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load her into the ambulance. “Ich will net gay!”
    Lizzie watched the girl fight. The bottom of her dress, a rich green, was by now stained black with blood. In a tight, shocked semicircle stood the Fishers, Samuel, and Levi. The big blond man stepped forward, his jaw set. “Let her down,” he said in clear English.
    The paramedic turned. “Buddy, I'm only trying to help her.” He managed to haul Katie into the rear of the ambulance. “Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, you're welcome to ride along.”
    Sarah Fisher sobbed, clutching at her husband's shirt and pleading with him in a language Lizzie could not understand. He shook his head, then turned and walked away, calling for the men to join him. Sarah gingerly climbed into the ambulance and held her daughter's hand, whispering until Katie calmed. The paramedics closed the double doors; the ambulance began to rumble down the long driveway, kicking up pebbles and clouds of dust.
    Lizzie knew she had to get to the hospital and speak to the doctors who would examine Katie, but she didn't move just yet. Instead she watched Samuel—who had not followed Aaron Fisher, but remained rooted to the spot, watching the ambulance disappear from his sight.
    The world was rushing by. Overhead, the line of fluorescent lights looked like the dashes in the middle of a paved road, running quick as they did when seen from the back of a buggy. The stretcher she was on came to an abrupt stop and a voice at her head called, “On my count—one, two, three!” Then Katie was being spirited through the air, floating down to a cold, shining table.
    The paramedic was telling everyone her name and, for goodness sake, that she'd been bleeding down there . A woman's face loomed over hers, assessing. “Katie? Do you speak English?”
    â€œJa,” she murmured.
    â€œKatie, are you pregnant?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œCan you tell us when your last period was?”
    Katie's cheeks went scarlet, and she turned away in silence.
    She could not help but notice the lights and the noises of this strange hospital. Bright screens were filled with undulating waves; beeps and whirrs framed her on all sides; scattered voices called out in an odd synchronicity that reminded her of church hymns sung in the round. “BP is eighty over forty,” a nurse said.
    â€œHeart rate one-thirty.”
    â€œRespiratory rate?”
    â€œIt's twenty-eight.”
    The doctor turned to Katie's mother. “Mrs. Fisher? Was your daughter pregnant?” Stunned by the commotion, Sarah stared mutely at the man. “Christ,” the doctor muttered. “Just get the skirt off her.”
    Katie felt their hands tugging at her clothes, pulling at her privacy. “It's part of a dress, and I can't find the buttons,” a nurse complained.
    â€œThere are none. It's pinned. What the—”
    â€œCut it off, if you have to. I want a BSU, a urine hCG, a CBC, and send a type and screen to the blood bank, all stat.” The doctor's face floated before Katie again. “Katie, I'm going to examine your uterus now. Do you understand? Just relax, I'm going to be touching you between your legs—”
    At the first gentle probe, Katie lashed out with her foot. “Hold her,” the doctor commanded, and two nurses secured her ankles in the stirrups. “Just relax, now. I won't hurt you.” Tears began to roll down Katie's cheeks as the doctor dictated to a nurse with a clipboard. “In addition to what might be lochia rubia, we've got a boggy, uncontracted uterus, about twenty-four weeks' size. Looks like an open cervical os. Let's get an ultrasound now to see what we're dealing with. How's the bleeding?”
    â€œStill a steady flow.”
    â€œGet an OB/GYN down here now.”
    A nurse wrapped a wad of ice in cotton and placed it between Katie's legs. “This'll make it feel better, honey,” she whispered.
    Katie tried to focus on the