Why I Left the Amish

by Saloma Miller Furlong

  I remembered a particularly vivid dream that started out as my euphoric dream and ended in a nightmare. In the first part of the dream, I was running with long, gliding steps just above the earth, then landing softly before I pushed off for another step or flight to my next landing place. I could make my steps last for as long as I wanted. My feet were my wings. I thought, “Oh, I have had this dream so many times and this time it's really happening! And this is even better than in my dreams!” I was sailing along, feeling the wind in my hair as it streamed out behind me. I had on a long, flowing gown, the color of a star in the night sky. I looked out ahead of me to the apple and peach trees on the hill. I could get there in two steps, or maybe three, when normally it would take two hundred.

  I heard the breathing behind me before I knew Joe was chasing me. I was no longer running for the sheer joy of it. I knew as long as I kept running in this way he couldn't catch me. He knew that too. He also knew if I became afraid, I could no longer run that way. I felt his determination to catch me. Then I made the mistake of looking back. I landed heavily, my steps became ordinary, and he was nearly breathing in my ear. I awoke when he caught me—before the pain, but after the terror. As I listened to David's rhythmic breathing next to me, I was grateful that Joe no longer had power over me, and that I had the choice of returning to my present life of living in Vermont and attending Smith College, even though it seemed like that was a whole world away from me at that moment. Just like in the first part of the dream, I could avoid Joe's domination by floating lightly out of his reach, like the butterflies I used to try to catch in my childhood, when they would elude my hands.

  When sleep finally came, it brought tumultuous dreams, from which I awoke and wept. I could not remember the content of the dreams, only a vague sense of being trapped. David woke up, and without a word, he held me. I clung to him, crying as I remembered the darkness of the dream and my childhood. David's arms around me were firm, supportive, and solid. Somehow our lips connected, and the kiss among my tears exploded into a bodily passion that shocked me—yet I had no choice but to go with it. As David's and my bodies moved together in a passionate rhythm, I wondered how I could experience such feelings in the face of death—on the same day that I had said my final good-bye to my father and had seen his body being laid in its final resting place.

  After our passion was spent, David and I lay together with my body molded into the same shape as his. The rhythm of his heartbeat lulled me into a deep and restful sleep.

  Reckoning with Joe

  I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

  MAYA ANGELOU

  In the morning, I asked David if we could visit my mother on the way out of Ohio. He said, “You realize we will be getting home really late, don't you?”

  “Yes, but I just don't know when we will see her again.”

  “Okay, but it will be late by the time Tim and I get back to Vermont, after dropping you off.”

  “Would you want to stay in Northampton overnight?”

  “No, I want to get back to work tomorrow morning. But we can stop by at your Mom's if you want. I will just count on this being a long day.”

  When we drove into the driveway of the farm where I grew up, David had the inspiration to knock on Joe and Emma's door and compliment them on their job of taking care of Datt on his deathbed, and for the arrangements of the funeral.

  Joe quickly stamped out a cigarette when Emma opened the door and invited us in. I was happy he didn't do what he used to when we were young and I complained about the smell of his cigarette smoke. Then he would come and smoke into my face in response to my complaints.

  Many people in the family and in my original community were of the opinion that Joe had changed over the years. Certainly there were outward signs of that—the farm was in much better shape than it had been fifteen years before. Back then, when David and I would go back to visit, we would find chicken feet and heads lying in the yard, and the animals showed signs of neglect. It all seemed to signify the depressed state of the owner of the farm. But over the years, all the farm buildings that were dilapidated and crumbling had been replaced with the new construction of a horse barn, buggy shed, and shop. Horses grazed in the fields behind the shop, creating a more picturesque view of the pasture than when we had two pigs, two horses, two cows, and one hundred chickens all competing for the same space.

  Datt's funeral had been held in the shed the day before, but the people in the community had helped put back all the furniture in the house, and there were no traces left of the funeral.

  David and I shook hands with Joe and Emma. We had had plenty of practice the previous few days. David said, “You both did a really good job with the funeral.”

  “Oh, we can't take credit for that; we didn't do any of it. The people in the community did it all,” Joe said.

  I said, “Well, even if you don't want to take credit for it, I thought it went really well.”

  “Yes, we have no regrets,” Joe said. Then he changed the subject. “Are you going back today?”

  “Yes, but I wanted to see Mem on our way back, and we thought we would stop in and say hello,” I said.

  “Well, I am glad you did,” Joe said. “Come see us again sometime.”

  “Okay, we will.”

  David said on his way out the door, “I still say you did a good job.” He and Tim had gone out the door, and I had my hand on the knob, when Joe asked, “Did you get to talk with many of the relatives yesterday?”

  “Yes, I did. I found everyone really friendly. Even Uncle Gid was talking with David and me.”

  We discussed when the relatives would be returning to Wisconsin, New York State, and Kentucky respectively. I closed the door, and suddenly I found myself in a situation that I always told myself I would avoid—I was talking with Joe without David there as a support for me. But I took comfort in Emma's presence, and decided I could leave anytime if I felt the need to.

  I became aware that Joe and Emma were both talking in English, and I said, “You two can talk in Amish if you'd like, but I might have to switch to English to respond.”

  “But I thought you didn't like that,” Joe said.

  I knew Joe was referring to a phone conversation from a few weeks earlier, when I had called to get information from him about Datt. This came from Sister Susan insisting that if I wanted information about Datt, then I needed to talk with Joe directly. There has been a major push from most of the members of my family for me to reconcile with Joe, and this was Susan's way of pressuring me. I then told her how Joe had refused to speak in English, forcing us to have a dual-language conversation, because I could understand what he was saying, but could not respond in kind. I said to Joe, “More of the Amish language has come back to me as I've heard it spoken these last few days. And yes, when I called here a few weeks ago and talked to you and you stayed with Amish, I was a bit annoyed, because I thought you were trying to make a statement by doing so.” I realized that what I had told Susan had traveled back to Joe. I didn't like to have to defend myself to Joe for something I said to someone else. This was starting to bring back memories of Joe pitting one of us against the other when he'd play the game of “Who wants to be my little girl?” He would do this when one of us was at odds with him. The sisters would come running and crowd onto the little bench where he sat to play the game. He would rate them according to his mood: “Sarah is my little girl number one, Susie is number two, Lomie is number three, and Lizzie is not my little girl at all.” Whoever was at odds with him at the time would not be his little girl. Later, he dropped the childish game, but he still would come and tell us his side of the story and hope to get us on his side. One such occasion was when he was being a “peeping Tom” while Sarah was planning to take a bath. She knew he was out there, and she pulled the curtain aside and yelled, “Joe!” He stepped down off the stool he was standing on, and tried to act innoce
nt. Sarah yelled at him, and he came into the kitchen and said, “Sarah is accusing me of window peeping. Can you believe that? How would I even do that—the window is much too high!”

  “Well did you?” I asked pointedly. He turned on his heel and walked out and said, “I am not going to waste my time with you!”

  Whenever Joe had me singled out as his enemy in the days when we were still living at home, I would make a wish that we would all be upset with Joe at once, and he would have no one left on his side. I don't remember that ever happening. He was too good at getting us to “rat” on one another, and to win at least some of us over to his side of whatever argument was going on. As a matter of fact, Joe had a way of isolating the one person he was having an argument with, which only intensified the feelings of isolation and never being able to get even with him.

  I changed the subject with Joe. “I should probably go over and visit with Mem, and then we need to get going home.”

  “I am glad we talked,” Joe said. “I know you have had something against me all these years, and I didn't know how to change that.”

  “That is because a lot happened in our past, and you were pretty mean to me and the other siblings. I never heard an apology for any of it.”

  “I didn't know you needed an apology.”

  There was quiet for a moment, and then Joe said, “I am really sorry for all of it. I did a lot of things I regret.”

  “Do you remember that Saturday night when Mem gave you a haircut, when you got up and ordered me to clean up the hair? I swept it together, then I went to get the dustpan, and when I turned around, you had kicked the hair all over the kitchen again. You had that mean smirk on your face, and you said, ‘Now clean it up again!’ I was so mad at you, that I told you I was going to write a letter to Emma and warn her about you. I was drafting that letter in my head as I went to sleep that night, and then the next morning Mem told me I should do no such thing.”

  Emma laughed and said, “I would probably just have gotten really mad at you.”

  “I knew that you might, but I also told myself that you could never say that you weren't warned.”

  “You know, there are many boys who are really mean to their sisters, but when they grow up, the sisters learn to forgive and forget,” Emma said.

  “Emma, you don't need to defend me,” Joe said.

  Emma laughed nervously and became quiet.

  “I also remember the times when I would run away from you and you would catch me, beat me up, and then when I was a crying heap on the ground, you would come up and kick me in the butt. That used to hurt so bad!”

  “I am really sorry,” Joe said. He had tears in his eyes, so I decided not to keep going. Joe's seemingly sincere apology registered with me, but I was not yet convinced that he had changed to such a degree that he would not still be deceptive and manipulate others. And it seemed he had the same ability to turn on the tears as Mem.

  We were still unsure why Sister Katherine had not made it to Datt's funeral, and I had a hunch that Joe was behind that. But as in so many issues, I had no proof, so I could not accuse him. By the same token, these “hunches” prevented me from trusting Joe completely the way that Susan seemed to, and Sarah off and on.

  “Thank you,” I said. “That goes a long way.”

  “Good.”

  “I need to go and visit with Mem,” I said. As I was leaving, Joe said, “I am glad we talked.”

  “Me too,” I said in an even tone.

  I walked to Mem's house, where she was sitting and talking with David and Tim. Her “English” friend, Rosie, was sitting by the kitchen table. She was a nurse who had helped care for Datt in his last few weeks. I gave Mem a hug and sat down in Datt's hickory rocker. I introduced myself to Rosie and invited her to come and join our visit, but she said she was giving us some space. I said, “It is really all right for you to sit with us.” She finally did. Mem had been raving about how Rosie had been like a daughter to her for years. She did the same about Emma. Susan found it hard not to be envious of such sentiments, but I felt that Mem had a right to have as many surrogate daughters as she wanted––she had her surrogate daughters and I had my freedom.

  Mem looked refreshed. She said she had slept well. She had been really exhausted the day before. Mem told the story about how Uncle Gid had brought a chair for her to sit in, but he had set it on the sidewalk so that it wouldn't sink into the wet and soft ground. He said to her, “I don't need to see moonshine in the daytime.” We all laughed, and Mem's bosom bounced and her face got red. She always was amused by Gid's humor.

  Joe sauntered in and began swatting flies that had gotten in the day before. He asked Tim if he was still in school, and Tim said he was going to college. Joe said, “Are you as smart as your mom? She is the smartest of us all.”

  “Oh, come on, Joe, there are plenty of smart people in this family. I am definitely not the smartest.”

  “Hey, if you can't take a compliment, I won't give you one.”

  “There is also such a thing as common sense. Intelligence without common sense is sometimes not very practical. In the Amish communities you find many smart people who have plenty of common sense. Then you have people who are highly educated without an ounce of common sense.”

  “You mean like a doctor who doesn't know how to change a flat tire, for example?”

  “Something like that. Last week there was a nuclear physics professor at Smith who showed up to teach her class on the wrong day.”

  We visited a bit longer, and then David, Tim, and I excused ourselves and left for our journey home. I gave Mem another hug, a tradition I had started back when I had returned to the community after being away for four months. Judging by how heartily Mem hugs me back, I would say she likes this tradition.

  DURING THE FIRST PART of our trip, David, Tim, and I talked about Datt's funeral and the visit to Mem's. Then Tim fell asleep in the back seat and we were quiet for a while. I thought about the apology Joe had made to me, and I honestly wished I could trust him. I remembered the summer I was eleven and he was fourteen, when he had molested me. That had severed any trust.

  It all started one morning in late summer. Joe asked me if I wanted to help take the horses out to the pasture. We had a fenced-off place in the woods where the horses stayed cool during the day. Joe asked in such a nice way that I asked Mem for permission to go, and she said yes. Joe got up on Tops's back and I stood on a stump. He helped me up behind him.

  I wore a black dress that someone else had made and given to us after her daughter had outgrown it. Mem used a lot more fabric and made the skirts more full, but this dress was what Mem called eng. My bare legs stuck out, and Joe kept looking back at them. It made me feel bare, so I tried pulling my dress down.

  “My dress is eng,” I said.

  “Eng, what does that mean?” Joe asked in his too-smooth voice.

  “It means the opposite of full. There's not enough material to cover my legs,” I said.

  “Well, what are you worried about? I am only your brother.”

  Of course he was my brother, but by the way he kept looking at my legs, I still wanted to cover up. We rode in silence a while, and then he said, “You can hold onto me if you're worried about falling off.”

  I hadn't been worried, but when I looked down, I realized the ground was far away. Still, I felt safe on Tops's wide back. She was our trusty old workhorse—big, black, and gentle. Don plodded along behind us.

  When we got to the pasture, he helped me get down, then swung his legs down and landed next to me. He took off Tops's bridle, walked her through the gate into the pasture, and let her and Don go off into the shade. After he closed the gate, he sat on the ground with his back up against the fence post and started rolling a cigarette. I didn't know that he smoked.

  As he licked the paper, he said, “Lomie, have I ever told you I admire you?”

  I looked down at my bare feet. I wondered what Joe wanted from me, because he would never give me complime
nts unless he wanted something in return. It made me uneasy, and I thought about turning around and walking back to the house.

  “Do you know what admire means?” Joe asked.

  “I think so.” I did know what it meant, but I also knew Joe wanted to play teacher.

  “When I say I admire you, it means I like you, and I like the way you do things.”

  I pinched my arms through my dress and didn't answer.

  “Can I ask you a question, Lomie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know how babies are made?”

  “Yes,” I said hesitantly.

  “Can I ask you another question?”

  I didn't say anything.

  “Can I do that to you?” Joe lit his cigarette under his droopy, sleepy-looking eyelids. He took a long puff to show me how well he smoked. I knew he wanted me to “admire” him, but I feared him instead.

  “No. I don't want to have a baby,” I said.

  “Don't worry,” he said. “I can pull it out before that happens.”

  Pull what out? I thought. Didn't men just touch women in their place? Or did they push it in? I didn't want to let on that I didn't know what he meant, so I said, “But I am only eleven years old; I'm too young.”

  Joe took another long puff on his cigarette and shifted his legs slightly, leaning more comfortably against his fence post and looking up at me.

  “Did you know I've been doing it to Sarah?”

  I knew that he knew I did, so wondered why he was even asking. I nodded.

  “She's younger than you are.”

  “But I just don't feel right about it.”

  “You'll get used to it. We don't need to do it right now if you don't want. Mem said she wants us to go blackberry picking this afternoon. You and I could pick in a different place from the others. That way you can think about it first.” He stood up and started walking in the direction of home.

  All the way back to the house, Joe talked and acted as if we'd always been friends. It felt like a lie.