I shook my head and smiled as I tried to replicate the sandwich, just to see what it tasted like.
“Hey, that’s actually good.” I grinned as I crunched down on a pickle.
Samantha looked like she would be sick as she glanced at my sandwich. We all laughed at her; she just shook her head and smiled.
Uniformity: The Loss of Identity
To be given dominion over another is a hard thing; to wrest dominion over another is a wrong thing; to give dominion of yourself to another is a wicked thing.
—Toni Morrison, A Mercy
After Samantha and I helped the girls do the dishes, the Bishop’s wife beckoned for Samantha and me to follow her. We walked to the stairwell where the ministers’ wives, the Deacon’s wife and the Bishop’s wife were all standing. Samantha and I stood there as they solemnly looked at us.
“Okay,” Alma, Matty’s mother began. “So this is Samantha, and this is Misty. Misty is eighteen and Samantha is sixteen.” She pointed to each of us.
The women, and then the Bishop’s wife spoke. She was surprisingly young, pretty, and very pregnant. “Well, I guess I will start. Our husbands are upstairs talking to your father and we will join them soon, but first we wanted to tell you girls a few things.” She paused and peered at us with eyes that seemed to be searching our very souls.
“First of all, your dad told us that you girls have been sheltered from most worldly things, which is a good thing. However, since your parents were raised amongst the ‘Englisch,’ there is no way for you to know some of things we expect, and there are a few things you probably do know about that you should not, and you don’t know not to talk about them.”
“Okay, first of all,” she pointed to her stomach. “So you know I am pregnant, right?” she asked.
Samantha and I nodded blankly.
Alma, the minister’s wife, nodded. “Just as I thought,” she continued. “You see, unmarried girls do not acknowledge pregnancies. It is not discussed with them until the night of their weddings. I won’t say that the older teens do not figure it out, but they never comment or stare or anything of the sort. We do not want our unmarried girls to know how babies come about, and we never speak of sex … ever. You girls do know what that is, right?” she asked, looking at us sternly.
“Yeah, of course.” I shrugged. I thought everyone over the age of twelve knew about these things or had at least figured them out.
The Deacon’s wife nodded. “This is a great concern to us. We do not even let our unmarried people read the German Bible as it speaks of these things.”
I now understood why Matty had averted her eyes to look past the Bishop’s wife when she had come over to us. There was no way Matty did not know that it was a baby that was causing that swollen stomach, I thought to myself. But tradition was what we were here to learn, and we had to learn it well.
Samantha and I followed the women upstairs and sat down on the bench the Bishop pointed to, which was in front of where the men were sitting. I sat down and looked at Brian, who was seated with the ministers. They all looked so grave; I felt I had committed some sort of crime.
“Well, I guess I will start.” The Bishop stroked his long, red beard. “This is a very serious matter for our church, as you well know.” He paused for a moment, and the ministers nodded in agreement.
“The biggest hurdle we face is the fact that you do not speak our language or know how to read the hymns during church; and, as we have never known anyone to join our church before, we do not know how to teach you the language, so that will be up to you. But,” he continued, “you must know our common language before you are baptized, as the instructions for baptism are in our language. Also, the twice yearly reading of the church Ordnung [rules] is also in our language.”
Samantha and I nodded to show that we understood the depth of what was expected of us.
“And, of course, there is the fact that you, Misty, are nearing nineteen. Our young people enter their instruction for baptism the fall after they turn seventeen, so you are much older than any of our unbaptized people. This could prove to be awkward, as the girls your age must remember not to discuss church matters with you, since church matters are for baptized members only.”
“Okay.” He turned to the other ministers. “Anything you want to add?”
The Deacon nodded. “I just want you to know we expect you to pick up on all of our traditions and practices as soon as possible. We do not want to feel like we have outsiders among us.” He paused as he put special emphasis on the word ‘outsiders.’ “We need to feel you are a part of this church and willing to follow all rules, or it is going to be very difficult for everyone. We will not baptize you until we feel you have become a part of the church, and you may not marry until you have been baptized, so it is all up to you.”
I nodded and sighed. There was a lot to learn before I was too old for marriage. There was one thing I knew—if you were an old maid among the Amish, you were looked down upon and had no more status than a teenage girl, even if you were in your fifties. If you were still single at twenty-five, your chances of marrying were slim.
“So,” the Bishop continued, “it has been decided that Misty will live with my neighbor, Jacob, and his family. They were only able to have four children, so you will make five. They will be your new dad and mom, and you will take their last name. Samantha will live with the Deacon and his family and take their last name. This way you have someone accountable for you at all times.”
I squirmed on the bench. I did not want a new mother and father. I had not had good luck with the first set and was not anxious to have new ones.
“Also,” the Bishop’s wife added from her seat behind the men, “we will need to change your names to more Amish names. We do not have any Mistys or Samanthas in our church. They sound like very prideful names, and we cannot have that.”
Samantha and I looked at each other. We had to change our first names, too?
The two of us stayed seated on the bench until the others went downstairs.
“This is going to be really hard,” I said as I rubbed my swollen neck.
“I know.” Samantha nodded. “But we have to do it; we can’t stay on the mountain, and this is the only way to go to heaven. There is no other church that is strict enough or plain; this is it.”
Outside, we found Matty and Laura waiting for us to start the walk home. They did not ask us any questions, as if there were some unspoken ban.
“Well …” I ventured after we had walked in silence for a few minutes, “Samantha and I have to pick new names.”
“Yeah, I thought you probably would,” Matty nodded. “There was a younger couple in the east district some years ago who tried to name their baby girl Iris. It was the wife’s favorite flower, but she did not get to keep the name; there was no one in her family with that name, and we always must name our children after people in our family. Since we are all related, we kind of all have similar names.”
“Tell us some common names so we can pick one.” I had no idea what names might be appropriate for us.
“Okay,” Laura was enthusiastic. “Of course you can use Laura and Matty, or you can choose Ida, Alma, Eliza, Miriam, Beth, Ella, Ruby, Alice, Phoebe, Emma, Edna …”
“Beth, I love that name,” Samantha breathed, and I smiled. Beth would be a nice name for Samantha, although I liked the name Samantha better.
“Beth? That really suits you,” I nodded in approval.
By the time we got to the farm, I had decided on the name Emma. It was a nice one, but all that mattered was that it not sound prideful.
With the names decided, we hurried upstairs to put our choring clothes on. We lay our church clothes over the beds and, when it was choring time, we ran out to the barn to milk and collect eggs while Alma and the younger girls prepared a quick supper.
“We have to hurry,” Matty told me. �
��Since you are over seventeen, you will go into the singing with me, Edward, and Laura. Samantha, I mean Beth, is not old enough to sit at the table with the young people, so she will sit in the back with the families.”
We all ate the cracker soup Alma had prepared and washed the dishes, then hurried back into our church clothes.
“Here.” Matty handed me a stiffly ironed white Kapp. “We are allowed to wear white Kapps to the singings.”
I smiled happily as I put on the white Kapp. It was so much neater and nicer looking than the ones I had made for us at home. After tying a neat bow under my chin, I slid a large black bonnet over the top.
We walked back to the house where the church services had been held. The girls waited in the wash house again until it was time to go in. Things were a little different than they had been in the morning. The light scent of perfume was in the air and all of the girls seemed to be wearing Chapstick. This was not one of the more well-known Amish subgroups—one of the liberal churches that have Rumspringa, literally “running around.” This was the time when the young people of those communities were allowed to explore the world. For an Amish person, it took only a mere glance to decide whether another Amish was from a liberal or a stricter community. The Chapstick was the only makeup the girls could wear.
“Okay,” Matty said in English as she nudged me. “Let’s go.”
We did not have to go in order of age this time. Instead, we went in with friends or cousins or however we wanted. We filed in past the parents, and one by one sat down on benches next to a long table in front of the unmarried men. I bowed my head slightly like the other girls in a show of humility.
The young people’s songbook was not nearly as thick as the church hymnal, but it was still in German. The melodies for the songs had been lost and, over the last hundred or so years, the young people had used English tunes when the words fit. I smiled as we sang a German hymn to the tune of “You are my sunshine” or “I am so lonesome I could cry.” This was as worldly as these young people would ever get, and I could see they were enjoying their evening of daring worldliness.
We sang for about two hours. After each song, we paused for a couple of minutes until someone in the group—a boy or a girl—started a song they liked. If too much time elapsed, a sympathetic parent would start a song and get the young people back on track.
After the singing, the girls filed back out to the wash house. The girls with boyfriends waited for their boyfriends to drive up to the door so they could climb into his buggy for the ride home. Girls without boyfriends waited, hoping a friend of one of the boys would come in and ask if so-and-so could take her home.
I was very sleepy and climbed into the buggy with Matty’s brother, Edward. Neither Matty nor Edward had anyone they were seeing. I noticed Matty looking at the door, waiting for someone to ask her, but no one did. She was already nineteen and had not had a date yet. Although Matty was a very sweet girl, she had a severe acne problem that made her thin cheeks and forehead red and blotchy. Even though she had not yet been asked on a date, after the singings she would still wait with the other girls and eye the door. Someday the boy entering might be asking for her.
The next morning before breakfast, Samantha, Brian, and I left for the long drive home. When we arrived I hugged Fanny, who happily came running up to me. Mamma had done the minimum work necessary to keep things going while we were gone. She did not even say “Hi” as we walked in the door, but just sat in her chair, reading her romance novel.
I peeked in on Grandma and was repulsed by the smell of urine. It saddened me: how could I leave Franny and Grandma here to be tortured? I felt a knife go through my heart. My probation had already started, and I would soon be Emma Schrock. I felt nauseous and guilty as I tried to think of something I could do.
When I met Samantha at the woodshed that night, I told her my dilemma. “We can’t leave them here, Samantha.” I frowned and bit back tears. “It’s not right that we get out and they don’t.”
Samantha frowned. “Your only concern should be to make sure I get out of here. I am your sister.”
I sighed. It was true—if I tried anything, I was not only jeopardizing myself, but Samantha, too. I could never forgive myself if I failed my sister, but the knife in my heart dug deeper every time Fanny hugged me, and the pain was so great I thought I would lose my mind. I could not eat and lost several pounds over the course of the summer.
We visited the community a few more times that summer, and it was decided that I would move there for good the second week of September. It was the week Amish school started, and Matty had the idea that I could accompany the children to school on Fridays, as that was when the children grades three and up learned to read the German hymn book. It seemed like a fantastic idea—at least it was a start. The fact that we had no education was of no concern to the community. It is better than having too much, the Bishop had commented.
Brian and Mamma sold many of our animals over the summer, resigned to the fact that they would be the ones caring for Grandma and Fanny. Samantha and I spent most of the summer staining the hardwood floors in the upstairs bedrooms and sheet rocking the rooms that had not yet been finished. Mamma wanted everything fixed up because they were going to apply to be foster parents. Oh no!, I thought when she told us this, more children to torture. This was an unending nightmare.
Samantha and I did not argue with Mamma and Brian all that summer. We were living in petrified fear that something would happen and we would not be allowed to move. They still beat us, but just with the belt, catching us wherever it landed. Fanny was still subject to many beatings. And there was nothing I could do to help her without jeopardizing Samantha’s chances of getting out of there. I became thinner and thinner and was happy when September finally came around. I would be leaving this house of horrors for good.
One afternoon in September, just a few days before I was to leave, I was standing in the kitchen, canning pickles and daydreaming about my new life, when I heard the truck racing around the bend in the road. Mamma and Brian had gone into town earlier to sell some chickens. Samantha opened the gate, and they raced in, parking violently. They jumped out looking around as if someone was chasing them.
“What’s wrong?” Samantha asked in a panic.
“There has been a terrorist attack,” Mamma gasped. “America is under attack! We are under attack!”
“What?” I queried, not knowing what I was supposed to do in such a situation. I did know that Mamma and Brian were anti-government and believed the end of the world would occur any day.
“Are you exaggerating?” I asked, looking at Brian and trying to figure out what was going on.
“Nope, nope.” Brian shook his head. “The Twin Towers in New York fell; the Pentagon has been hit, and who knows what is next.”
“Yeah,” Mamma chimed in. “You might not be going anywhere, Misty; they might declare martial law or something.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, seeing Samantha’s panicked face from where she stood behind Brian. I did not know what martial law was at the time but figured it would not be good for my traveling plans.
After about ten minutes, Mamma and Brian announced they were going back into town to find out more details. That night when they returned, we heard the sobering news of all the people who had lost their lives, and, although I did not know what the Twin Towers were, I knew they were something important and that the country would sleep in the grip of fear that night.
The next day, Brian went into town and brought back a newspaper. As I looked at the pictures, I remember being stunned that such a thing could happen in the United States. It truly was a tragedy. One thing I was happy about, though: there was no martial law in effect, and Brian still seemed on track to drop me off at the community.
The Ordnung
Leaders who do not act dialogically, but insist on imposing their decisions, do not organi
ze the people—they manipulate them. They do not liberate, nor are they liberated: they oppress.
—Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed
A couple of days later, I put a few belongings in the truck. I did not own anything, and the clothes I had were not according to the Ordnung, so I just took my few pairs of underwear and a couple dresses and Kapps to wear until my new clothes were made. Samantha was going with me to attend church, and then she would return home with Brian. She would visit a couple more times during the winter, if possible, and then in March she would join me for good.
I hugged Grandma and Fanny goodbye, trying not to cry. Mamma looked at me coldly as I waved goodbye to her; she made no move to hug me. Why would she? I don’t know why I wanted her to. I thought maybe, at the last minute, she might feel a little remorse for how she had treated me, but she did not, and I felt deep sadness as I got into the truck.
Fanny’s face was the most difficult for me to look at, so I stared straight ahead as we pulled out of the drive. I then looked toward the house as the truck drove down the lane. I think Fanny understood I was not coming back. Her eyes would forever haunt me.
We stayed at Matty’s house again that week, and early Monday morning, I hugged Samantha goodbye. She was crying and saying she did not want to go back.
“I know,” I tried to soothe her. “But just think … when you move here, it will be easier for you because I will be able to tell you what to do.” I wiped the tears from her face. “I am the one who has to break the ice.” I tried to make it sound worse than it was so she might feel better. “That is not going to be easy. It’s going to be really hard.”
Samantha nodded. “I know,” she said. “I know.”
“If you are not here in March, I am going to send the police there. I swear to God, Samantha, I don’t care if they kick me out of here, I will go to a neighbor’s house and call the police.”
Tears of the Silenced Page 9