Plain Truth by Jodi Picoult Page A

show her face, people are going to talk. People are going to think she's not coming because she's got something to hide. It'll go better for her, if she makes like it's any other Sunday.”
    Overcome with relief, Sarah nodded, only to stiffen as she heard Aaron speak quietly again. “But if she's put under the bann , I'll side with my church before I side with my child.”
    Shortly before eight o'clock, Aaron hitched the horse to the buggy. Katie climbed into the back, and then his wife sat down on the wide bench seat beside him. Aaron picked up the reins just as the Englischer came running out of the house, into the yard.
    She was a sight. Her hair stuck up in little tufts around her head, and the skin of her cheek was still creased with the mark of a pillowcase. At least she was wearing a long cotton dress, though, Aaron thought, instead of the revealing clothes she'd had on yesterday afternoon.
    â€œHey,” she yelled, frantically waving her arms to keep him from leaving. “Where do you think you're going?”
    â€œTo church,” Aaron said flatly.
    Ellie crossed her arms. “You can't. Well, that is, you can. But your daughter can't.”
    â€œMy daughter will, just like she has all her life.”
    â€œAccording to the state of Pennsylvania, Katie's been remanded into my custody. And she's not going anywhere without me.”
    Aaron looked at his wife and shrugged.
    There were many misconceptions Ellie had had about the Amish buggies, but the biggest one by far was that they were uncomfortable. There was a sweet, gentle gait to the horse that lulled her senses, and the heat of the July sun was relieved by the wind streaming through the open front and rear window. Tourists in their cars sidled up to the rear of the buggy, then passed with a roar of gears and a racing engine.
    A horse moved along at just twelve miles per hour—slow enough that Ellie was able to count the number of calves graz-ing in a field, to notice the Queen Anne's lace rioting along the edge of the road. The world didn't whiz by; it unrolled. Ellie, who had spent most of her life in a hurry, found herself watching in wonder.
    She kept a lookout for the church building. To her surprise, Aaron turned the buggy down a residential driveway. Suddenly they were part of a long line of buggies, a somber parade. There was no chapel, no bell tower, no spire—just a barn and a farmhouse. He pulled to a stop, and Sarah dismounted. Katie nudged her shoulder. “Let's go,” she whispered. Ellie stumbled from the wagon and then drew herself up short.
    She was completely surrounded by the Amish. Numbering well over a hundred, they spilled from their buggies and crossed the yard and gathered to quietly speak and shake hands. Children darted behind their mothers' skirts and around their fathers' legs; a wagon filled with hay became a temporary feed trough for the many horses that had transported the families to church. As soon as Ellie became visible, curious eyes turned in her direction. There was whispering, pointing, a giggle.
    Ellie could remember feeling like this only once—years ago, when she'd spent a summer in Africa building a village as part of a college inservice project, she'd never been more aware of the differences between herself and others. She started as someone slipped an arm through hers. “Come,” Katie said, drawing her across the yard as if nothing was amiss, as if she walked around every day with an Englischer by her side.
    She was stopped by a tall man with a bushy white beard and eyes as bright as a hawk's. “Katie,” he said, clasping her hands.
    â€œBishop Ephram.” Ellie, who was standing close enough to notice, realized that Katie was trembling.
    â€œYou must be the lawyer,” he said in English, in a voice loud enough to carry to all the people who were still straining to hear. “The one who brought Katie home to us.” He extended a hand to Ellie.