Holding a Tender Heart (33 page)

M
id August had set in when Debbie drove her car west toward Lewistown. On this Friday morning it was only a little past seven o'clock. The slight haze that hung along the horizon still hadn't melted away even with the full blaze of the rising sun. How like the troubled clouds that hung over the Beiler household. Debbie was thankful Ms. Hatcher, Joe's public defender, had consented to see her.

The truth was that the trouble with Joe and Verna had stalled things in her own life. Debbie had wanted to approach Bishop Beiler to discuss her plans to join the Amish church, but she decided not to when Lois told her this couldn't happen until the fall classes began right after communion. So there was still plenty of time. But it wouldn't have hurt to broach the subject early, to feel the bishop out about her plan. In his present state of mind, she didn't wish to add further stress.

Lois had also warned her last night, “You have to watch the mood of the community. They might be touchy right now about someone from the outside joining while trouble is afoot. Our people are that way, you know.”

Debbie hadn't really known, but it did make sense. When trouble came to a house, everyone's nerves were set on edge. Well, she would just have to wait and see if this would blow over. But would it?

Last Wednesday evening after she came home from work, Verna had raced out of the house the moment the Camry's tires had hit the driveway. “I want to speak to you alone,” Verna had gasped, out of breath.

Debbie stepped out of the car and glanced around before she said, “There's no one around, Verna. Has something come up about Joe?”

Verna nodded. “Well, I think it has. But I wanted to ask your advice.”

Debbie leaned against her car and waited.

Verna blurted out her news. “Joe has been assigned a public defender—a Ms. Hatcher. She wants Joe to sue the girl who's accusing him of this crime. Sue her for defamation of character. She says it would create sympathy with the
Englisha
people. They would want to see a man defending himself—especially an Amish man.”

“Well, yes, that might help,” Debbie had agreed.

Verna frowned. “You speak as an
Englisha, yah
. Not as one of our people. And suing someone? Even that is going too far for me. The Amish do not do that. But I do wish Joe could work with his lawyer. His
daett
, though, has forbidden him from taking advantage of any of her suggestions after that awful recommendation. She doesn't understand our people, so no one trusts her anymore. Lloyd says he will go straight to Deacon Mast if Joe does anything but tell the truth.
Da Hah
alone is our strength, Lloyd says, and Joe cannot bring further shame on the community by using the strength of unbelievers.”

“I guess that does cause a problem,” Debbie had allowed.

Verna had continued. “Something must be done to help Joe. I need to know what the lawyer is telling Joe, and he won't tell me. Maybe it's something that Joe doesn't understand. And you're the only one who thinks like they do. Our minds quickly become caught in confusion when the
Englisha
world is involved.”

And so she had been persuaded and agreed to meet with Ms.
Hatcher. Verna had produced the address of the attorney's office in Lewistown, along with the phone number. Debbie had mentioned the situation to Mr. Fulton, who had heard of the case through her father. He'd been appropriately sympathetic and readily agreed to a Friday off for her. Most people—herself included—had that reaction when the Amish were involved. Even ones accused of robbery.

Ms. Hatcher hadn't been happy though. From the sound of her voice, she'd almost refused the appointment. What Debbie had said to persuade Ms. Hatcher she still wasn't sure—perhaps the part about her life with the Beiler family, whose eldest daughter was dating Joe Weaver. That was why Debbie made sure to wear an Amish dress today. If Ms. Hatcher was persuaded by such things, she might as well play them for the full effect. And she supposed it did make sense in people's minds as to why she would be involved.

She wanted to walk in this morning and say,
I'm the sister of the girlfriend
. That would sound good, although it was true only in her heart. She felt like a sister and was treated like a sister. She'd even been allowed to sit in on the family conference that Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago. It had taken a while to overcome her surprise at their openness as they discussed things right in front of her, but no one from the Beiler family seemed to think she shouldn't be there.

After Debbie had left with Ida for the Sunday-night hymn singing, Verna had gone to visit Joe. Debbie had heard this news after they arrived home, and Lois had gone over to Verna's bedroom to speak with her. There should have been an explosion the next morning at the breakfast table from Bishop Beiler. Lois had predicted it, but instead he seemed more broken in spirit than anything, carrying his sorrow like a man with a heavy burden on his back.

Little was said then. Even Lois kept her ready tongue in check. Verna had done more than speak with Joe the evening before, Debbie thought. The signs were there in the soft glow that crept into Verna's cheeks during unguarded moments.

If this had been her world, she would have guessed something
improper had transpired last night. But this was not her world, and Verna wouldn't do such a thing. As to what exactly transpired, Debbie could only conjecture. That something had happened, she was quite certain. She slowed her car as she approached Lewistown and the traffic began to back up. She should have made the appointment further from rush hour, but Ms. Hatcher had said this was the only time she had open.

Debbie glanced at her watch. She'd still make it. She'd allowed plenty of time. While traffic crept along, Debbie's thoughts drifted to her four years of college life in a town similar to Lewistown. She had certainly seen more of the Amish in Lancaster than she did here. That was one of the benefits of the college being there.

Her parents thought she'd thrown her pricey education out the window. But she was still an educated person, so no one had cause for complaint other than for dreams broken—some that had never been hers. And in that department she had her own suffering. If the bishop knew she dreamed of an Amish husband someday, what would he say? But then perhaps he'd already figured that out. Now if only Alvin would do the same. Right now he seemed to go out of his way at the Sundays meetings to avoid her. But was it any wonder? Did she have the heart of an Amish woman? She was just an
Englisher
living in a world she wasn't part of. On Sundays she dressed Amish, but she still drove a car during the week. It was a miracle no one from the community had complained to Bishop Beiler about it.

How strange, Debbie thought, that in her world she had her choice of young men. But here in the Amish community, the man she wanted ignored her. She wasn't ready to admit defeat, even with the doubts that fluttered through her mind. Was she perhaps unattractive to Alvin? Surely that wasn't the problem. Alvin had seemed interested at first, and then—slam!—the door had shut.

Debbie sighed and checked the address before she picked a parking spot. Ms. Hatcher's office was still a block away, but she ought to grab an open space where it was available. Debbie parked and
climbed out. A few strange glances came her way. She knew that when a woman dressed Amish and drove an automobile, she should expect reactions. Debbie walked along at a fast clip and soon found the office. Ms. Hatcher might be a public defender, but she kept her office in an upscale area. That might be a good thing…at least for Joe's prospects.

Debbie entered the office and greeted the secretary at the desk. “Good morning. Debbie Watson here for an eight-thirty appointment with Ms. Hatcher.”

The woman's eyes took in Debbie's unstylish dress before she checked the appointment calendar. “Please go on in, Ms. Watson. Ms. Hatcher is expecting you.”

Debbie followed the secretary's directions, found the right office, and entered.

A straitlaced businesswoman in her midforties glanced up when Debbie entered. She appeared grim, but said, “Ms. Watson, good morning. Have a seat, please.”

Debbie sat down. “Thank you for taking my appointment.”

Ms. Hatcher gave her a curt nod. “I understand you are family.”

Debbie coughed. “Not really. I live with the Beilers, and have since early May.”

“I see. So you're not Amish?” Ms. Hatcher's gaze took in the dress.

Debbie kept her voice firm. “I can't see why it makes any difference, but I'm in the process of becoming Amish. I'm still enough a part of the
Englisha
world that the family wants me to assist with the Joe Weaver matter, so here I am.”

Ms. Hatcher leaned forward. “You must know I can't really discuss Mr. Weaver's case with you, even if you were family, without his permission. I'm bound by client confidentiality.”

Debbie rose half out of her chair, thinking this appointment was useless. But she changed her mind. “I understand,” she said, trying to sound meek—an Amish type of meekness—as she sat back down.

“What is it that you wish?”

“I want to help the family. Joe's girlfriend, Verna Beiler, wants to know if anything could be done that
will
help him.”

Ms. Hatcher appeared amused. “I thought the men from the community looked after the family? This ought to be Joe's question, not the girlfriend's, correct?”

Debbie kept her gaze steady. “And has he asked what he can do to help his case, Ms. Hatcher?”

Ms. Hatcher blinked. “No, but I will try again this week. I have a meeting with him this Friday.”

Debbie leaned forward on her chair. “And do you expect any better results?”

Ms. Hatcher hesitated. “No, I don't suppose so. He's quite stubborn…something about his Amish beliefs…and not liking my ideas for his defense. But surely he'll come around. Everyone puts up a defense in the end.”

Debbie laughed and then said seriously, “You don't know the Amish very well. That is not how they operate.”

Ms. Hatcher frowned. “Yes, that's possible. What do you propose?”

“That you tell me what you need. And I will tell Joe's girlfriend. Between the two of us, we will find the answers if they are to be found. But the burden will be on me because I am still
Englisha
and not subject to Amish restrictions. This way no one can fault the faithful church members. For your part, this will make it a winnable case for you because Joe is innocent.”

Ms. Hatcher looked at Debbie. “I see.” She hesitated and then whipped out a notepad. She slapped it on the desk. “Let's begin with a list of witnesses and people who knew both of them. Someone who can place Joe Weaver anywhere other than at the sites of the robberies on these dates. Especially here…and here…and here.” Ms. Hatcher's finger stabbed the paper repeatedly. “I've already told Mr. Weaver what I need. ‘Alibis' we call them in our world. What are they in yours?”

Debbie gave Ms. Hatcher a quick glance. “I'm not Amish, remember? I do know what an alibi is.”

Ms. Hatcher's gaze swept the dress again. “My mistake again. I forgot…”

“It's complicated,” Debbie said. “I hope to join the Amish community eventually.”

Ms. Hatcher gave a sharp laugh. “I can only imagine. Do you think you and Joe's girlfriend can do anything to help?”

Debbie picked up the paper and studied the dates and times. “I'll speak with her, and we'll go from there.”

Ms. Hatcher's voice was clipped. “Have Mr. Weaver bring this information to our appointment then. Nice solid witnesses, I hope. With no criminal records, preferably.”

“I'll do what I can,” Debbie said, but she'd already been dismissed. Ms. Hatcher was rummaging through the papers on her desk, clearly moving on.

Debbie stood and let herself out of the office.

Thirty-One

T
hirty minutes later Debbie pulled her car into the Beilers' driveway, driving up until the car was partially hidden from the main road. She was increasingly nervous about the community's reaction to the continued presence of an automobile at Bishop Beiler's place. With all the trouble already, the Beiler family didn't need another note of contention. She might even speak with Emery to see if he could move a piece of machinery and open a place for her car under the barn overhang so it would be even more out of sight.