Runaway Amish Girl

by Emma Gingerich

  Our neighbor lady, Nina, gave me her opinion one day while cleaning her house. While I sat at her kitchen table eating a piece of cake, she started asking questions about how many boys I had dated and who they were.

  After I told her of several guys, she asked, “Did any of them take you somewhere fun and romantic?”

  That puzzled me. I did not know what “romantic” meant, but I had a hunch it had something to do with going out to eat or anything that did not include a bedroom. Nina did not know how Amish dated, and now I had to try to explain it. It was a dreadful conversation, especially since my English sucked.

  Nina looked at me with astonishment and said, “That is absolutely wrong and disgusting! How can Amish be strict in so many ways except for the way they date?”

  “I don’t know, Nina,” I answered sheepishly. “It won’t do me any good to question the situation, because my parents won’t explain it anyway.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “We are supposed to be submissive and do as told without questioning anything.”

  I was relieved when I left her house that day. I did not understand why she thought it was so wrong at the time, but the look on her face made me realize that Amish dating customs really were immoral. In a way, I wished I had not told her about it. I felt bad, but there was nothing I could do to change the rules myself. I could speak out if I wanted change, but, sadly, I knew that talking to elders about any disagreements would be like talking to Minnie the horse.

  The older I got the more I realized I had been brainwashed by the whole Amish community and by the ever so “Holy” church. I do not place blame on my parents because they did what they were expected to do. Several months after I had left home, I could still visualize all those rules. One Sunday afternoon I sat outside under a tree and enjoyed the warm breeze blowing through my unfettered hair. I was thrilled I could now wear shorts and a tank top. I could now flush the toilet and not have to wash out the outhouse every six months with a garden hose. I could now drive my own vehicle without fear of punishment; it took me a while to get past that particular fear. I could go to college and get any degree I wanted. I was free to date whomever I wanted instead of being forced to date guys selected for me. I now had freedom most people take for granted.

  Even though I was free to date whomever, I realized I was in for a challenge. I did not go on any dates for the first few years because I was extremely shy and I felt like an alien to all guys around me. I was looking forward to going out on fancy restaurant dates, or even going to the beach for a day, but it took me longer than I had expected to get adjusted to my new atmosphere.

  Chapter 5:

  Silently Angry

  Forget how much it hurts and

  try again.

  ~Morely~

  As I made my way into the First Baptist Church where I had been attending for quite a while, I realized how refreshing it was to have the freedom to worship without the judgment of others. I could sit down in a pew with red velvet seats in my favorite pink blouse and black pants, and not worry that I was not less than worthy of being the true me.

  I grew up in a community populated with relatives, friends, and children of all ages, shapes, and sizes. It was a community where everyone knew just about all there was to know about everybody else, and then some. Some of them were nosey, and others were just plain jealous and conceited. Despite being surrounded by so many people, I still felt lonely. I did not feel like I fit in and I wanted to be by myself rather than hang out with them on Sundays. When I spent time around them, I felt I had to walk on my toes so I would not offend anyone. Most of the girls knew I had been caught with several radios. They also knew what had happened that one day with Roger. I could tell they were just waiting for me to make another wrong move so they could gossip behind my back even more.

  Roger was not Amish, and looking back on it, I cannot believe I had trusted him. But back then, I had never heard of people hurting someone else.

  My bold behavior started when Roger, a sixty-five-year-old man who had become a regular visitor while I sold baskets along the roadside in town, kept asking when he could take me to see a movie. I told him as soon as my parents left home for a few days, when I could sneak out much easier.

  After waiting more than six months, an opportunity to sneak out finally presented itself. I took the chance one Thursday night when Mem and my brother Sammie got on a bus to visit Miller Dowdy (my maternal Grandpa) in Ohio. Even though Datt was still at home, I decided to take a huge risk and finally respond to Roger’s invitation. So that Friday, while I sold baskets, I told Roger I would finally go. We made plans to meet the next Monday night.

  Sarah was with me when I made the plans, and she expressed her doubts about it. The Amish taught that watching television was evil, and Sarah was more concerned about my ending up with a bad illness or a broken leg if the Good Man willed it.

  “I know it’s scary to think about what could happen,” I said, “For goodness sake, I can’t even look at the televisions in Wal-Mart without fear of getting a disease.” I tried to assure her, but it came out all wrong.

  Sarah busted out laughing and said, “I feel the same way when I am at Wal-Mart.”

  Sarah’s confession loosened us both up a little, but when Monday rolled around my level of anxiety and guilt notched up extra high. I wondered why I had made plans to do this when I knew Datt was not going to Ohio with Mem. Not only was watching TV immoral, but driving in a vehicle with Roger, whom my parents did not know well, was even worse. I hardly spoke any English and I figured I would let Roger do all the talking and I would just say “yes” or “no.” Sarah suggested I should just stay home.

  “I have to do this,” I told her. “There is no way to let Roger know I don’t want to do it after all. I just hope he doesn’t show up.”

  I was afraid if I did not go out to meet him he would come to the house to look for me. I could not bear the thought of him telling Datt he was taking me to see a movie. Datt would probably have a calf.

  The evening rolled around and I was ready to go at 10:30. I waited upstairs in my bedroom until everyone was asleep. Then I crept down the squeaky stairs and made my way outside. I waited a bit at the door to make sure Datt did not wake up. After I was sure no one heard me, I ran down the gravel road barefoot. After a little while, I slowed to a walk. All kinds of scary noises erupted from the dark woods, almost scary enough to make me turn around and run back to the house, but it was not long until Roger came driving up the road in his little green pickup. I climbed in and immediately felt safer. He drove me about 25 miles to his house and we watched the movie Dances with Wolves. I was sixteen years old, and that was the first movie I had ever watched. I was scared through the entire movie because of the Indians—they terrified me and I had no idea people like that even existed.

  After the movie finished, Roger took me home; it was about three o’clock in the morning. Roger was a nice man and he respected me. He did not try to take advantage of me because we were just good friends, or that is what I presumed. Back then I did not know the dangers of getting kidnapped or raped, or even worse, getting killed. I had never heard of such things happening in an Amish community. I always assumed no one wanted to hurt someone like me if I did not do anything to give them a reason. If I had known then what I know now I would have never gone out like that.

  I consider the experience with Roger as a time God wrapped His arms around me, protecting me, and maybe even inspiring me to continue with my plans to leave the Amish. Roger had known I wanted to leave since I was fifteen years old, and we had talked about it all the time. He had given me some pointers on what to expect in the real world, and he had even told me he could give me a place to stay. Of course, when the time came he backed out.

  §

  My boldness got placed on hold soon after the secret movie night. It was an embarrassing moment in my Amish life, but something I do not regret. It all began one hot August day in 2004, when I was sixteen.
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  After long hard weeks of weaving baskets by hand, I always looked forward to an occasional day off when we would go to what I called “fantasyland.” My parents had found a spot to sell baskets soon after we moved from Ohio to Missouri. The location was perfect because our setup was close to Interstate 35, where many travelers exited to eat at a popular restaurant and truck stop called Dinner Bell. The interstate was in plain sight, and sometimes I would count the vehicles by making a mark on a piece of paper for every vehicle going north and south. It was a great way to pass the time between helping customers. Sometimes Sarah and I would pick out different cars and trucks we wanted to own someday. Then there were days when I would open up the back end of the buggy, sit on the tailgate with my feet hanging down, and take off my white cap to let my hair fall loose and just enjoy the fresh air. I would daydream of the day when I could have my long brunette hair blow in the wind free as a bird forever.

  Sarah and I always had a good time when we were together, especially when we sold baskets. We learned how to use a camera so we could take pictures for the many tourists who asked to be in a photo with the horse or the handmade baskets, and if they wanted Sarah and me to be in the photo, we gladly accepted their wishes and posed. Amish rules forbade us from having our picture taken, but some days the rules just did not matter to us.

  Sarah and I were selling baskets at the truck stop that day when Roger stopped by to visit. He asked me to go with him to buy cold beverages, thinking it would be a treat for us. I really did not like any kind of pop because I did not like the burning sensation in my mouth from the fizz. Besides, my parents did not really want us to drink pop since it was not good for our health. Instead of telling Roger I did not want a drink, I got into his vehicle. I thought, What the heck? Riding in his van could do me no harm. We drove a few blocks to a small gas station and bought Coca Cola while Sarah stayed with the baskets.

  When we returned, Roger parked the vehicle and told me I could stay in the passenger seat if I wanted to. He offered Sarah to sit in the back seat to cool off too, but she declined. So I sat there, drinking my Coke and listening to him talk about himself. He was a part-time postal employee who delivered mail from one post office to another every evening, and he did not care whether we understood what he was saying as long as he was talking. I was not paying any attention to my surroundings when Sarah’s hollering jolted me out of my daydreams. “Emma! There is a buggy coming up the street!” Sarah yelled in German. “It looks like Mem and Datt!”

  “Oh no! I am in serious trouble now!” I shouted. I panicked. My bones froze. I tried to think of a fast way to escape the vehicle without my parents seeing me, but it seemed impossible. I started shaking and Sarah, who stood next to the van, franticly yelled to me to hurry and get out. She looked pale and scared too. There was only one option left: climb out of the vehicle even if my parents saw me. Everything happened so fast it felt like it was just a bad dream. Unfortunately, it was real.

  Datt drove to a telephone pole to tie the horse, which was a few hundred feet from where I stood next to Sarah. Roger stayed in his vehicle. Even though Sarah and I could not speak English very well, Roger knew we were in trouble and he tried to keep a conversation going. When we did not respond after a minute, he gave up.

  Sarah and I tried hard to act like nothing had happened, but we soon changed our minds when Mem began walking towards us. She had a fuming look on her face, which told me my life would soon be even more miserable than it already was. Datt stayed behind. At first, I was glad he did not get off the buggy because he had a temper worse than Mem, but after seeing her face it did not really matter which parent came forward. She walked over to Roger first and flatly told him to leave. He instantly complied.

  Next she spun around and looked at us, “What do you girls think you are doing?”

  “Roger asked me if I wanted to sit in his van to cool off and drink a Coke,” I answered sheepishly. “I didn’t see anything wrong with that.”

  “He could have taken off with you,” she scolded, almost in tears.

  I did not say anything, and Sarah stood deathly quiet. I wondered why she did not have anything to say like she always did when we got into trouble. However, I was the only one really in trouble, so I could not blame Sarah for her actions. Or inactions.

  It may sound wrong to trust a 65-year-old man to not run off with me, but I had known Roger for over three years. He had stopped almost every Friday just to visit and pass the time. I could not imagine him kidnapping me. If he really wanted to take us, he could have done it a long time ago. It did not occur to me he only stopped when Sarah and I were there, but Mem told us he only stopped occasionally when she sold baskets. I had a feeling Roger did not like Mem, but who could blame him? Mem did not easily warm up to strangers, especially English people.

  I decided not tell Mem I had gone to the store with Roger. All my parents saw was me sitting in his van, and I reasoned that if I let them believe I was sitting in the vehicle to cool off, my punishment would be less severe. She did not ask if we went anywhere, so I decided not to bother providing any further details.

  Mem broke the silence again: “I wonder what else you girls do here that you shouldn’t.”

  For the first time one little word squeaked out of Sarah’s mouth: “Nothing.” I kept my mouth shut. And because of my actions that day with Roger, my fantasyland became history.

  §

  The next six-months dragged by slowly and painfully. All my friends found out because Rhoda told them what I had done. It took many sleepless nights to get over the humiliation of what took place that day because other people now knew about it and judged me harshly. Where did I go wrong in life? I would lie awake at night wondering if other girls were as senseless and naïve as I was. Probably not, but we never talked about anything other than well-behaved “lady like” subjects. It bored me out of my skin.

  Sarah and I were very close, and it seemed like Mem and Datt tried everything they could after the incident with Roger to not to let us do anything together. I felt bad that my parents were punishing Sarah too, especially since it was my fault. We were so scared of my parents we did not even dare to be together upstairs in my room for fear of Datt sneaking in and discovering us. He would occasionally just walk right into my room without knocking and start looking through my dresser drawers very slowly, his pipe dangling from his mouth. It irritated the crap of me.

  Sometimes I could not remember where I had hidden my secret stash of nail polish, lipstick, and a little bit of jewelry. All I could do was sit and hope everything vanished as Datt got close to finding it. Our neighbor lady, Nina, had given the makeup to me once after I cleaned her house. I never wore any of it because the Amish forbade it, but I did not want to part with it either. If Datt ever found out about it, I would have had some hard explaining to do. I could not handle the fear of getting caught with it, so I dug a hole behind the house under a tree and buried my wooden box of possessions. Before I buried it, I locked the box in case someone stumbled across it, then I wrapped it in a plastic bag to keep the moisture out.

  The punishment probably seemed harder and more miserable because my parents no longer allowed us to go to the corner to sell baskets. The stress of trying to be on good behavior even affected our daily activities: instead of talking and having fun while cooking and washing dishes three times a day, we did our work in silence, each tending to our own duties in the kitchen. We did not know if we could even look at each other if either Mem or Datt was near. It was miserable. I could not understand at the time why sitting in someone’s vehicle could make my parents so angry and ruin my reputation with my friends. More than ever, all I could think about was figuring out a way to run away.

  My workload doubled, or maybe I thought so because I felt guilty about my actions and tried to work harder to convince Mem and Datt to appreciate me more. Of course it did not work. I could feel Datt getting more distant from me. We were not close to begin with, so as it became harder to pleas
e him, I felt even more unappreciated. Maybe I deserved it, but I also wanted another chance. My whole life I had tried to do things the right way to seek approval, but that was impossible because my parents never affirmed us. So I gave up.

  It annoyed me that Datt would not help make baskets more often, and I learned that asking him to help only made him angry. Mem wanted him to at least cut out the wood needed for the baskets, but he did not. He kept busy doing his regular job: sitting around and smoking his pipe. Even after almost losing my little finger while cutting wood with the table saw, he made no effort to take on any more responsibility. After that I was scared to death to continue to using the table saw, but it had to be done to make baskets.

  After completing our three-story house, Datt took a break from work and it seemed to last a long time: Following the move to Missouri he did not continue with the sawmill business, and he failed at many attempts to start something on the farm to make an income after that.

  On his first attempt to provide for our family, Datt bought beef cattle and allowed them to graze on half of the 125 acres he owned; we raised crops on the other half. The cattle business did not work out too well. Wintertime was rough on the cattle, and it took a lot of hay to keep them fed, which was something Datt did not have plenty of. Then one day he got a wild hair and bought a hundred sheep. The barn and the pasture were not prepared to handle such beasts. Sheep always escaped through the smallest holes, they were always hungry, and they were always loud. When they started to give birth, the ewes lowed so loudly I thought they might as well have been laying eggs. Most of the sheep bore either twins or triplets, but some gave birth to as many as seven babies at once. It was a complete disaster to take care of so many babies: many of them got sick, some lost their mothers, and mothers lost their babies. Datt soon lost interest in them and handed the responsibility of taking care of them over to us.