“Now don’t you move from here or you will get more of this,” Mamma said as she waved the swatter in Fanny’s face.
Everyone went back to bed, and Samantha and I piled the plywood in the middle of the room. I was crying on the inside for Aunt Fanny. I did not understand what was wrong with her, but it was apparent that she was unable to comprehend what was happening.
The next morning after breakfast, I measured Fanny for her clothes. This would be difficult because of her wide girth and small shoulders. While measuring her, I started to notice some very strange behavior from her. At first, I thought she was speaking to me; I happily asked what she had said since she had been silent since her arrival. But much to my confusion, she was talking to something in the corner of the room. I looked in the corner but saw no one, and I looked back at her wide-eyed, finally realizing what her diagnosis entailed. When I saw Samantha outside, I whispered to her about the puzzling behavior. She shrugged and stated, “I knew she had to be a loony to end up here, Misty. Why else do you think she would be here?”
That was our full understanding of the situation since we had no means of gaining any knowledge about Fanny’s condition. That day, Fanny switched between vacant stares and talking to an unseen person while dancing around the room. It was hard to measure her for the long dress and apron since she was either getting tangled in the fabric or standing still, refusing to help in any way. A couple of times, I accidentally stuck Fanny with sewing pins and felt awful about it. I immediately applied pressure and told her I was sorry to realize that she had not even noticed and was intent on talking to someone over my shoulder.
Mamma was reading a book as usual. I tried to make light of the situation and pretended that Fanny was just being funny. Later in the day, Mamma began screaming. I had been so busy, I had forgotten to make bread. After beating me with the fly swatter, she turned to Fanny.
“I am tired of your bull****. You don’t have schizophrenia or whatever it is, and you are not getting any of those damned pills so you can pretend you are sick or something. You better just snap out of it right now, you hear me?” She started beating Aunt Fanny all over her body and laughing. “That’s right; we’ll get the devil beat out of you.”
At first Fanny kept dancing around and jabbering to the unknown person. When she began to understand what was happening, she ran with Mamma chasing her. I ran after the two, but am ashamed to say that after a while, I just stood still. I did not know if my intervening would help or harm.
Mamma threw Fanny against the side of the house, and threatened her: if she did not obey, she could expect more of the same. She then dragged Fanny into the house and told her to stand still while I put clean clothes on her. She was sobbing like a child; I gave Mamma the angriest looks I could muster.
“What are you looking at?” Mamma barked. “She is standing still, isn’t she?”
Not answering, I tied the white cap on Fanny’s head. I looked down into her giant blue eyes and saw a sense of clarity as if she had suddenly jumped back into her body. Our eyes met, and I smiled at her. She looked at me as if begging for help. My eyes were full of tears and I felt helpless.
After dressing Aunt Fanny, I hugged her and told her she looked pretty in her new clothes. She shook her head and began pulling them off.
“No, no,” I said, trying to stop her for fear of what would happen. Mamma slapped Fanny a few times with the fly swatter, and she stopped undressing. I could tell she was confused about the strange clothes she was wearing.
So life began for Aunt Fanny on the mountain. It took Mamma many beatings to get Aunt Fanny to keep her Amish clothes on. Eventually Fanny seemed to understand that if she did not wear them, pain would follow. And Mamma soon realized that the ugly welts now covering Fanny’s body could cause them trouble if anyone saw them, so she began beating Fanny under her dress, often targeting her large breasts. Mamma would say that Fanny did not need her breasts anyway. Fanny would cry and scream; I would stand shaking and cover my ears with my hands. To this this day, the memories of Aunt Fanny’s high-pitched screams haunt me.
Fanny helped with work every day. One day, she was with Samantha and, the next day, she spent with me. Although Samantha and I both tried to shield her from punishment, if Fanny was caught dancing around or not working, she was punished for not obeying.
When we ate, Mamma placed the fly swatter on the table. I always sat next to or across from Fanny and whenever she started drifting off, I would nudge her under the table. Sometimes, I even pinched her hard to get her to eat. If I did not, the fly swatter would fly across the room, aimed directly at her already sore breasts. My efforts to protect her rarely worked, though.
A New Victim
The tears I feel today
I’ll wait to shed tomorrow.
Though I’ll not sleep this night
Nor find surcease from sorrow.
My eyes must keep their sight:
I dare not be tear-blinded.
I must be free to talk
Not choked with grief, clear-minded.
My mouth cannot betray
The anguish that I know.
Yes, I’ll keep my tears till later:
But my grief will never go.”
—Anne McCaffrey, Dragon Singer
The last time Brian had seen his father, he had let slip the name of the town we were moving to. He made Grandpa promise not to tell anyone, but that summer the police showed up at the house with a letter from Aunty Laura. The letter told of how Brian’s father had died of colon cancer and how he had begged to see his son before he died. After so many years of not seeing or hearing from Brian, Grandpa had finally told Aunty Laura where we were living. But by the time she was able to locate the local police, Grandpa was gone.
Aunty Laura was angry in the letter. She told Brian he had abandoned his loving family. All these years, they had not even known if he was alive or dead. The letter went on to say that their mother had fallen ill in her nursing home in Tallahassee, Florida. Laura included the phone number of the home and underlined and highlighted where she wrote that Brian should call her. The letter ended with Aunty Laura stating that the bike shop and all of Grandpa’s possessions had been left to her since they could not be sure if Brian was coming back.
Although Grandpa had been eighty-eight, Samantha and I were sad to hear that such a kind man had died. Brian did not even shed a single tear; he was just angry he had been pushed out of Grandpa’s will.
“I will fix her wagon,” he ranted. “She thinks she will get everything. Well, Mom has more than Dad ever had, and I am going to collect.”
Samantha, Mamma, and I looked at him. “What the h*** are you talking about?” Mamma asked emphatically. “You can’t collect anything if she is still alive.”
“Well, she is old and just broke her hip, and it was always easy for me to get what I wanted from her.” Brian seemed to be calculating something in his head. “I am going to convince her to come live with us.”
Aunty Laura, of course, had no idea the axis of evil she had accidentally set into motion. Brian was out for revenge, no matter what the cost. Brian and Mamma went into town later that day and contacted Grandma via pay phone. She had just moved from the hospital to a senior retirement home. She had suffered a stroke after breaking her hip.
The next week, Brian flew to Florida to put his plans into action. He stayed there for a week and was actually in a good mood when he got back. Grandma, whom Samantha and I had only met once, had agreed to come live with us. She was old and frail, and at eighty-two had no idea what was in store.
Although the doctor had stated that Grandma would be unable to make the long trip for at least three weeks, Brian was ecstatic, He rambled on about how his mom had recently sold her condominium and had $60,000 in the bank. She also got a $1,000 pension check every month from her late husband’s estate.
“Well, that is certainly good news.” Mamm
a’s eyes lit up. “But you know your nosy sister is going to be here all the time if your mother is here. All she has to do is ask the police where we live now.”
Brian nodded. “We have to tell her and invite her here. I want her to know Mom is living with me.” His face creased into an evil grin.
A few days before leaving for Florida again, Brian announced that when Grandma arrived, we would build an addition to the orchard shack we were living in. Samantha and I were excited about having Grandma around, plus Aunty Laura would most likely come to visit now. Maybe life would get better. I would lie awake at night, dreaming of Aunty Laura asking me live with her. I knew Brian and Mamma would never allow it… but a girl could dream.
In August, Mamma and Brian set out on the trip to Florida. They were to be gone a week. Grandma owned a twenty-foot travel trailer and she could live in it until we had better living arrangements. I was worried about an elderly woman with health problems coming to live with us. The icy winters we experienced often blocked all roads to the hospital, and it could be hours before any emergency medical treatment could be provided.
That week, Samantha and I were left with many tasks to complete, but it was an unusually relaxing week. We knew for a fact that we were not being watched, and there was no one forcing us to take baths in the spring water. Fanny drifted in and out of reality and began talking to us more.
We made up a schedule for the week that, if strictly followed, would give us every afternoon to read, and give Aunt Fanny a much-deserved rest while she sat next to us. Samantha and I scurried around every morning; then we would make our lunch, which was a real treat, and then would curl up on our mattresses upstairs and bury our faces in the books left by our kind neighbor.
Years later, I often asked myself why I did not run away with Fanny and Samantha during this time. The only explanation I could come up with was that we were completely brainwashed. We were taught that the outside world was worldly and ungodly, and that if you became one of them, you were lost forever. The thought of going to the police never even occurred to us. Brian and Mamma told us if we talked to the police, they would just give us back because the foster system was crowded. I was so brainwashed at the time and Mamma and Brian knew that.
On a blistering day in August, a week after Mamma and Brian had left, we heard the truck driving up the private road to the house. Samantha and I had long ago learned to differentiate the sound of our truck from the sound of any other. As soon as I heard it, my heart jumped; the happy week was over. For a split second, I stood frozen to the ground, and then I raced over to Fanny to make sure she was properly dressed. I tied her head covering and shook out her dress and apron as Samantha ran over to open the gate.
The truck struggled more than usual as it crawled up the steep hill into the driveway, and my heart sank a little—as it always did—when the sun glinted off the hood and the truck rolled up to the gate. As they came to a stop, we peered in the windows, trying to determine what mood Mamma and Brian were in. Brian opened his door and motioned for us to come to the truck. An older woman’s voice floated over to us and I heard her say, “Are we home, honey?”
“Yeah, Mom, let’s get you out of here,” Brian said in a nicer voice than I had ever heard him use. He opened the truck’s back door and I helped him ease Grandma down.
Grandma looked at me and smiled. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said in a frail voice. “I sure am tired. We have been on the road for a long time.”
Mamma got out of the car. I heard the door slam, and the truck shook a little. Grandma shrugged and looked at me.
“She has been pissed at me the whole way.” Her thin white face puckered in a frown. “All I did, was ask her where she got her dress. Oh, look, you are wearing the same thing.”
Not sure what to say, I smiled at her instead of answering, and she smiled back.
“That’s okay, honey,” she said as she struggled to walk toward the house. “Brian told me you guys are Amish now. I guess I just didn’t put it all together.”
I helped Grandma up the stairs into the house, and she sat down at the table. She asked for a glass of water and Samantha got it for her. Then Samantha, Fanny, and I stood, just looking at her. Her recently permed hair had a soft, silvery color. She wore a red polyester dress, pearl earrings and red lipstick. Samantha whispered in my ear, asking if I thought she would be allowed to dress like this every day. I shrugged and tried to listen to Mamma and Brian, who were arguing behind the door.
Samantha nudged me, and I realized Grandma was talking to me.
“So how old are you, honey?” she asked while she rolled her false teeth around in her mouth and pushed them back into place.
“I am fifteen.” I fidgeted with my apron and painfully realized how poor my communication skills were.
“You girls got any boyfriends?” Grandma asked with interest.
“Boy, this lady doesn’t have a clue where she is, does she?” Samantha said under her breath. I gave Samantha a warning look, and she rolled her eyes.
“No, not right now,” I answered with a shrug.
“Well,” Grandma fanned herself with a potholder she had found on the table. “It sure is hot here. What do you guys do for fun?”
We looked at her and smiled without saying anything. Grandma looked tired, and although she seemed very sweet, I could tell she did not really understand what was going on, and I knew that our living arrangements were nothing like she expected.
Grandma turned to Aunt Fanny and asked her name. To my surprise, Fanny answered and stepped forward to take Grandma’s hand. Suddenly I understood why Fanny was staring at Grandma and standing so close to her. Fanny had been raised by her own grandmother whom she had loved very much; it was her grandmother she was constantly trying to get back to when she tried to run away. Fanny seemed unable to comprehend the finality of death.
Grandma smiled and shook Fanny’s hand. “You must be Sue’s sister, huh?” Grandma said. “My Brian told me about you.”
“Yeah,” Fanny frowned. “That’s what they tell me, but I don’t know if she is really my sister.”
Grandma seemed confused. “You don’t know your own sister?”
Fanny just smiled, and I put my arm around her, thanking her for being nice to Grandma.
That night, I got Grandma ready for bed. It had been decided that I would stay in the trailer with her at night and take care of her since there was no room for her to stay in the small house. Brian was planning on getting Grandma to sign her savings and everything she owned over to him, so at least for the moment she was treated with respect and given what few comforts were available on the mountain.
After I dressed Grandma in her nightgown, Brian sat on the bed to talk to her. I could not believe it—he seemed so normal and charming. I had never seen him like this. Grandma laughed and called him her baby boy as she stroked his cheek. I could have been happy with this scene, had I not known it was all a charade to get Grandma to sign everything over to Brian.
That night, I got up several times to help Grandma go on the pot next to her bed. I was happy to do so and I pretended that I was working in a hospital—that I was the nurse and she was my patient. When you are in a hopeless situation, you have to find ways to mentally cope. I still had to get up at 5:00 am, and I jumped when the alarm went off. I looked at Grandma, who was sound asleep, and I pulled on my dark blue dress and black apron, then twisted my long brownish-red hair into a bun and slid on my white head covering. All of this took less than two minutes, and then I was off and running. I met Samantha in the house where she was standing in front of the wood-burning stove with Fanny.
“How was it?” Samantha whispered as I put an arm around Fanny’s shoulders.
“It was okay,” I mumbled as I tried to stifle a yawn. “I had to get up four times to help her on the pot, which is not easy when you are half-asleep and she is too.” I yawned again and rubbed
my eyes, trying to wake up.
I did my chores outside and kept checking in on Grandma who was sleeping soundly. At eight o’clock, Brian called me into the trailer to dress her. I was not used to any clothes other than the things we wore, so when I opened the closet at the back of the trailer I looked with interest at the clothes Brian would call “worldly.” There were bright pant suits with elastic waists, colorful dresses, and pretty shoes. After rummaging about for a few minutes, I helped Grandma into a flowered T-shirt and pink pants that she had picked from what I held up. Dressing her was difficult because her left side was stiff from the stroke and the broken hip. After she was dressed, Grandma had me help her with her makeup. I could not remember ever seeing someone put makeup on before, and I watched her frail, shaking hands as she applied her lipstick.
“Do you want to borrow anything, dear?” she asked me.
I shook my head.
She smiled at me. “You should put some mascara on those lashes; it would make your bright, green eyes really stand out.”
Brian could be listening at the window, so I just smiled and closed the makeup kit. When I opened the door to call for Samantha’s help, I was not surprised to see him sitting in a folding chair under the window with a Bible in hand. He looked at me with steely eyes from under his black Amish hat, and I stared back at him with raised eyebrows.
A few days after Grandma’s arrival, construction started on the new addition to our house. To my horror, Mamma announced that she and Brian were going to try to get foster children when construction was done. Samantha and I were dumbfounded at the news, and prayed that would never happen.
Brian then created a new rule that the inside girl would care for Grandma and the outside girl would care for Fanny.
During this time, Brian and Mamma were constantly taking Grandma to lawyers and to the bank so she could sign over her late husband’s post office check, her bank account and the trailer. Brian was so sweet to her it made me sick. He’d had a lifetime of practice manipulating people. He even convinced his mother to give him power of attorney and told her he would manage things for her. She agreed with little protest, only too happy to have her baby boy doting over her. Grandma was bored much of the time, and spent a lot of time sleeping in her wheelchair. The stroke had left her the ability to speak, but she frequently struggled for words and became tired easily.
Tears of the Silenced Page 5