.”

  “Actually, I was looking for you.”

  Samuel hesitated, wondering what charge the bishop might want to lay against him this time, then berating himself for even thinking such a thing. He’d had plenty of visits from the bishop in his life, and he’d never associated a single one with shame or wrongdoing. Until everything had gone wrong with Katie.

  “Komm,” Ephram said. “Walk a ways.” Samuel fell into step beside him. “I remember when your father got you your first calf.”

  It wasn’t an extraordinary gift for an Amishman to his son: the proceeds from the sale of the meat were put into a bank account for the boy’s later use, when he wanted to purchase his own home or farm. Samuel smiled, recalling the bull calf that had gained a thousand pounds in a year.

  He still had the money the beef had brought in, as well as other calves that had followed. He’d been saving it, or so he thought, for his life with Katie.

  “Your technique’s a little better these days,” Ephram said. “As I recall, that first bull kicked you but good, in a place that don’t take to kicking.” He grinned through the snow of his beard. “It was touch and go there, for a while, who exactly was gonna be castrated.”

  Samuel’s face burned with the memory, but he laughed. “I was nine years old,” he reasoned. “The bull weighed more than me.”

  Ephram stopped walking. “Whose fault was it?”

  “Fault?”

  “The kick. The fact that you got hurt at all.”

  Frowning, Samuel shrugged. “The bull’s, I suppose. I sure didn’t do it to myself.”

  “No. But if you’d been holding it tighter, what do you think might have happened?”

  “It wouldn’t have been able to get in a wild blow, you know that. Certainly, I learned my lesson. I’ve never been kicked again.” Samuel exhaled. He had work to do for Aaron. He didn’t have the patience for Ephram’s ramblings today. “Bishop,” he said, “you didn’t come here to talk to me about that bull.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  He jammed his hat on his head. “Aaron will be needing me by now.”

  Bishop Ephram put his hand on Samuel’s arm. “You’re right, Brother. Why should we talk about ancient history, after all? Once that bull kicked you, you got rid of it right away.”

  “No, I didn’t. You remember how big he got. He was a fine steer.” Samuel scowled. “By the time I put the money into the bank, I barely remembered that he’d kicked me at all.”

  The old man peered at him. “No. But when you were lying on your back in the pasture that day, howling and grabbing your privates, I bet you never would have guessed things could turn out so good in the end.”

  Samuel slowly swung his head toward the bishop. “You didn’t come here to talk about that bull,” he repeated softly.

  Bishop Ephram raised his brows. “Didn’t I?”

  * * *

  Dr. Brian Riordan traveled by private jet, accompanied by two men who looked like football linebackers past their prime and a tiny mouse of a girl who jumped whenever he beckoned her to carry through some task on his behalf. He was well known in forensic psychiatry circles as being one of the foremost critics of the insanity defense, particularly when used to acquit murderers. He’d made his very strong beliefs known in trials all over the United States, and in fact kept a map in his office covered with brightly colored pins, signifying the court systems in which he’d had a hand in putting away a criminal who might otherwise have gotten off on pure sympathy.

  He also looked patently out of place on a farm.

  Compared to Dr. Polacci, Dr. Riordan was a formidable species. Even from the doorway of the kitchen, where Ellie could observe the interview, she could see Katie trembling.

  “Ms. Fisher,” Riordan said, after introducing himself, “I’ve been retained by the prosecution. What that means is that whatever you say to me will go to court. You cannot say something off the record; there’s no confidentiality. Do you understand?”

  Ellie listened as Riordan walked Katie through the birth, asking her to recount the events in the present tense. “It’s lying there,” Katie said softly, “right between my legs.”

  “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  “A boy. A tiny, tiny boy.” She hesitated. “It’s moving around.”

  Ellie felt her face grow warm. She turned away, fanning herself with one hand.

  “Is it crying?” Riordan asked.

  “No. Not till I cut the cord.”

  “How do you cut it?”

  “My Dat keeps a pair of scissors hanging on a peg outside the calving pen. That’s what I use. And then there’s blood, all over the place, and I’m thinking that I won’t be able to clean this up, ever. I push down on the end of the cord, and tie it off . . . with twine, I think. Then it starts crying.”

  “The baby?”

  “Ja. It starts crying loud, real loud, and I try to hold him up against me to keep him quiet, but that doesn�