I scanned the letter, pretending to be happily reading, and then gave it to Ella, who was trying to read over my shoulder. I excused myself to go to the outhouse, and there I sat reading the real letter I had been anticipating for two months. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I pictured Samantha’s face while I read.
It was an unhappy letter, but that was not surprising. I had been worrying about Samantha and from the letter I could tell she was worried too. She wrote that Mamma and Brian were reading books on foster children. They no longer beat her as much and, while she was now responsible for almost all the work, they almost ignored her.
I tore the letter to bits and threw it in the incinerator; I did not want anyone to find it and tell Brian. It was the Amish way that you must obey your father and mother, no matter what they did. This Amish community had respect for Brian as our father figure. Also, it was the custom of Amish mothers to search the belongings of their unmarried children on occasion to make sure they were not hiding anything forbidden by the Ordnung. Lillian had already been through my few belongings twice. I had gone into the girl’s’ room to find my things in a pile on the bed. When I asked Ella what had happened, she pointed to her things on her bed.
“Moms do this after you turn thirteen,” she said as she put her things away.
I frowned as I put my stuff back. I was now nineteen and did not like Lillian going through my things. I could see she had read my poem book, something that was private to me.
“When you are a maid for someone, the house mother does it too,” Ella went on. “It’s just our way, I guess.”
“I guess.” I pretended to smile as I closed the heavy wooden drawer.
I continued to go to school on Fridays until the winter break in the middle of December. I learned how to read and spell in German very quickly so there was no need to waste my time on Friday lessons anymore if I did not want to, although I did miss skipping across the fields with the children.
Christmas morning was spent fasting, as is the Amish custom on all holidays. In the evening, we gathered at Jacob’s parents’ home. Jacob was the oldest of ten children, three of whom were unmarried and still at home. As the siblings gathered for the evening meal, I could see Lillian’s face grow sadder than usual as she saw her sisters-in-law with their large families. These women seemed to have more favor with their
mother-in-law.
After dinner, we played board games and trivia while the younger children scampered about, playing hide-and-go-seek. The day was fun, but I couldn’t help thinking of Samantha and wishing her a silent Merry Christmas. As I sat there on the wooden bench in my dark brown dress, apron, and stiff white Kapp with children running about and laughing, I blinked back tears and put on a happy face. I reflected on how Brian and Mamma were always at their worst around the holidays, and I could only imagine how Samantha’s Christmas was being spent.
After the holidays, things were very quiet. Elam and Jacob worked in the machine shop whenever jobs came along. Lillian and I sewed clothes for the family and quilted for one of the Yoder women who owned a shop. We were paid fifty cents for each yard of thread we sewed into a quilt. The average quilt held anywhere from three hundred to five hundred and fifty yards of thread, and the average Amish woman could quilt between twenty to fifty yards a day, depending on her speed. I soon discovered I loved quilting and sat down to stitch every chance I got.
After about four weeks of working on the quilt, Lillian and I finished and took it down to Sarah Yoder, the shop owner.
She paid Lillian two hundred dollars for our work and gave us another one to put in frame for the month of February. “I am very happy to be able to contribute this money which we are so badly in need of,” Lillian said as we trotted home in the buggy with the freezing Minnesota air whipping at our faces. I smiled and nodded. We sat in silence for the rest of the two-mile buggy ride, but then Lillian abruptly turned to me and said in a flat tone,
“I have been meaning to say something to you but have not been able to find the right time.”
I swallowed, beginning to feel uncomfortable. I was calling her Mom now, but there was still a lot of tension between us.
“What is it?” I asked bowing my head and staring at my hands folded on my lap.
“You are pinning your dresses too tight,” Lillian said sternly as she guided the horse off the pavement and onto the dirt lane.
I looked at her with a frown and a bit of confusion. “What do you mean?” I asked, pulling at my loose-fitting bodice.
She looked at me with a no-nonsense face. “Erma Wagner and I both noticed when the girls filed into church last Sunday. You don’t have a figure like most of our girls, and you need to disguise it better.”
I sat up straighter, feeling my face get hot. “But it is my shape,” I said in a hurt tone. “It is not my fault God made me like this.” I was very sad. It had been Brian who made me aware of my thin but curvy shape. I had always hated it, but there was not much I could do about it. Most of the Amish girls seemed to be either straight all the way down or chubby. I had noticed this but did not realize others had.
Lillian was angered by my response. “That is Hochmut [pride],” she snapped at me. “And I will not tolerate it from any girl in my house. You will pin your dress very loose and wear your Kapp farther forward like you are supposed to.”
I choked back tears as I helped unhitch the horse and put her in the stable. I dawdled for a few moments and let Lillian walk to the house alone. I jumped up on the stable railing and sat there, feeling sad. Girls were not supposed to be in the barn when it was not choring time; this was the men’s hangout spot. Although I knew this, I felt comforted around animals and smiled when our horse, Lucky, nibbled at the back of my cape.
I sat thinking in the winter air. Jacob had begun making me uneasy. I could now speak a lot of German, and this seemed to both surprise and make him happy. During the last few weeks, he seemed to just appear in places when I was alone: when carrying in the milk buckets or skimming the cream. He was always silent and pretended to be doing something else, but I could see him watching me from the corner of my eye.
I did not want to cause any trouble, but it already seemed too late. What had happened to Lillian and Jacob to make them so icy toward each other? Divorce is never allowed under any circumstance among the Amish, so even when couples hate each other, they must remain together till death. In doing so, they must also pretend nothing is wrong; otherwise, they would possibly be punished. Thinking back, I know that things would have turned out very different in my life had I been placed with a less dysfunctional family.
In February, I was asked to be a maid for the Bishop’s family. Phyllis had suffered a lifelong battle with seizures and a chronically dislocated shoulder. She had seizures once, sometimes, twice a week. Their newest baby was a month old, so she needed a lot of help. Matty, who was my best friend, had been working for them for a month but wanted to stop. A month was a substantial amount of time to work for someone as a maid, and it was not unusual to have another girl take over. Taking care of seven children under the age of nine was a lot of work for a teenage girl, but it was considered great preparation for eventual motherhood.
I was happy to help out as the Bishop said it would be during the week and for two weeks. Normally an Amish girl’s family gets three dollars a day when she works as a maid. After she is twenty-one, the parents save the money she earns until she is married. However, Jacob volunteered me to the Bishop; they were in sore need of help and did not have available funds.
I enjoyed working for Phyllis. She was pleasant and very beautiful, with red hair and the clearest blue eyes I had ever seen. She was delicately built, and her smile was kind, though often weak. The children knew me, and we all got along. The Bishop, Peter, would tinker around the barn and then sit and read the German Bible.
Amish preachers and bishops are not allowed to read their sermons. The
y have to memorize it or make it up as they go along. It was rumored that the Bishop was lazy and used reading the Bible as an excuse to get out of other work.
I spent a lot of the time doing chores around the house, getting the three oldest children off to school, taking care of the baby and quilting, to earn some much-needed income for the family. I really enjoyed being away from Lillian, but was careful to avoid meeting Peter alone in a room.
This time in my life was the happiest I’d ever experienced, but I had a nagging suffocating feeling welling up inside me that would not go away. I had heard Peter had made unwanted sexual advances on an unmarried girl. I had also learned about a non-Amish man who had lived in the community a couple years before.
This man, Larry, had lived on Matty’s parents’ property and had helped with work around their farm. In his late fifties, Larry had served time in prison for human trafficking and sexual abuse. The community knew this but had forgiven him, just as they had forgiven Amish church members who committed sexual abuse. They believed Larry should be given the opportunity to start fresh.
And so, Larry who was now dressing in Amish clothes, worked around the farm and attended church and social gatherings.
One morning, after most of Matty’s family was out of the house doing morning chores, fourteen-year-old Laura stayed in bed because she wasn’t well. After hearing a noise coming from upstairs, Matty’s mother rushed up and found Larry in Laura’s room and Laura sitting up in bed crying.
Larry had molested Laura but the police had not been called. Laura and her family had been told they must forgive Larry just as they would any man in the church. They were also told not to talk about the matter. The Amish believe that talking about someone’s transgressions means you haven’t truly forgiven them. If Larry had been a member of the church, he would have been shunned for a few weeks and then brought back in. This is the punishment for any crime committed among the Amish, including sexual assault. But since Larry was not a member, they could not shun him and calling the police is frowned upon.
A couple of weeks after the incident, Larry disappeared. The men in the community believed Laura was to blame, even though she had been a mere fourteen and Larry a grown man in his fifties. “She had been too friendly,” I would later hear some men remark.
I fretted about these ancient traditions that allowed violent crimes and sexual abuse to go virtually unpunished. I had been drowning in dark, murky waters for many years, and had finally been rescued, only to find myself slowly submerging again.
The next week at the Bishop’s house was pleasant enough. Matty’s cautions were tucked in the back of my consciousness, so I made very sure I was never alone with Peter. I noticed him watching me, but I figured he was scared to do anything to me, not knowing how I would react. This is what I was banking on as I enjoyed my week away from Lillian.
That Thursday, as I gathered my things to return home, Phyllis grabbed my arm as I opened the door. She smiled at me and in a weak voice said, “Don’t take it to heart when Lillian is harsh with you. She has had some very sorrowful times in her life.” She glanced around, then continued in a low tone. “I know you know about pregnancies and such, and I also know I am not supposed to talk to you about it.” She paused again as if trying to decide if she should say more.
“I feel that in order to understand, you must know that Lillian has had over thirteen miscarriages. It causes her great sorrow, and after the last a few years ago, the doctors did a hysterectomy to save her life.”
As the words slipped out, Phyllis put her hand to her mouth in remorse. “I should not have told you; it was not my place.” She shook her head. “I just could not stand for her to treat you like she does without you knowing why. You are a young woman of childbearing years, and she feels threatened by you.”
I was stunned but also hurt that I was seen as a threat. “That is ridiculous,” I gasped. “Why would I be a threat?”
Phyllis just shook her head. “There is more to the story, but it is not my place. I should not have told you what I did. I must tell Lillian I told you.” She bit her lip as she closed the door behind me.
I trudged home in the snow, thinking about the more than thirteen miscarriages Lillian had had. I did not know this was possible. Poor Lillian.
It is okay, I told myself; she is grieving and that explains her behavior. Sorrow was something I understood and now I could empathize with Lillian. She had never wanted me in her house; that was her right.
Personal Convictions
The first duty of a man is to think for himself.
—José Martí
To my relief, during the first week of March, I received a letter from Samantha: Brian would be dropping her off on the next church Sunday. I was so excited that she would finally be safe. She would be living with the Borntragers, the Deacon’s family. They were considered part of the Amish upper class, while I and the Schrocks were from the lower class. Although many do not admit there are class distinctions among the Amish, they most certainly exist.
The Schrocks were more Demut (humbly) clothed than the Borntragers, who were more Hochmut (proudly) clothed. All this amounted to was strictly following the limit in the length of the dresses, how far down dress pleats were ironed and the width of the pleats on the backs of the Kapps. The limit from the floor was six inches for dresses, but the Schrocks’ dresses measured four or five inches from the floor while the Borntrager women’s dresses measured exactly six. Pleats on the dresses and aprons were to be from one quarter of the length to one half the length of the garment, and while the Schrock women always did no more than one quarter, the Borntrager women did exactly one half.
I waited anxiously for Samantha’s arrival. Brian would let her off at the Deacon’s house the Saturday before church. While it was not Amish custom to go visiting during the week, I had been given permission to sleep over and go to church with the Borntragers the following morning.
When Saturday afternoon arrived, I hopped in the buggy with Ella, Moses, and Ida. I could not decide who would take me, so they all went. I laughed and told them I would drive to spare them fighting over the reins. The horse seemed extra slow that day as we trotted the three miles to the Borntrager farm. When we arrived, I hopped out and blew each of the children a kiss and told them to let Ella drive home as she was the most responsible.
As I walked into the Deacon’s house, I was greeted by the oldest of his five daughters. She was eleven, and her name was Ella, too. The Deacon and his wife were young—in their early thirties—and had five chubby daughters. They were much nicer than the rest of the Borntrager clan living nearby in the big house.
“Is Samantha here?” I asked Ella.
She came skipping up to me. “Who?” she queried, pretending to be confused.
“Okay, smarty.” I swatted at her playfully. “I mean, is Beth here?”
“Oh, you mean my new older sister, Beth?” Ella asked with excitement. “Yeah, she is upstairs with Mom. Come on.” She grabbed my overnight case, which held my Sunday clothes, and the suitcase holding clothes for Samantha.
I climbed the stairs hesitantly, worried about my little sister’s state of mind. It had pained me to leave her behind on the farm all by herself .
When I got to the top of the stairs, I saw Annie, the house mother, standing next to Samantha who was sitting on the bed staring at the wall. Annie was asking her questions but Samantha was not responding.
“Is she all right?” she asked me in Amish.
I smiled and nodded. “Oh, yeah,” I said in English as I bounced down on the bed next to Samantha. “She is just tired. That is such a long drive, and Brian does not stop very often.” I reached over and slapped Samantha on the leg to try to get her attention.
Annie looked concerned. “I made some room here for her clothes.” She pointed to the girls’ closet and smiled at me. “I heard you made her Sunday dress and workday cloth
es already, so you can hang them here if you want.”
“Thanks, Annie,” I said in English again. Although everyone had grown accustomed to speaking to me in Amish, I spoke in English. I was afraid Samantha would feel like an outsider.
Annie went downstairs, and I turned to Samantha, still just sitting on the bed.
I tried to break her out of her thoughts. “Look, I made you three dresses. Black for Sunday, and blue and green for workdays.”
Samantha looked at me and nodded.
“Okay.” I was really concerned. “What happened? Did Mamma and Brian hurt you?”
Samantha looked at the wall and handed me a letter. “This is for you,” she said, emotionless. “Did you know that Brian and Mamma did not expect you to make it here? They thought you would get in a bunch of trouble with the Church and they would send you back and we would both be stuck there forever.”
I looked at Samantha and shrugged. I had suspected as much.
“No, really,” Samantha insisted. “When we went home after we left you here, Brian said the Bishop would probably send you back within the month. They never intended to let us go, ever…” Samantha stared at the wall and her eyes got rounder as she repeated it: “Never… they were never going to let us go… Up until last week, Brian was still waiting to hear from the Bishop to say you were not fitting in.”
“So, what made them bring you here?” I asked, feeling a little dizzy at the thought of them keeping Samantha on the mountain.
Tears of the Silenced Page 11