Tears of the Silenced

by Misty Griffin

  I spent most of the day rocking little Henry, who was still not feeling well. The rest of the children grabbed the checker games and coloring books and camped out on the floor.

  The snow swirled outside the window. As I sat back down and rocked the baby, I almost felt happy. Here I was surrounded by sweet small children. It was so much better than my life had been with Mamma and Brian. And yet something nagged in the back of my mind. I could not quite put my finger on it. It seemed that something in the distance was looming out in front of me, something dark and foreboding.

  Forced to Forgive

  Goodness is something chosen. When a man cannot choose, he ceases to be a man.

  —Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange

  Slowly, everyone got over the terrible colds that had spread through the community and March brought with it warmer weather and the hope of brighter days. I started to get nervous about my upcoming baptism. Baptisms had been delayed until the first of April to then start over again the next spring to get on track again. In a letter, Samantha said she was feeling nervous about her baptism too, but that she was also excited because a young man in her community was paying special attention to her. It did not seem like Samantha’s new community was going to enforce the decision to delay the start of her dating; I was happy for her exciting prospects.

  The instruction for baptism classes was long and tedious; the ministers went over the rules of the church, which I did not understand. I had once remarked at the dinner table, “If we really have to dress plain and simple like the apostles say, then why do we dress like they did in the 1500s during the Reformation? We are wearing the style of that time when the church was formed. That means that the church forefathers actually dressed like the people of their time, and not differently.”

  Jacob frowned at me. “You should not say such things. It is not your place.”

  I went on, confused and wanting a concrete answer for once. “If Jesus said to do away with oppressing traditions of men, then why do we have to follow every little detail of the rules if we want to get into heaven?”

  “We must follow these rules or we most certainly will not go to heaven,” Jacob admonished sternly.

  Ella frowned. “But Jesus was not Amish. Did he go to heaven?”

  Elam burst into laughter. “Yeah, Dad, did Jesus go to heaven?”

  Jacob frowned, and Lillian in her low voice said, “Of course he went to heaven, silly.”

  “But,” I continued, “Jesus wore sandals and a robe. Why can’t we wear sandals?”

  “Enough.” Jacob slammed his fist onto the table. “I cannot believe you are talking like this.”

  I knew better than to continue, but I really wondered about these things. And why would wearing sandals send me to hell?

  That afternoon, I became uneasy and then disappointed as I saw Jacob walk over to the Bishop’s farm. Why did he have to tell the Bishop what I had said? I was merely asking questions. It did not mean I was going to publish them in Die Blatt.

  Later that night, my cheeks grew warm as I was admonished for saying things that would cause the children to start questioning the Ordnung. Although I could not understand why asking a question could cause such a stir, I had committed a grave crime among the Amish. Questioning the Ordnung was not allowed, ever, and those who did so were immediately visited by the ministers.

  I was admonished that I could no longer read the English Bible which the Amish also frowned upon. If I wanted to read the Bible, it had to be German.

  The Friday before my baptism, Lillian sent me to help Phyllis clean her house. Her parents and brother’s family were arriving on the bus from Wisconsin on Saturday and would be staying with her for two weeks.

  As I walked into the house, I was greeted by the smell of fresh bread and plum pie. Phyllis came over to me with her hands outstretched in gratitude.

  “I am so glad you are here,” she exclaimed as she grimaced and rubbed her swollen stomach. “I have so much to do in less than twenty-four hours. My brother’s wife is such a gossip and does not like me much. Everything must be perfect for them.”

  I squeezed her shoulder and smiled at her. “It’s okay, Phyllis,” I said, trying to soothe her. “Don’t worry. I will stay here till midnight if I have to.”

  She smiled at me and sat down with a sigh. “I am so glad you moved in with Jacob and Lillian. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  “I know,” I grinned playfully as I gazed around the house, which looked like a tornado had gone through it.

  We dug into the work right away. The two oldest girls shook jars of cream to make butter, while the younger children and I went upstairs to start mopping and dusting the bedrooms. I laughed as the little children ran around, moving stuff out of my way as I swept and mopped.

  After we finished cleaning upstairs, we started working downstairs, and after three hours, we all plopped on the floor, exhausted.

  “Well,” Phyllis looked around with satisfaction at the clean house, “I am so glad that is done.”

  “Yeah, me too.” I yawned as I stood up. “But we better get the kitchen cleaned and the rest of the baking done.”

  Phyllis nodded. “I want to braid the girls’ hair today, too, so I won’t have to do it tomorrow.”

  We finished the housework by early evening and then, while the children played in front of the house, I helped Phyllis with the ironing for Sunday.

  “Your baptismal clothes are ready, huh?” Phyllis asked, smiling, at me as we both stood by the wood burning stove, ironing church clothes.

  I smiled and nodded as I placed my iron back on the stove to heat.

  “Everything okay?” Phyllis looked into my face with a frown.

  I nodded again and stared out the window.

  “Okay, what’s wrong?” Phyllis asked me as she put down her iron.

  “I wish I had a real mom and dad to be here when I am baptized. I would like someone to be really happy for me, you know.” I bit my lip, trying not to cry. “All of the other youth have real family around them, and I don’t really have anyone.”

  “Well,” Phyllis touched my arm, “we are all happy for you.”

  I smiled at her gratefully. “Your mom and dad are coming. I wish my parents were nice and would visit. It would be nice to feel a real family connection like that.”

  Phyllis looked down at her ironing for a moment and then suddenly burst into tears. I looked at her in shock. Crying was something you did not see much among the Amish, and I just stood there for a moment. After I got over my shock, I put my arms around Phyllis and hugged her. She put her head on my shoulder and cried for a couple of minutes. I waited silently to see if she would tell me what was wrong.

  I had long suspected that Phyllis was hiding a dark secret that was haunting her. When I was fighting for the right to call the police about Brian and Mamma, she had been supportive and helped sway the Bishop.

  Phyllis straightened and dried her eyes with a handkerchief she took from her dress pocket. She sat down in a nearby chair and watched me iron for a moment.

  “You know,” she said finally, “I am terrified that my parents are coming here. I was very happy when I married Peter and moved out here to be near his family.”

  “Why?” I asked curiously.

  “My father is an evil man. He molested all of us girls,” she said in a low voice. “He went after every last one of us when we were between the ages of twelve and fifteen. Those were the ages he liked, and it meant three years of hell for each of us.” Phyllis pulled her handkerchief from her pocket again. “I can’t help but think that my Katie will be twelve in a little over a year.” She blew her nose and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  I shook my head and pursed my lips with anger. “Why didn’t anyone do something? How could he just get away with it?”

  Phyllis shook her head and crumpled her ha
ndkerchief into a ball. “Oh, Mom would report him to the Church every couple of years, and he would confess to his so-called weakness. When I became a church member, I had to sit there and hear his confessions in church. It was such a joke, and it made me sick. All he confessed to was having a weakness of the flesh. While he cried and begged for forgiveness from the church members, no one was even remotely concerned about the well-being of his children. No one asked if we were okay. Once I found my sister, who was about to be married, with my father. They were both moaning. I don’t think they saw me, but there has been gossip that her first born child is my father’s. Those two still have a strange relationship to this day.”

  A few more tears trickled down her cheeks. “I think at first my sister was a victim, and then something happened to her. We were never close and most people think she is really odd, but it is not her fault. I think something snapped inside her and she is not really quite all there. Even though she was beyond my father’s preferred age, she became easy prey.” Phyllis shook her head and held the handkerchief to her trembling mouth.

  “There was no one who would stop him. Even if a man is put in the Bann, he still has full access to his victims. Our dad continued to molest us even while he was in the Bann. It did nothing. And to think our entire church knew about it. How could they just leave us there in that house? But they did… and we were not the only family that was like that. I was so glad to marry Peter and get out of that house.” Phyllis looked out the window. “It is good to know that he no longer has any children at home.” She paused as if in a daze. “But the grandchildren…”

  “I don’t understand how our church can put up with this evil,” I spat out. “It is an outrage and a crime against humanity.” Angrily, I slammed the iron down on the stove.

  Phyllis nodded in agreement. “There is nothing we can do, though. If anyone knows I have told you this, I will be placed in the Bann for bringing up church matters that have been resolved and for not forgiving my father. I am supposed to forgive and forget, but I can’t. I just can’t. He hurt me and my sisters so badly, so very badly, and then a few years ago, he was elected Deacon. Why would God let that happen?” She turned and looked at me for an answer.

  I shook my head and looked at her with her same bewilderment.

  I helped Phyllis carry the clothes upstairs, and then I hugged her and walked home. I was so disturbed by what I had just heard that I felt weak.

  The Baptism

  Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth.

  —John F. Kennedy

  The next morning, the children and I were walking toward the house with the milk buckets when I heard a car drive up the dirt lane. I stood and watched as four Amish people got out and walked toward Phyllis who stood on her porch. I shuddered as they followed her into the house and closed the door behind them. Poor Phyllis, I thought to myself.

  That evening, we had the Bishop and his guests over for dinner. It was Amish custom to invite neighboring people that had visitors to your house for a meal, especially if they were visiting ministers. This was usually a fun event and a way for Amish families to catch up on gossip from other communities. As it turned out, Lillian had a brother and many cousins in the same community as Phyllis’s parents, and she was eager for the visiting women to fill her in on the happenings in that community.

  As I saw them coming down the lane that evening, I felt sick in the pit of my stomach. I saw Phyllis walking next to her mother, and the anger I felt toward that mother made my body shake. How could this woman have stood by and done nothing to stop her husband? I thought. Surely there was something—anything—she could have done to stop him and protect her children.

  The next morning, we got up early and hurriedly did the chores. After a quick breakfast of cinnamon rolls, the entire family was in the buggy and off to church. It was going to be a long day, and we had to be at church by eight. As we neared the church house, I started to feel sick again, and despite the cool Minnesota April morning, I felt hot and stuffy.

  I yanked at the string around my neck, loosening it as much as I dared. I did not know why I felt so uneasy, but I did, and I felt beads of sweat gathering on my forehead. I put a handkerchief to my cheek and blinked tears from my eyes. I had so many mixed feelings but did not know what to do about them.

  When we reached the Mast’s farm, Jacob instructed us to make sure the girls went in right after the women with no lollygagging. It was going to be a long service, and there was no reason to agitate the few ministers we had, almost all of whom were visiting from other communities.

  When Ella and I joined the other girls, these instructions were repeated. And all the girls had heard it from their fathers. One of the younger girls was elected to look through the window and tell us the minute all the women were seated so we could file in quickly. As we all took our seats, I found myself really missing Matty. I had other friends, but none like Matty. It would be far less stressful if she were there to cheer me up.

  I was jolted out of my thoughts as the first hymn started. I was so nervous that I almost forgot to stand up and go upstairs with the other girls who were being baptized. As I climbed the stairs for my last instructions, a fleeting memory of an old dream of being a medical missionary passed through my mind. It was an unlikely dream before but now more impossible than ever.

  After half an hour of instructions from the ministers, all of the baptism candidates went back downstairs and sat together, the boys first, followed by the girls and then the ministers. After another two-and-a-half hours of a sermon about John the Baptist and Jesus, all the baptism candidates were told to fall on their knees in front of the Bishop. One by one, the Bishop baptized the boys. When he was finished, he extended his hand and gave them a kiss of acceptance on the cheek.

  I was the first in the line of girls, and when the Bishop got to me, Phyllis, as the Bishop’s wife, came forward and removed my Kapp. The Bishop asked me if I promised to obey the rules of the church and follow Christ’s example by leading a low and humble life. I hesitated for a moment and thought about how I was joining a church that silenced its sexual abuse victims. What if I married such a man, I thought; what would I do? So many thoughts raced through my mind in those two seconds. Then I decided, this is the only way to please God and go to heaven, so I whispered, “Yes.”

  “Then I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” The Bishop poured water over my head three times. As the water rolled down my cheeks, it was mixed with tears. Most likely, everyone watching thought these were tears of joy, but they weren’t. I felt a great heaviness for everyone who had been hushed and humiliated in the name of religion. I did not understand these things, and most certainly there was nothing I could do about them. Any move I made or questions I raised would land me in the Bann and stamp me as non-marriageable for life.

  The rest of the day I felt the same gnawing anxiety. It was like something was trying to tell me I had made a mistake. It was a very strange feeling, and one I could not quite figure out. I had joined the Amish Church. What other option was there? I was raised to believe everyone else was of the world and pure evil. Still, I felt uneasy and agitated feelings for a few days.

  Two weeks after the baptism was communion Sunday. Again, it was a very long day. Services started at eight. A little after twelve, the children went home and the members stayed to hear the Ordnung read and participate in communion and feet washing. It was announced that we would be selecting a new deacon that day, since we had visiting ministers to help with the load. I had finally lost the agitated feeling I had experienced two weeks prior and was eager to partake in my first communion. I became sleepy, however, around three o’clock as the Bishop droned on reading the church rules.

  “… The women’s dress hem shall be four inches wide, and the dress shall be no shorter than six inches from the floor. No sleeves rolled up on Sunday. Men’s shirt cuffs shall be two-and-a-hal
f inches wide. The horses’ harnesses shall be black. The buggies shall be black with no trim or carpeting allowed. All house curtains shall be dark blue. No shingles allowed for roofing. No flowers allowed in the front of the house; only in the garden…”

  It seemed the rules would never end, and a couple of times, I jerked myself awake just as I started to fall off the bench. I looked around the room and smiled as I saw several people sleeping. It just was not possible to sit for so long without losing interest. Finally, around four o’clock, the Bishop folded the paper that the Ordnung was written on and we had communion and the feet washing. Next, the tithes were collected and put away for any family that might have need of emergency funds. At the end of the service, we were all told to write a name on a piece of paper to put in the lot for a new deacon.

  First the men voted, and then the women. The whole church waited in silence as the votes were counted by the ministers. The three men with the highest number of votes were asked to step forward. I swallowed hard when I saw Jacob step forward with two men from the Mast family.

  Each man was then told to pick up one of the three song books that had been placed on the bench. One of the song books contained a small piece of paper. The wives of the men looked on with hands clasped as they each hoped their husband would not be chosen. The role of a minister’s wife was not an envied one. It meant a lot more of the work load would fall on the wife as her husband made time in an already busy schedule to read scripture and attend to church matters, without any compensation in return.

  I held my breath as I watched Jacob pick up one of the thick song books. All eyes followed him as he handed the book to the Bishop. The Bishop solemnly took it from Jacob’s trembling hands, and after pausing for a second, he opened the book to check for the piece of paper. When he did not find it, he simply closed the book and shook his head. I sighed with relief, as, I’m sure Lillian did. Next were the two Mast brothers. The bishop took the song book from the youngest Mast brother. He looked at it briefly and then nodded his head to show that he had found the slip of paper. The entire church membership looked on with sympathy mixed with relief, as it became apparent that the young Abe Mast was the new deacon.