Thirteen
Are you up there, nephew?”
Iris’ shrill voice could be heard clearly from the bottom of the narrow staircase. Nathan punched his pillow before burying his head beneath it to block out any sound. He contemplated ignoring his aunt’s question and hiding from her like a child. Perhaps she would assume he’d gone to the fields or to one of the barns and he would be able to catch another hour of vital sleep. The walk from Mrs. Baker’s house had nearly killed him. Because he’d worn his ill-fitting dress shoes, the short distance by car had turned into a nightmare on foot. He had blisters on top of blisters by the time he reached his driveway. But Nathan was an adult, not a boy playing hooky from school. He sat upright and swung his sore legs out of bed.
“I’m up here, Aunt,” he called, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I’ll be right down.”
After slipping on clean work clothes, he staggered down the steps like a ninety-year-old man. His legs burned from the excursion, while his knees and ankles felt swollen to twice their usual size. The sweet smell of sizzling bacon reminded him of how long it had been since last night’s supper. His stomach grumbled with hunger. Iris took one look at him and dropped her wooden spoon. Apparently, he looked as bad as he felt.
“What happened to you? Why were you still upstairs? Were you sleeping?” Her inflection on the final word revealed how unbelievable she found the idea.
Nathan poured coffee and drank half a cup before attempting to answer. “I went back to bed after milking the cows and filling feed and water troughs. I needed a little more shut-eye today than usual.” Right now, he needed more coffee, probably more than what remained in the pot. He quickly downed his first cup and refilled it to the brim.
“You went back to bed?” She pulled the pan of eggs off the burner.
“That’s what I said. Danki for frying bacon this morning. I’m hungry enough to eat a whole pound myself.” He lowered himself to a chair and grabbed two slices of toast.
“Did you stay at your meeting very late? Folks wanted to keep talking until the wee hours, eh? It probably did you some good, hearing you’re not the only one with sorrows. A person can always sleep—”
“Aunt Iris!” he interrupted. “Hold up there. You’re running away like a stampeding herd. That’s not what happened.” He ate the toast almost without chewing.
She set the scrambled eggs, plate of bacon, and coffeepot on the table. “All right, then, why don’t you tell me what took place. I prayed for you all evening that the meeting would go well.”
“God chose not to answer that particular prayer, Aunt. It didn’t go well at all.” He scraped a hearty portion of scrambled eggs onto this plate and began eating.
She sipped coffee, studying him over the cup’s rim. “What happened? Talk to me, Nathan.”
He set down his fork and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Those Englischers are rather odd. They dwell on the past, rehashing events to keep them alive in their memories. They won’t let themselves move on.” He reached for another slice of toast.
“Are you saying you would prefer to forget Ruth?”
“No,” he said, raising his voice. “But these people neglect living children to focus on one who died.” Remembering that young mother’s story still tightened his belly into knots. “One man still mourns a brother who drove home drunk from a bar and smashed into a tree. He died from his own irresponsibility and bad decisions. Luckily, he took no innocent people along with him.”
She narrowed her gaze. “His brother still has a right to grieve for him, and maybe he mourns the fact the man was an alcoholic. It was a tragedy. I’ve never heard you so critical, Nathan. Judgment is best left up to the Lord.”
He devoured his plate of food, organizing his thoughts to make a clearer case for the therapy fiasco. “One other man sounded mad at God for calling his wife home after forty-nine years of marriage. He had that much time with her and still it wasn’t enough. He wanted to throw some fancy party and go touring walls in China!”
“You’re saying that because he had forty-nine years, he wasn’t entitled to grieve for his wife? He had that much more time to grow attached. He’s probably lost without her companionship.” Iris nibbled a cold slice of toast.
“Grieved, yes, but mad because they didn’t have even more years together is pure greediness.”
“You’re angry because you had so little time.”
“True, but that’s not why I can’t abide with the therapy sessions. Those Englischers…they bare their souls about things meant to remain private. Family business, things shared between two parents…they tell anybody who’ll listen their deepest, darkest secrets.” Nathan closed his eyes trying to blot out the woman who initially rejoiced upon news of her sister’s death. Or the young mother who admittedly neglected her daughters because she so favored her lost son.
“Wasn’t that the point of the meeting?” Iris asked. “They weren’t telling their secrets to just anybody. They were sharing with likeminded folks who understood.”
Nathan stared at her. She was taking the side of the self-centered Englischers? Why had he thought she would understand him? “All well and good for them, but their meeting didn’t help me one bit.” He shoved two slices of bacon into his mouth at once.
While he chewed, she studied him. “If the therapy went poorly, then why were you so late coming home? You must have slept little last night to return to bed this morning after chores.”
“When my turn to speak came, I told my story and then I left.”
“Left? How could you leave? You rode with Mrs. Daly.” Her brow furrowed with confusion.
“I didn’t want folks asking me questions. I didn’t want to wait around while they ate their dessert. And I didn’t want that social worker to leave her group. So I walked home.”
“You walked home?” Her cup clattered onto its saucer.
“Aunt Iris, must you repeat everything I say? Can’t you just believe me the first time around?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, that explains why you can barely walk this morning.”
“I wore my dress shoes. If I’d worn my boots, it wouldn’t have been so bad.”
“You walked all the way from Wooster?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, not that far. Some lady invited the group to her home so she could try out a new recipe.”
After a moment’s contemplation, she said, “I guess I’m having a hard time understanding why anyone would walk home instead of waiting for his ride.”
Nathan’s voice rose with irritation. “Because I lost my temper. Those people got under my skin, so I stormed out of the session. I didn’t want to listen to that pushy social worker on the way home. She would have handed me a pile of reasons and excuses, sort of what you’re doing now.”
“What do you know about losing one’s temper?”
He thought for a moment. “Something about it being a sign of our pride and arrogance. I admit I didn’t handle the situation very well, but I shouldn’t have gone in the first place.” He sighed with resignation.
Iris pushed away her plate of eggs, barely touched. “So why did you? Why did you agree to go if you had no desire to give therapy a chance?”
Nathan swallowed hard, washing down the bacon with more coffee. The caffeine was making him agitated but not energized. “I went because you asked me to go.”
“You did it for my sake and not for your own?”
“Jah. I knew it was important to you.” He dumped the remaining eggs onto his plate and ate, still hungry after his first helping.
She waited until he had finished and said, “Then the plan was doomed from the start. You can’t do this for someone else, Nathan. You must be the one who wants to heal.”
“I’m not sick, Iris. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m going about my life and tending my farm. You’re starting to sound like one of them.”
She slapped a flat palm down on the table. “There’s plenty wrong with you. Your idea of checking on your son is peeking at him from the doorway. You handle him as seldom as possible and hold him as though he might break. You might be tending your farm, but when did you last talk to a neighbor? Or maybe checked to see if someone needed your help for a change? When was the last time you went to a preaching service or read your Bible? God might lead you to helpful Scriptures if you opened the Good Book once in a while. I see you bow your head, but do you pray? Or are you merely passing time, thinking about your list of chores?”
His head reared back while his mouth dropped open. “You speak too sharply, Aunt. This is still my home, and I won’t be dressed down like a schoolboy.”
She clucked her tongue. “We all need to be set back on the straight and narrow once in a while.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ll ask around at the grain elevator if any work bees have been scheduled, or if somebody can use my help getting their hay cut and stored. Folks helped out around the time of Ruth’s funeral and brought all that food here and to your son’s home.”
She refilled both cups. “That’s good for a start. When we’re suffering, we sometimes can’t see beyond our own noses. And I’m speaking from personal experience. What about church services?”
“I can’t go back to preaching. We hadn’t had a chance to know folks much before Ruth died, so this district is a pack of strangers.”
“And they will stay that way until you do something about it.” She cocked her head. “Should I ask the bishop to schedule a service here? Then you wouldn’t have to walk far for worship or to be sociable, for that matter.” Her sly smile gave her away.
“Absolutely not. Don’t even joke about that. I won’t have people here without my Ruth.” Then he added softly, hesitantly, “I can’t face them if gossip has spread from that midwife…if everyone knows.”
“Knows what?” Her face pinched into a frown.
“That Ruth had been advised never to have kinner—that any pregnancies would endanger her life.” He stared at the ceiling, unable to meet her eye. Patricia Daly is wrong. Voicing the words doesn’t get any easier. “Ruth did it to make me happy, to give me a son.”
“You can’t blame Abraham for his mamm’s death. He’s an innocent baby!”
“I know that. I don’t hold anything against him.” Fog lifted from part of his brain. “Is that why you have been so pushy about my son? You thought I was still taking this out on him?” He shook his head back and forth like a stubborn nag. “I don’t pick him up much because my hands are too rough and clumsy. I’m afraid I might hug him too tightly or lose my grip and drop the little fella. I stand in the doorway of his room so I can listen while he sleeps. I hear his sighs and tiny snores and know he’s all right. I’m not good with boppli, Aunt Iris.” He pushed away his plate. “Remember the other day when you made me feed him? I ended up with more formula down the back of my shirt than in his belly. But I promise you—when he’s older and I don’t feel like such a goat in a gift shop, I will be the best daed around. I’ll make you proud.”
Iris folded her hands, softness returning to her gentle brown eyes. “I know you will, but you shouldn’t blame yourself either about Ruth. She wanted kinner as much as you did. Amish women are raised to assume that someday they will marry and have a houseful of little ones. When God has other plans, the news is hard for a woman to accept.”
“She might have accepted it easier if I hadn’t been hounding her. I took her to see an herbalist who made her drink four cups of bad-smelling tea per day. Next I took her to a chiropractor to straighten her spine, hoping that would help. Then I made her ask advice from a woman in our district who had borne fifteen children. Fifteen. I just couldn’t let the matter drop. Finally, we drove to the city for a full examination and series of tests. Ruth never told me the final results, but when she said she was in a family way, I assumed they had fixed whatever had been wrong.”
They sat listening to the hum of the propane refrigerator for a minute or two.
“I know you feel guilty, but you need to overcome these feelings. If she were here, she would say she forgives you. Maybe returning to church or talking to the bishop will help you—”
Couldn’t she give it a rest? His aunt was like a bulldog with a firm grip on one end of a stick. “No church, no talking to the elders, no rehashing this sad tale anymore. I’m tired of repeating the details. It doesn’t do a bit of good. Leave me be on this matter. In time I’ll heal on my own, if that’s what you insist on calling it.”
“No.”
It was just a one-word answer, delivered without exclamation or frenetic gesture, but the arrow hit its target. Nathan stared at her, fear creeping up his back. “What do you mean, no?”
“I’ll not leave you be on this matter. If you don’t want to go to preaching or talk to one of the brethren that’s your choice, but I won’t make it easy for you to wallow in your grief and self-pity. If you don’t do something to pull yourself together, then I’m leaving. I’m going home to my own family, who appreciate my counsel. I’ll take Abraham if you’ll permit me, but either way, I’m putting you on notice, Nathan Fisher.”
One small, gray-haired grandmother brought goose bumps to his forearms. He inhaled a strangled breath. “Okay, I’ll start praying… praying for real. And I’ll open my Bible tonight.”
She studied him for any hint of insincerity, and then she shrugged her shoulders. “All right. I’m going to feed Abraham and get him up for the day.”
Nathan marched from the house to his fields, feeling mule-kicked. What an insistent, pushy woman! She’s not my mamm and has no right issuing ultimatums. If she decides to return home, Abraham and I will get by. Or I’ll pack up and return to Indiana. Breaking a lease isn’t against the law. I’ll find some way to pay the landlord.
For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, he fumed and pouted. But when his pique waned, he turned his eyes toward the heavens. A flock of geese had drawn his attention. Or the heavy clouds had suddenly given way to sunshine. For whatever reason, Nathan Fisher began to pray. He was rusty at first, but after a while his heart began to swell with emotion and then anticipation. Tonight, after supper and chores, away from interruptions, he would open his Bible and see what would happen.
Catherine’s emotions ran the gamut for the next several days. She vacillated between sheer joy that someone finally was in love with her to fear that Daniel would put a stop to the fledgling relationship, and then to shame that this would somehow lead to disappointment and further alienation for Isaiah.
But wasn’t he a grown man, not a child, and as such capable of giving and receiving affection? Yet each night as she tossed and turned, unable to sleep, anxiety sat heavily on her heart. Was she breaching Daniel’s trust by sneaking around behind his back? The fact was that she knew little about his cousin other than the man couldn’t hear. Was there another reason for his avoidance of people? Along with the first rays of dawn came the realization that she needed advice before this romance proceeded any further. Second-guessing only went so far. At times like these a woman needed her big sister. Jail or no jail, Catherine had to talk to Abby.
Of course, Daniel saw no reason for an in-person visit. “A letter would work just as well,” he said. “I haven’t got time to take you. I should cut hay while the good weather holds. Maybe in a few weeks, once all the hay is stored away.” He finished his bowl of berries and ice cream, licking the spoon for the final drop.
Catherine couldn’t afford to wait even a few weeks, so she considered her reply carefully. “I’m in need of her advice about…womanly matters. There’s no need to interrupt your work. I’m capable of driving a buggy by myself. With a county road map I can leave at first light and be in Wooster by the start of visiting hours.” She lifted her chin higher. “I’ll park behind the courthouse in the back parking lot, where you tied up.”
She might have asked to travel alone to Missouri, judging by his reaction. Daniel listed no less than ten things that could go wrong on her trip, but Catherine countered each with a logical solution. All except, “You might suffer from heat stroke and faint behind the reins. Then the horse might take you far in the wrong direction.”
That one had left her speechless, as she’d never known heat stroke in her life. In the end, he agreed to her solo visit as long as she traveled by hired van at his expense. Avoiding a long ride on dusty roads in heavy traffic was fine with her.
On Sunday the van picked her up at eleven thirty and dropped her in front of the Justice Center by twelve fifteen. The driver promised to return at two after finishing some errands in Wooster. She sat on a hard bench for forty-five minutes, contemplating how to broach the topic of Isaiah with Abby. Englischers—some well dressed, some not—passed by without paying her any attention. By one o’clock, the start of visitation hours, a crowd had gathered in the hallway. When a guard opened the heavy metal door, people formed a line before him. Catherine joined the queue, not knowing what to expect. One by one, the officer checked the ID of visitors against the list provided by each inmate.
“Catherine Yost,” she stated when her turn came. “I’d like to see Abigail Graber.” The balding man flipped through his binder of papers, and for a moment she feared Abby hadn’t added her name to the list.
Then with a nod he said, “Thirty minutes, Miss Yost. You’ll find your sister seated far to the right.” After thanking the guard, Catherine entered the overly air-conditioned room filled with inmates and their family members. She located her sister easily, but she wasn’t prepared for what she saw. Abby wore a drab olive green shirt with matching trousers, both several sizes too large. Although her hair had been bound in a traditional bun, she wore no kapp for modesty. And she had on the same battered tennis shoes she usually wore in the garden.
But her appearance was far more unsettling than her English clothes. Abby must have lost fifteen pounds since her arrest. And she hadn’t needed to lose an ounce. Gaunt and hollow cheeked, her chin jutted at a harsh angle. Her peaches-and-cream complexion had washed out to the color of unbleached sheets. Dark circles and deep lines ringed her still striking blue eyes.
Catherine’s shock must have been apparent. “Don’t look so worried,” said Abby. “I am fine, truly. It might not be the same as mamm’s home cooking, but the food is good here.” Abby gestured toward the empty chair across from her.
“Then why aren’t you eating any of it?” asked Catherine, once she was seated.
Abby giggled. “My appetite has abandoned me. I start eating but fill up quickly.” When she smiled, Abby looked more like her old self. “It’s good to see you, Cat. Is Daniel here, waiting out in the hallway?”
Catherine reached out to grasp her hand. “It’s good to see you too. I have missed you, as have your children. But no, Daniel had to cut hay today. It’s ready, and by midweek we’re supposed to get heavy rains. I came by hired van.”
If Abby’s heart was breaking, she hid it well. “That’s good. We’ll have the entire half hour to ourselves.”
Catherine stole a glance around the room. Faded torn jeans, bright tattoos, work boots, motorcycle ad T-shirts, flannel shirts in the height of summer heat—the attire of Englischers resembled what she saw at Saturday afternoon flea markets. She turned back to her sister with a shudder.
“It’s not that bad. Everyone has been very nice to me. Sometimes the women ask some nosy questions…” The corners of Abby’s mouth turned up. “But they don’t mean any harm. They’re curious, that’s all. Everybody wants to know what an Amish woman did to land in here.”
Abby sounded matter-of-fact, almost casual about the matter. Catherine stared at her. “When are you coming home? Your kinner miss you so much. Not that they’re not well. I don’t want you to worry, but they miss their mamm. If you can come home, at least until your trial, they’ll be overjoyed. After that, this whole business will be settled. Mr. Fisher knows you did nothing wrong and holds nothing against you.”
Abby’s smile faded. “I see Daniel has been explaining things his way. God’s will shall be done at my trial. That’s all we can hope for.” Abby gazed around the room as though they were discussing someone else.
“I will pray for you every night,” Catherine said, with growing uneasiness.
“Danki, but I don’t want to harp about my troubles. I wrote you a full update and mailed the letter yesterday. Let’s not waste our precious time by chewing our food twice.”
“You don’t wish to talk about your situation?”
“No, I don’t. Tell me about my children. What have they been up to? I hope they have been minding their aunt.” A ghost of a smile appeared, revealing a bit of her former self. “And then tell me about yourself. How are you faring in my home? Is Daniel critical or too demanding? I’m afraid I have spoiled him over the years.”
“Oh, no. He’s been quite agreeable once we got past the first couple days, even when I overcook his eggs or burn the biscuits. And your children—they make me long to marry and have some of my own.”
Abby’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “Is Laura helping you in the garden? I hope you’re not letting Jake stay up too late. He loves to creep out of bed and play with his building blocks with a flashlight.”
Catherine arched an eyebrow. “I’ll be sure to double check he’s still in bed before I go to my room. I thought he’d fallen asleep quickly, like a little angel. Danki for the warning.” She relaxed against the chair. “You would have been so proud of Laura. When we went to the pond next door, she asked Isaiah to teach her to swim. Because she had no fear of the water, she caught on quickly. Soon she was floating on her back without anyone holding her up. Jake and I played in the shallow water, and he built a sand castle of sorts. He turned brown as an eggshell by day’s end. And because Isaiah had ridden his mare to the pond that afternoon, Laura became intrigued with horseback riding, especially bareback. At first Daniel said she was too young to learn, but after some convincing he changed his mind. That very evening Isaiah let her ride in the ring on his gentle horse. She clung to the saddle horn and reins while I led the horse around with a rope. Isaiah held her in the saddle because her legs couldn’t quite grip the mare’s flanks.” Catherine drew in a deep breath before continuing her update. “Then, after we sent them inside to get ready for bed, Isaiah took me on a short ride down the pasture trace. I must say I liked it much more than I did when we were young.”
“You got on a horse?” Abby’s forehead creased with wrinkles. “On the same horse as Isaiah?”
“No, he had brought along another horse. I rode his mare.” Catherine felt her cheeks grow warm.
“Funny how I can remember you calling horses fly magnets.”
“True, but his mare is really sweet, and there are almost no flies out after dark.”
“You went off riding in the dark?” Abby straightened up in her chair.
“It was just getting dark, and anyway we were only around the pasture. We didn’t go to his cabin.”
Catherine realized her mistake the moment the words were out. “Anyway, I’m getting off track. Let me continue my story. A few days ago, we picked blackberries along the pasture fence to serve over shortcake with ice cream. The next day Laura and I baked four pies, and I canned the rest for you to use this winter.” Catherine didn’t mention the secret patch down by the river.
“You picked enough to can with just you and the kinner?” Abby cocked her head.
“Well, no. Isaiah helped us. And he’s quite good at picking.”
“I didn’t know Isaiah knew where the patch was, but then again, I didn’t know you knew Isaiah.” Mischief twinkled in Abby’s eye. She’d always been good sniffing out mysteries.
“Of course I met him, as I’m the one setting out his meals.” Catherine decided to change the subject. “I packed up one pie to bring here, but Daniel said gifts are forbidden. No food or personal items, and not even paper or pens to write letters.”
“Don’t worry. Daniel deposited money in my commissary account to buy whatever I require. And I find that other than my Bible, my needs in here are few.” A wistful expression flitted across her face. “I am in your debt for taking such good care of my family. But tell me…are you lonely living at our farm? Do you miss your friends back home? If you were courting a special man, he might not be able to drive so far out. Tell me what’s new with you, Cat.”
Catherine stared into her sister’s eyes and sighed. Where to begin? Surely I can’t blurt out I’m in love with Daniel’s cousin, especially as I’m not sure if I am. “I’m not missing home very much. I see daed, mamm, and our bruders at preaching. But I don’t stay long after lunch. I want to come home to fix something for Daniel to eat.”
Abby’s expression turned intense. “Do you mean you’re taking Laura and Jake to church while Daniel stays home?”
Catherine wished she had chosen her words more carefully instead of riling things up between a husband and wife while separated. “Sometimes, if a service is far away, he will drive us. He…has plenty to do around the farm this time of year.”
“Not on the Lord’s Day, he doesn’t. Daniel has never worked on the Sabbath before, other than tending to the basic needs of the livestock.” She scrutinized her sister as though gleaning clues in a mystery. “Tell me what’s going on with my ehemann. Please, Catherine.”
“Don’t worry yourself. He just needs some privacy from folks pestering him with questions he can’t answer. You know how he hates being in the center of controversy. And I think he might not want to face our daed every other week.”
Abby pursed her lips and nodded in agreement. “Jah, I suppose that’s true, but he should think about you too. If you’re driving the horse and buggy, then there’s no chance of some young man bringing you home at night.”
“Don’t worry about me, either. Truthfully, I needed a little break from singings and socials. Turns out the person I had my eye on back home had set his cap for another. It’s a good thing I left before I made a complete fool of myself.” She felt the sting of regret and shame in the back of her throat. “I’m in no hurry to jump back into the frying pan.”
Abby laughed, tightening her grip on Catherine’s hand. “I’ve never heard anyone describe courting quite like that, but trust me, no one grows up without suffering some kind of embarrassment. Otherwise we might become prideful and vain.”
“Then I don’t have to worry about those two sins.” The sisters laughed, and for a moment it felt like old times. “I do want to know something, Abby.” Catherine inhaled deeply. “Tell me about Isaiah. I know he’s deaf, but I might be able to help him if I knew how far he went in school and how much training he received for the hearing impaired. Why does Daniel keep him locked away in the woods?”
Abby looked aghast. “Daniel doesn’t keep him locked away. Isaiah chooses to live on his own. His life with his father was very difficult. The man had no patience, and he thought Isaiah wasn’t trying to learn to talk. He couldn’t accept his deafness. Isaiah didn’t do very well in school and never learned to read. The teacher tried her best, but she was ill equipped to handle special needs along with students in eight different grade levels. She taught him to speak some, but only English words. He doesn’t recognize much Deutsch.”
“So Isaiah fell by the wayside, discarded and thought to be simpleminded.”
Abby nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s pretty much what happened until Daniel became aware of the boy’s neglect while we were visiting for a wedding. He invited him to live with us, and his uncle quickly agreed. Isaiah was an embarrassment to him.” She frowned at the memory. “Living with us, the boy learned farming from Daniel. He caught on quickly once things were demonstrated. By the time he was fifteen, he had cleared the brush around that old log cabin in woods. That shack had been falling down, but Isaiah rebuilt it with timber he cut himself and then aged the lumber. Daniel only needed to help with the beams and roofing. When he finished the cabin, Isaiah moved in. He loves being alone, surrounded by God and nature.”
“Does he know God?” Catherine asked.
Abby blinked several times. “What do you mean? God watches over and protects Isaiah the same as everyone else.”
“Of course, but you said he never learned to read. So he can’t read the Bible and can’t hear the sermons in church or Scripture read aloud in the evening.”
“When he shares a meal at our table, he bows his head in silent prayer along with everyone else.”
“He’s mimicking your behavior. He’s never heard a prayer, Abby. And maybe his mamm never taught him about God because she didn’t know how.”
“Now I’m the one embarrassed. I never thought much about it after he found his…safe place in the world.”
Silence prevailed while each woman collected her thoughts. “Isaiah is a good man. I’m sure God won’t hold it against him on Judgment Day because he hadn’t followed a Christian path. After all, He gave Isaiah the disability in the first place.” Abby shrugged her shoulders and glanced at the clock, satisfied with her conclusion.
Catherine pressed on. “It’s not too late. He could learn to read at that school our English neighbor enrolled her twins in.”
Abby’s chin lifted while she wrung her hands. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Daniel’s very protective of his cousin. I don’t think he would permit Isaiah to be sent away to strangers, considering his past experiences in school.”
Catherine opened her mouth to argue, but the guard looming behind Abby’s chair interrupted. “Time’s up, Miss Yost. You can come back next week.” He crossed his arms over his starched uniform.
Catherine thought better of pleading for more time. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, rising to her feet. “Please don’t worry about your family or me or Daniel’s cousin.”
Abby grinned. “I’ll try my best about the first two, but you have been thinking about Isaiah’s best interests plenty lately. I won’t worry about him.” Her grin turned sly. “It sounds to me like you know him better than just ‘Daniel’s cousin from the back cabin.’ You must have mentioned his name at least a dozen times since you arrived.”
With her cheeks burning with embarrassment, Catherine leaned over to kiss Abby’s cheek. “Forget I said anything. You know how I love to run on about the most inconsequential topics.” She strode toward the door before she melted into a puddle in the middle of the visitation room floor.