Runaway Amish Girl

by Emma Gingerich

  The next thing I knew, Mem was standing at the bottom of the stairs calling my brother Noah’s name, telling him it was time to get up. I waited to see if she would call my name too, like she used to when I was living at home. I heard the door close and the footsteps fall silently away. No, she was not going to call my name, maybe it was just too hard for her to say my name again after so many years of not being here. However, she had told me the night before that I needed to get up at five o’clock and be ready to go with Noah to the wedding by six o’clock. The rest of the family planned to leave later. Mem wanted me to go early so I could see Jacob before too many people arrived. Jacob was at his in-laws’ house. It took almost an hour to get there by horse and buggy.

  I rolled out of bed and it took me a second to realize there was no light switch to turn on. It would be so much easier to flip on a light switch, I grumbled as I felt around the nightstand for matches to light the oil lamp. It was so dark I could not even see my hand when I held it up close to my face. Finally I got the lamp lit and the light it cast was barely better than no light at all. I did not know how we survived with just a small flame for light. I put on the dress Sarah gave me the night before. I was pinning on the cape when Mem knocked on the door and walked in.

  “Do you still know how to put a cape on?” she asked.

  “I guess so, I haven’t poked myself yet with these straight pins, I think it’s because I still know how,” I said. In a more serious voice I said, “I am more concerned with how I look.”

  “Let me help you get these pleats right on your back. I don’t want your cape too far out on your shoulders.” She offered to help me.

  With cold hands, she stuck the ends of the cape between the dress collar and my neck, making three pleats down the full length of my back.

  “It would help if I had big mirror so can see what I am doing,” I said. “My hands are sweating from trying to put this pin in the back.”

  “What’s wrong with the little hand mirror laying right there?” She pointed to the nightstand.

  “I can’t see with it, it’s too little, and the light in this room does not help,” I muttered.

  As soon as those words left my mouth I wished I could take them back. I did not want to complain while I was here, especially not in front of Mem. She did not say anything about my comment, but I could tell she did not want to bring up the fact there was nothing she could do about it. Rules dictated the Amish could not have big mirrors, and having a dim light in the house was like bright sunshine to them. Years ago, using a dim oil lamp did not bother me, but now I was used to having a light blaring in every corner of my apartment, whether it was dark outside or not.

  I was glad when Mem changed the subject and said, “I need to go downstairs again, to finish making breakfast, but first I want to help you get your head covering on to make sure it fits right.”

  I sat down on the bed and started the process of putting my short hair up. Even though my hair had grown out since my last haircut, it was still way shorter than Amish are used to seeing. I used one of Sarah’s handmade hair bands to pull back every strand away from my face. I managed to keep my hair up with several hairpins. Then I put on the white pleated covering Mem had ironed and prepared yesterday.

  I held the mirror up to my face and gasped: I looked exactly like I did a long time ago. My throat went dry and my heart leaped out of my chest. I was Amish again and I did not like it. The look on Mem’s face told me she enjoyed it. I wanted to say, Just don’t get your hopes up that I will stay like this, but I did not want to ruin the sweet mother time we were enjoying. It did not happen too often, and I longed to have a close relationship with her. Back in Texas, I would get green with envy when other girls went out with their mothers on special mother-daughter dates.

  When I glanced backed to Mem, she was smiling from ear to ear, “Ya, it fits. You might have to pull it forward every once-in-a-while; it seems to pull back a little. And I hope your hair stays up all day, so you don’t have to fix it again. I don’t want other people to see that you cut your hair.”

  “I will do my best to keep my hair covered, Mem,” I said, trying to sound reassuring so she would not worry about me all day.

  “Okay, come downstairs to eat soon. It is almost time for you to leave for the wedding,” she said with a serious look on her face.

  I was already fidgeting in my dress and I had only been in it for less than an hour. The collar squeezed my neck tightly, but it had to be tight so the cape would stay in place. I was glad I decided to wear a bra; at least something felt familiar. I was afraid Mem would notice I had one on when she helped me with the cape. She probably would not know what it was since women here did not wear them. After I finished griping to myself, I ran downstairs to eat and, out of all things that could possibly be made for breakfast, it had to be coffee soup. I should have known because it was an Amish breakfast classic, made with hot milk, sugar, and coffee, and eaten with bread or Saltine crackers. Not my favorite meal at all.

  While I ate, I thought about all the food I could eat back in Texas, and it did not include coffee soup. I loved having a microwave oven where food could be cooked in seconds, or where food could also explode in seconds. I soon learned that mistake when I tried to cook an egg in one, and it exploded with such force the egg shredded to fine pieces. Microwavable food is not nearly as healthy as Amish-cooked meals, but I was glad to be spending more time on things I wanted to do, and spending less time cooking meals for an army. I was selfish.

  Chapter 9:

  The Past is Always the Past

  Don’t go where the path may lead, go instead

  where there is no path.

  ~ Ralph Emerson ~

  The morning of Jacob’s wedding dawned cloudy, and the chilly September air nipped at my cheeks as I rode in the buggy with my brother Noah to the house where Jacob was to be married. Daylight began to break, but the gray clouds hung low in the sky, looking sad. The sun did not even bother to peek out from behind the clouds and the rolling hills. I hoped it would not rain because that would be a bad sign for Jacob’s wife-to-be. It had been such a long time since I sat on a buggy behind a horse; I had forgotten how bad it smelled. It was obvious no one had brushed the horse that morning because loose dust and hair fell from its coat and blew into my face. The horse farted. When I was Amish, I took things like horse farts as part of normal life, but now it bothered me. It would not have been so bad if I had not been sitting right behind the horse’s rear end, but my seat made it impossible to escape the animal’s stench; apparently I had become a city girl over the last two-and-a-half years. Driving a motorized vehicle was much more satisfying, and it did not stink like horse farts.

  We arrived at the house a little before seven o’clock. Noah dropped me off by the sidewalk leading to the front door. I dreaded opening the door and facing reality, but since I was one of the first ones to arrive, I thought maybe it might not be so bad. My sister, Amanda, had stayed overnight at the wedding house to help with last-minute chores, so I did not get to see her at my parents’ the night before. She was washing breakfast dishes when I walked in and she welcomed me with a smile. “Where should I put my bonnet and shawl?” I asked her.

  Amanda warmly replied, “Take it upstairs to the room on the right.”

  I was glad to have a reason to go upstairs because I knew Sarah was there dressing for the day.

  I put up my shawl and bonnet and walked to the next room down the hall. Anxious and excited wedding folks filled the room, trying to get dressed. They greeted me when I walked in. Jacob was tying his shiny black shoes, and his wife-to-be frantically tried to pin her cape. By Amish tradition, the bride and groom were allowed see each other the day of the wedding. They usually would spend the wedding night together in the same house, usually at the bride’s parents’.

  Jacob shook my hand after he finished tying his shoes. “I am glad you could make it today,” he said quietly. “I didn’t really expect you to come.”


  “I am happy to be here on your special day,” I replied, even though half of me did not really want to be there. Now I better try to act like I am happy, not just say it, I thought.

  Sarah, Rhoda, and Anna wore their dark blue dresses with white aprons and capes. Dark blue was the standard color for the bride and bridesmaids. The girls had to take turns using a small mirror to see how their dresses fit. The girls complained continuously about the way they looked. Oh, this cape doesn’t fit right, help me with the pin in the back, I can’t get the pleat right, it’s hot in here, my hair needs to be fixed again, how do I look now? Blah, blah, blah. It made my complaining earlier that morning seem minor compared to what I heard from them. My head spun listening to them, and seeing the guys I had once dated gathered in the same room made it seem much worse.

  Abe was there, as handsome as ever. His dark blue fitted suit, brown straight hair, blue eyes, and a smile to kill for, made him look extra sleek this morning. Sarah was lucky to have him for a boyfriend, and maybe—eventually—a husband. He was five years older than she was, old enough to be married, but he had taken his time and waited for the right girl. I could not help but wonder if he remembered that awful first date with me. I mentally kicked myself in the butt and thought, of course he remembers. It was something that just would not go away no matter how hard I tried to erase it.

  Rhoda’s boyfriend, Enos, was a complete stranger to me. He was a young man from Ohio and they were in a long-distance relationship. They had started dating after I left home, and for all I knew he was also a second cousin. He looked handsome as well. He did not say much while I was in the room, but he stared at me all day long. He probably could not imagine having a future sister-in-law living out in the free world.

  I stood against the wall and observed everything going on. I could not help wondering where I would fit in to all of this activity if I were still Amish. I would probably be a navahucka instead of Sarah, but who would be my partner? Would that partner also be the one I would marry? I looked at Norman, my ex-boyfriend who had just walked into the room a few minutes earlier. He laughed and talked more than the others, and sometimes I caught a glimpse of him looking at me. I had left the Amish a couple months after I broke up with him. After the break up, I wondered if I had made the right decision; he looked better now than when I dated him. He had grown into a handsome and charming young man. No, I thought, I would not want Norman to be my boyfriend. I could not see myself marrying him or any other Amish guy. As much as I tried, I could not picture myself being anywhere but back in Texas and in college.

  After everyone finished dressing, they all stomped downstairs and climbed into a buggy waiting outside to take them to the neighbor’s house where the wedding service itself was to be held. I stayed behind and helped set the tables with endless lines of china dishes, and I prepared to be a table waiter for hundreds of people. It was tradition that the nearest neighbor held the wedding church service at their house, so the bride’s house had enough room to prepare the big lunch and dinner after the wedding. The wedding service usually started at 8:00 and lasted until about 12:30. It was similar to a regular Amish church service, except it lasted an hour longer, and at twelve o’clock the couple exchanged marriage vows. At the bride’s house, the women, usually the bride’s aunts or neighbors, prepared an amazing lunch which would be ready by the time the service finished.

  After the bride and groom left the house for the wedding, the morning got livelier as women and girls began to arrive. The women came to cook while the girls helped setting and waiting on tables. Some of the girls still remembered me from when I was Amish, but instead of acknowledging me, they walked away with shocked looks on their faces. I was astonished. Why wouldn’t they say something to me? The girls who did not know me would sit right next to me. They did not know the difference. But when Cousin Lizzie walked into the room she stopped short and gasped. With eyes wide open, she grabbed the two nearest girls and dragged them into the hallway. When they returned, their sheepish looks confirmed Lizzie had told them who I was. I could just imagine Lizzie telling her friends I was the girl who went “high,” and was now destined for hell. One-by-one, they stared at me, and the whispering began. I sat on a chair and pretended not to notice, but their reaction disgusted me. I told myself over-and-over, I came here for my brother, not for the judgmental hypocrites.

  Finally, at nine o’clock, it was time to start preparing the big feast. We all went downstairs where the married women busily peeled potatoes. Since I was a table waiter, along with all the other girls, I had to start setting the tables with the finest china dishes. I worked in the living room, busily laying sticks of butter on little plates, when I caught a glimpse of Aunt Mary standing at the doorway. Mary was married to Datt’s brother, Joe. When she saw me she covered her mouth, spun around, and ran back into the kitchen. I went to the doorway and peeked around the corner to see what she would do next. I spied her whispering to other local women. Huh, how childish, I thought. She did the same thing her daughter Lizzie had just done. Soon I heard my name spreading around like the flu in an Amish house; it did not look like many women were happy I was there. Maybe they thought I was a threat to their daughters.

  While I stood at the doorway watching the women’s reaction, I caught a glimpse of Mem standing at the kitchen sink, talking to someone with her back turned. I could not see who it was. I wondered how she would take it if she knew what went on behind her back. Or did she already know? I thought maybe people were giving her a hard time, too, because I was her daughter. I felt sorry for her. I scurried back to my place before anyone noticed, and continued filling butter dishes. Every now and then, I caught one or two women peeking into the living room as if they had to see for themselves that I was actually at the wedding being a bad influence on their daughters.

  I was glad when the time came to go to the basement to cut cakes, slice cheese, and whip cream for the puddings and tapioca. In the basement, I stayed a little more hidden from all the women upstairs. I felt more at ease when my sister, Amanda, stood beside me to peel apples for the fruit salad. We talked for a while, and soon some of Amanda’s friends started to open up and ask me questions as they gathered around me.

  “What are you doing in Texas?” someone asked.

  “I am just going to college right now,” I replied.

  I realized by their stunned faces they did not know what college was, and I think it scared them. They went back to talking about usual Amish life, which was okay with me. At least they were talking to me about things that were comfortable for them.

  By 11:30 we finished up in the basement, and all the table waiters sat down to eat the great meal before it was time to feed the others. I was hungry and exhausted, but there was no time to chew the food, just swallow and take the next bite. I could not believe how fast everyone ate. I was relieved I had not been baptized in the Amish church before I left home because I would have been forced to eat at a table by myself as part of the shunning process. When someone does something that is not in the Ordnung, which is the basic outline of written rules dictating almost every aspect of Amish life, church ministers may attempt to intervene in the conflict and try to solve the issue. However, to return to good standing, shunned members must show submission even if they believe they are innocent. Only when there is a complete break from the community does the excommunication become permanent. Since I left the Amish, I made an effort to understand shunning, and what I came up with is pretty simple: Shunning works a little bit like an electric fence around a pasture with a pretty good fence charger on it. It is the most important fallback the church uses to make people feel guilty for their actions.

  I believe love casts out all fear and evil doings. If the Amish could understand the love God has for us all, they could engage in a way that would draw them closer to Him, not push them away. This would eliminate the shunning and bring repentance to the person instead of shame. Shunning them for a while does not mean they will ever repent, since it is dr
iven by fear rather than by love.

  After we finished eating, it was time to go to the wedding service and watch the exchanging of the marriage vows. We piled into several buggies and drove ten-minutes to the service. The cooks stayed behind to finish last-minute cooking details.

  At the service, my Datt helped the girls find a place in the crowded house to sit. There were so many people there I could not even move my legs where I sat without hitting someone else. People looked at me like they thought I was from another planet. Essentially, I was from another planet, but a better one. I guessed they did not see too many runaways who came back home and dressed Amish for a wedding.

  I tried not focus too much on the people staring at me because there were too many other distractions. Uncle Moses, my mem’s brother and an ordained bishop from Ohio, stood at the living room doorway and preached. He had performed a lot of weddings and baptisms in his life, and he made that quite obvious by preaching faster and better than anyone I had ever heard. But I still had no clue know what he said, just like I never understood any church services growing up. I was glad I was not getting married in a place where I would have to sit still for more than four hours before I could say “I do” while having no clue what the preacher was saying. To me it was like playing house, just going through the motions without having any meaning. Now that I was back with the Amish for a day, I was completely convinced I could never be happy if I decided to come back for good. It just did not feel right. I was not comfortable. I did not feel pretty, and I felt like I was powerless.

  Before I could think too much about the Amish church, the bishop called Jacob and Anna to stand next to him. They had been dating for at least three years and seemed to be a match made in heaven. Anna was tall, with blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, and her laughter resonated with happiness. After the groom and bride made their way to the bishop, everyone stood for the reading of the scriptures. The bride and groom faced the bishop instead of each other when they said their “I do’s.” Jacob bowed his head, face flushed. I thought he looked happy, but I could not really read his expression. Anna smiled slightly, stood as straight as a wall, and kept her eyes glued on the bishop. She looked pretty in her dark blue dress and white cape. After they exchanged vows, they went back to their seats. The vows were in a different language than the German spoken outside of church. I assumed the vows were similar to those spoken during an English wedding, but there was no “you may kiss the bride” moment. I had never seen an Amish couple kiss in public, and I was not quite sure I wanted to see it either.