Martha and Moses arrived at the lawyer’s offices. Moses had assured her that the lawyer was a good one, and Martha knew that Moses would have been careful in that regard. However, she had expected to find the lawyer in a tall building, all steel and glass, so was surprised when the taxi pulled up outside a red brick and stone, Georgian-style building. The fact that the lawn needed mowing gave Martha pause. There was a statue of Justice outside the porch, and that would have been fine, had not the statue been leaning to one side. That statue and the sign saying “William Griffits, Attorney at Law” were the only clues that this was, in fact, the office of a lawyer.
Martha looked down the street. It was well kept, with nicely manicured lawns, unlike the lawyer’s, and had a variety of Georgian homes. The building next to the lawyer’s building was white with pretty, green shutters on the windows.
As she approached the front steps, Martha felt a rush of anxiety. Moses held the door for her and she walked in. There was no one else in the waiting room, but Moses had told her that he had chosen the appointment time of 9 a.m. so that they would not be kept waiting. The elderly and efficient-looking receptionist looked up at them from behind her massive, timber desk.
“Martha Miller to see Mr. Griffits,” Moses announced. Martha was glad that Moses had spoken. In fact, she was glad that Moses had arranged absolutely everything pertaining to the lawyer for her. She was so nervous and upset that she was sure that she wouldn’t have been able to speak at all. She looked to Moses for reassurance and he smiled at her.
“Mr. Griffits will be with you in a minute,” the receptionist said automatically, as if she were reciting a dull poem. “Please take a seat.”
Martha sat down and looked around her. The carpet was floral, and looked very old indeed. It was slightly worn around the edges. The waiting room was drab and had little, if any, natural light. The fluorescent light overhead flickered and Martha was sure it would give her a headache. Her temples were already beginning to pound.
Soon there was the distant sound of a door opening, and an elderly man came down the hallway toward them. He was bent over, and appeared to have difficulty walking even with his walking stick, which Martha noticed was very fancy with a shining silver and white handle. His white, bushy eyebrows swooped upward to meet high in the middle of his forehead, giving him an expression of constant surprise. When he reached the pair, he bent over Martha and said, “Miss Miller, please come in.” His voice was booming, and seemed out of place, given his fragile appearance.
Martha and Moses stood up to follow him, and follow him they did, all the way down the long corridor, and at a very slow pace. Mr. Griffits opened the door to his office and nodded to them to enter.
Martha at once saw that the room was oversized, and she hurried to sit in one of the equally oversized, brown, leather chairs, which creaked and crackled as she lowered herself into it. The walls were yellowing beige, and Martha wondered for a moment if they were moldy, as the smell of damp hung in the air.
Moses took the other chair, and Mr. Griffits finally made his way to his large wooden chair and sat down on it with obvious relief. He then drank some water from a nearby glass, and then sneezed violently.
“As you would be aware,” he began, “I am Mr. Griffits.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Griffiths,” Martha said.
Mr. Griffits fixed his gleaming eyes on her. “I am not Mr. Griffiths, but rather, Mr. Griffits,” he said sternly.
“Oh yes, I knew that, Mr. Griffiths, err Griffits, Griffits,” Martha stammered, fighting back the urge to laugh nervously. “I’m just very anxious.”
Mr. Griffits smiled thinly. “There is no need to be anxious. I have practiced law for over forty years. I provide an aggressive defense for all matters including theft.”
“But I didn’t do it,” Martha said.
“There is one thing I tell my clients,” Mr. Griffits said in his booming voice, “and you would do well to heed it. The law has nothing to do with justice. Do you understand?”
Martha nodded, although she didn’t quite understand, truth be told.
“Mr. Hostetler has given me an overview of the situation. Now be so kind as to give me your version of events.”
Martha told him the whole story. She was nervous at first, but Mr. Griffits looked up from his notes from time to time and nodded encouragingly, so she began to relax somewhat.
“When do you intend to return home from rumspringa to your community?” was his first question, after she had finished speaking.
Of all questions, that was the one that Martha could not answer, especially not in front of Moses.
“Um, I’m not sure,” Martha said, looking away from him at the thick and aged volumes of leather-bound legal books on the overburdened bookshelves.
“You must return home soon,” the lawyer advised.
“But I haven’t finished rumspringa,” Martha said, worried where this was heading.
“No matter.” Mr. Griffits waved a hand at her dismissively. “You will return home soon, and, more importantly, wear Amish clothes to all and any court hearings.” Martha made to speak, but Mr. Griffits waved his hand at her again. “It should not be so, but appearances do matter in a court of law. Oh, if only that were not the case. But it is,” he boomed, “and so you will appear dressed in your Amish clothes in court. Is that understood?”
Martha nodded meekly.
“Further,” he continued, “you are to have nothing to do with Sheryl Garner. If she calls, you do not accept her call. If you see her on the street, you cross it to avoid her. You do not speak to her under any circumstances. You are to move out of her apartment as soon as possible.”
“I will,” Martha said in a small voice. “What do you think my chances are? My chances of being found not guilty, I mean.”
Mr. Griffits raised his eyebrows even higher than appeared possible. “Sheryl Garner has a lengthy criminal record.”
Martha and Moses both gasped at the disclosure.
“You answered her newspaper advertisement to rent a room in her apartment, having not known her prior to that date. You, an innocent young Amish woman, naive to the ways of the world, and having no non-Amish clothes, simply borrowed clothing from Sheryl at her insistence during your first foray out of your sheltered community.” Mr. Griffits clasped his hands together with excitement. “The police have no evidence that will stand up to examination. I cannot make any promises, Miss Miller, for the law is a fickle beast, but I would not lose any sleep over this matter if I were you. I have won serious cases, and this case, although it has caused you great concern, is quite straightforward. Do not worry.”
Mr. Griffits stood up, which Martha took as their cue to leave. He opened the door for them, and they walked through. The receptionist was on the phone, and there were two people in the waiting room.
Moses turned to Martha as soon as they were outside, on the porch. “Feel better now?”
“Oh yes.” Martha breathed a long sigh of relief. “He doesn’t seem worried at all.”
“Yes, he’ll win the case for you. There’s no need to worry, Martha, truly, but you must do as he says.”
As Martha lay in her bed that night, she felt relieved that her lawyer appeared confident that she would win her case, but she did not want to return home, not yet. If she went home now, she would never be sure that she did so entirely willingly. She needed to decide once and for all whether she wanted to be Amish or Englisch, as she would have to live with that decision for the rest of her life. Also, if she returned home now, her mudder would find out that she was charged with theft, and would never let her continue her rumspringa at a later date. There seemed to be no solution in sight. Martha tossed and turned, and had not a wink of sleep until she turned the whole matter over to Gott, at least for the night.