“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.”