Why I Left the Amish

by Saloma Miller Furlong

  I went upstairs and packed my little blue overnight suitcase as full as I could with my underwear and slips. I put my money into a pocket on the inside of the suitcase, along with my comb and brush, and a few dozen pictures that Joe and Sarah had taken with a camera they'd had on the sly, a long time ago. Then I hid the packed suitcase in my closet behind my dresses.

  I couldn't sleep all night. I tried not to toss and turn or wake Sarah, who was sleeping in the same bed. I kept thinking about the little suitcase only a few feet away, behind the closet door. I played the scene in my mind over and over. I'd wait in my room, in my gray dress, coat, white scarf, and boots until Mr. Pell drove into the lane. Mem would certainly announce when he came. Then by the sound of her voice, I would know whether she was in the living room or the kitchen. If she was in the living room, I would go quickly through the kitchen and out the door before she discovered I had a suitcase in my hand. If she was in the kitchen, I would tell her I was babysitting overnight at the place where I worked. This would also give me the extra day I needed to get out of town before anyone found out that I was gone.

  I got up earlier than usual, but not so early that anyone would suspect. The yellow car drove in. Mem announced it from the kitchen. I went quickly down the stairs and came face to face with her. She was sweeping around the table, but she stopped and looked pointedly at the suitcase in my hand.

  “I'm babysitting tonight at the place where I work.”

  Mem looked at me hard, then at the suitcase, and realized she had no choice in this one. “Well, just don't let it happen too often.”

  “I won't,” I said. I went quickly down the steps and out the door before she could call me back.

  As Mr. Pell drove out the driveway past the kitchen window, I saw Mem looking out at me. Without thinking about it, my hand went up and I gave her a wave. I wondered if I would ever see her again. I knew it would be really hard for her when she found out that I had left. I also knew that if I started feeling sorry for Mem, I would not be able to leave. The car kept going. I was not running away blindly, I told myself. I had made plans and had money. I would be all right.

  Mr. Pell wanted to drive me to wherever I was going to be working that day, but I insisted he drop me off in front of the drugstore. He did that after saying for the second time, “I can drive you right to work, like I usually do.”

  “No, that's okay. I will be doing some shopping,” I said.

  I was early. I went into a shoe store and bought a pair of beige shoes. Then I went into the drugstore next door and bought a pair of pantyhose. The clerks gave me strange looks. I said nothing to explain myself.

  Megan arrived with her station wagon full of children. She looked amazed that I was really there with a suitcase. I got in for the short ride to her house, and I was relieved that she said nothing about having changed her mind about wanting to help me. As soon as we got to her home, she sent the children to the playroom and we started planning.

  “You did it!” she said. “You left! What was it like this morning? Do they have any idea?”

  I didn't want to talk about it. Briefly, I told her what I'd told Mem about babysitting overnight, and then I said that the first thing I wanted to do was cut my hair.

  “Is that necessary?” she asked. “Many women have long hair.”

  “My hair looks like a horse's tail when it's down,” I said, “because I've been putting it up in barrettes and it is all broken.”

  “Why don't you go up and take a shower, and when your hair dries, I will take a look at it.”

  Megan took one look at my hair when it was down, and she said, “You are right, it does look like a horse's tail.” She picked up the phone and made an appointment at her hairdresser's that afternoon. “We can take you clothes shopping afterwards,” she said. “Now, do you have any idea where you want to go when you leave?”

  “I want to go to Vermont,” I said.

  “Oh? Do you know someone there?”

  “No.”

  “Then why Vermont?”

  “It's where I've always wanted to go, so I figured since I'm running away, I may as well go to someplace I like.”

  “How do you know about Vermont?” Megan asked.

  “I remember reading about it and seeing pictures in geography books in school.”

  Megan looked at me with a sideways smile on her face.

  “I also have been getting Vermont Life magazines,” I said.

  She laughed.

  “You don't think that's a good idea?” I asked.

  “No, I think it's fine. I am just amazed that you are so clear about this. So, how will you get there?”

  “I was thinking of taking a train, if there are connections.”

  “Where in Vermont do you want to go?”

  “I heard about YWCA places that house women in transition. I want to find out where in Vermont they might be located. I'd rather live in the country than a city.”

  “We could call the Vermont Chamber of Commerce. But some YWCAs don't have rooms for rent, so be sure to ask them if they do,” Megan said.

  “How am I going to pay you for the call?”

  “You may use my phone as much as you need to and I will pay for it. That will be my gift to you,” Megan said.

  “I don't know how I will ever thank you. I couldn't be doing this at all without your help.”

  “I'm glad you called me,” Megan said with a genuine smile.

  First I called information to get the number for the Vermont Chamber of Commerce. I called them and asked where in Vermont they had YWCAs that housed women. The woman I spoke to said there was one in Rutland and one in Burlington. Then she double-checked that and said the only one that was a residential YWCA in all of Vermont was in Burlington. She gave me that phone number.

  Next, I called the Y and talked to Mrs. Ohr, the director there. She said there was a room available for a week. I asked if there was anything available after that, and she said something might become available. It would cost eight dollars a week. I made reservations for a week, beginning the next day.

  Next, I called the train station and asked for the cost of a one-way ticket to Burlington, Vermont. The ticket agent said the best way to get to Burlington was to take the train to Port Kent, New York, on the other side of Lake Champlain from Burlington, then take a ferry across the lake. I said that sounded fine. I booked a ticket for the next night, leaving the city at 11:20 P.M. The ticket cost forty dollars.

  After lunch, Megan took me to have my hair cut. The salon was a small but bright shop off the main street, and the man who greeted us at the door took us to a station in the far back. I took off my kopp and pulled my hair free of the barrettes and pins that held it up. The man made no comment about the gray Amish dress I was wearing; all he seemed to be aware of was my hair.

  “What have you been doing to your hair?” he asked as soon as I'd sat down in a padded chair.

  “Putting it up in barrettes,” I said faintly.

  “But what about this?” he asked. He picked up the broken strands of hair in a circle around my head where my covering had hidden it up until now.

  “I've been using a rubber band as a hair band.”

  “You should never use a rubber band in your hair. You can see, right here,” and he picked up the strands, “where you broke the hair and it's all frizzy. Now you are going to need to grow it all out before it's going to look healthy again.”

  “I won't use rubber bands anymore,” I promised.

  “How much do you want me to cut?” he asked.

  “I'd like it to be as long as possible, but still have it look good.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I'm going to need to cut at least up to this point.” He laid his finger across my hair, just below my shoulders.

  My hair was the length of my back.

  I gulped, and then told him to go ahead and cut it. As he snipped and the horse's tail fell to the floor, all I could think about was the Bible verse that said it was a sin
for a woman to be shorn and shaven.

  That's how I felt when he was done: shorn and shaven. But it was only one of the many sins I committed that day.

  That night, I lay in a single bed in one of the children's rooms, and I couldn't sleep. I kept feeling my hair, loose on the pillow around me. I kept thinking about the clothing lying on the chair beside the bed. I had bought a green wool skirt and jacket, and a cream-colored turtleneck top to go with it. I had paid over twenty-five dollars for the outfit. That left a little less than four hundred dollars for my journey.

  I still worried that I would not be able to leave before I was found out. Mem and my sisters did not know where I was working that day, and it would be the following evening before they would know I was gone.

  In the dim light of the nightlight in the hallway, I tossed and turned. I got a fluttering feeling in my stomach. I couldn't tell if it came from fear, excitement, or both. I finally fell asleep in the darkest hours of early morning.

  The following day, Megan told me that she wanted her husband, Peter, to have a talk with me about what to do and what not to do while I was traveling. She herded the children out of the kitchen, and Peter sat across the table from me. I felt self-conscious as he gave me all the “don'ts.” “If a man wants you to go with him to his apartment, don't go. If a guy talks to you and you feel uncomfortable, tell him to leave you alone.”

  I had thought I would go by my own instincts, but now I was wondering if they would be reliable. Peter made me feel as though there might be more “bad guys” out in the world than I had thought.

  Megan wanted me to write to Mem to let her know I was all right. I wanted to leave and not have any way for them to know where I was. But on the other hand, I didn't want them to think I'd been kidnapped. So I let Megan talk me into writing a short note that said: “I'm writing to you to let you know I am all right. I'm leaving because of Datt's violence. I can't live like this anymore. You had the chance to get help for him, and you didn't. I will not be coming back until he does get help, so don't try to find me.”

  I didn't add that I wouldn't be coming back even if he did get help. I asked Megan to mail my letter the next day, so that I would have left town before Mem got it.

  That evening, Megan's sister and her husband arrived from France. Megan had told me that her sister and her husband were very wealthy, and I realized from the way she talked that she wanted very much to make a good impression on them.

  My job was to keep the children occupied while Megan, Peter, and the esteemed sister and her husband ate dinner in the dining room with the door closed.

  I put the children to bed at eight o'clock. Then I took a shower, combed my shorn hair and pinned it back with barrettes, got dressed in my new clothes, and packed a white suitcase that Megan had given me, which was bigger than the one I'd brought from home. She gave me several sweaters and other pieces of clothing. I felt bareheaded as I walked downstairs into the living room with a suitcase in each hand.

  Peter looked at me and his eyes sparkled. “Well, Saloma, I must say you look very attractive and pretty.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I could feel myself blushing. I wasn't used to compliments about my appearance.

  We started out for the station early and got there in plenty of time. Peter waited with me, even though I told him if he wanted to go back home to their company, I would be fine.

  I purchased the ticket, then stood on the platform with Peter, waiting for the train. When it pulled in, Peter handed me an envelope and said it wasn't much, but it was his and Megan's way of wishing me well.

  “Oh, thank you,” I said, meaning it sincerely. “You've already helped me out so much. I can't ever repay you for all you and Megan have done.”

  Peter gave me a good-bye hug and kissed me in a way that made me focus quickly on picking up my two suitcases and boarding the train. His hand lingered on my back. I was completely confused. Peter, who had warned me about men with bad intentions, had given me a kiss like that—on the lips?

  It made me realize something about “high” people I hadn't known before. My Amish clothes and appearance had been a shield, and without it, I was vulnerable. It seemed to me that Peter had been the first one to take advantage of my shield being gone. Would there be others? As I stepped up into the train, I wondered what was getting myself into.

  Into Daybreak

  When you do things from your soul you feel a river moving in you, a joy.

  RUMI

  When I saw how crowded the train was, I forgot the kiss and focused on finding a seat. All of the double seats had at least one person in them, except one. That one had a pack on it. I decided to take my chances. I put my luggage on the rack above and scooted into the seat next to the pack.

  A tall man stopped in the aisle beside me. He had thin blond hair with a tinge of red, and a balding spot on the crown of his head. Despite the bald spot, he looked like he might be in his late twenties.

  “Were you sitting here?” I asked him.

  “Yes, but you are welcome to take this seat next to mine,” he said.

  I let him into the seat by the window.

  “I'm John,” he said.

  “My name is Linda,” I said. “Linda Sue Miller.” I said it with such confidence, anyone listening would have never guessed this was the first day I had the name.

  “Hello, Linda,” he answered.

  Just then, the train began to move. My heart pounded to the beat of the wheels on the rail. I stood up and waved to Peter, and he waved back, and then he and the platform were gone, and the train picked up speed and rushed into the darkness. Everything swayed and vibrated, and the feeling entered my bones. I liked the train already.

  “Is he your father?” John asked.

  “No,” I said, sitting back down. “Just a friend.”

  “Where are you traveling to?”

  “I'm going to Burlington, Vermont,” I said, half expecting him to be surprised.

  But he just said, “I'm going to Boston to visit a few friends of mine. We usually get together about once every six months. I haven't seen them in a while, so I'm going there for the week. How long will you be in Burlington?”

  “I don't know yet.” There was a long pause.

  John looked at me, expecting me to clarify.

  I suddenly felt so relieved to have made it onto the train, on the way to freedom, I decided to take the chance that my instincts were right, that this man was trustworthy. I said softly, “I'm running away from home.”

  John got a surprised look on his face, as his mouth formed an O.

  “Not only am I leaving my family, I am also leaving the Amish,” I said.

  John looked twice as surprised. “Wow. That must take a lot of courage,” he said.

  I shrugged and nodded.

  He smiled and said, “I have had some contact with Amish folks. I'm an intern at the Children's Hospital, and occasionally there are Amish children who need care from us.”

  I hoped he wouldn't mention our conversation to any Amish people.

  “So, what prompts you to leave?” he asked.

  The story flowed out from me naturally, like water over rocks in a brook. I told him about Datt, about my brothers and sisters, about my love of Vermont, and why I finally decided to leave.

  “This really must take a lot of courage for you,” John said again.

  “Not really. I think running away from my problems is less courageous than sticking it out at home.”

  “It sounds like it was intolerable for you, though.”

  “It was.” I kept my voice even. I was aware of having no covering on my head, and a skirt that didn't cover my knees when I sat down. I couldn't believe I was talking so intimately with a stranger.

  John and I talked for a long time. I found myself combing my hair with my fingers and pulling strands of hair away from my neck. At some point, I said I should get some rest, since the last few nights I'd hardly slept. He said, “You are welcome to lean against me if y
ou want to.”

  “Oh, no, that's okay,” I said, shifting my body away from his.

  “Okay, that's fine,” he said. I could tell he wasn't offended. I sensed it would have been fine, yet I remembered the tone of Peter's talk and decided it was probably best that I had the reaction I did.

  We had been quiet for a few minutes when the conductor came and offered me a seat by myself in the car up ahead. I followed him, telling John I would be back in the morning to get my luggage.

  The double seat by myself felt lonely. The train car was filled with people sleeping. I looked out at the dark November landscape and felt cold. Signs in a town we went through told me we'd crossed into New York State. I wished I had one of the sweaters Megan had given me, but it was in my suitcase. Then I noticed other people had blankets and pillows, and I wondered where they had gotten them. Soon, the conductor came by with one of each and offered them to me. I thanked him and leaned up against the window.

  Tonight Mem would know that I was gone. I wondered if she was sitting in the living room under the hissing of the Coleman lantern, crying into her handkerchief. Or was she moving towards her bedroom in the flickering light of the lantern after she had turned it off, before it died out completely? I was glad I was safely on the train, with no turning back, and that I wouldn't be there to see Mem cry. Then I realized for the first time in my life that possibly Mem brought some of her sorrow on herself. I couldn't keep going on this journey if I was going to feel sorry for her.

  I wondered whether they would let Dan know I was gone, once they got my letter. Or would they tell him when he came to visit me on Sunday afternoon? Then I reminded myself that by the next day, the news would be all over the community. I was relieved to think I didn't have to be with Dan ever again, and I didn't have to “tell him off,” as the Amish called breaking up with someone. I don't know how I could have told him, given the way he didn't want to talk about anything personal.

  I realized I had talked with John about more personal things in a few hours than I had with Dan in the five months I'd known him.