My spirits, however, were dampened by the coldness I felt from Lillian since we had returned from Iowa. I was disappointed and hurt by this and could not figure out what I had done. Lillian spent most of the time ignoring me and when she was not ignoring me, she was looking at me with annoyance or disapproval. I tried to remain cheerful but I often felt sad.
One early morning in January, I found out what the problem was. It made me angry and sick to my stomach. Jacob had cornered me and told me that while we had been in Iowa, Lillian’s mom had convinced her that I was after Jacob. I felt hurt and the insinuation stung. It was because I was not a blood relative on either side of the family. I was a young unmarried woman and that was seen as dangerous.
I was embarrassed, angry, and wanted nothing more to live by myself. When I had previously voiced my wish to live alone, I had been told that Amish women under age fifty were not allowed. It was too easy for men to come and go from their houses undetected. I had been furious at the insinuation but still wished that I could live on my own.
That morning I was deeply hurt, angry, and sad. How many people had Lillian told? I was also angry at Jacob. If he were nicer to Lillian, I would not be having these problems.
Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing
Never rebel for the sake of rebelling, but always rebel for the sake of truth.
—Criss Jami
That April after communion service, all of the church members were asked to stay for an important announcement, something that must be discussed at length. I heard a moan from some of the young women beside me as we tried to stretch our backs after having been seated for seven hours. I fidgeted with the Halzduch (Amish for cape) that tucked into my neck string only a couple of inches under my chin. The stiff white organdy fabric always irritated my neck, especially when it was warm like this particular April day had turned out to be. I was only half listening as the Bishop stood up with a letter in his hand and began reading. Absentmindedly, I noticed that the letter was from out of the country. I was suddenly jerked out of my sleepy, irritated mood when I heard the Bishop say solemnly,
“A couple of weeks ago, we got a letter from Larry, who has been living in Russia for the past year. He says he recently married a young woman from there and now requests permission to come back here to live among us as he did a few years ago.”
The Bishop paused for a moment before continuing. “After much prayer, and after we talked with the rest of the men, we believe his past transgression should not be held against him. Therefore, the ministers and I have written him to say it would be all right for him to live nearby if he wishes. He still dresses like us, and his wife will do the same; it is our duty to forgive him.”
I sat stunned and looked around at the room of blank faces. No one seemed to object to this man moving back to the community. All of the married adults knew what Larry had done, yet they seemed to think it was their duty to forgive him and let him live on the outskirts of the community just because he dressed like us.
Being a church member did have its advantages. It allowed us to learn what was happening in the community. As church let out, I saw several groups of women and men huddled together discussing Larry. I milled around, waiting for Lillian and Jacob. I felt too tired to walk home like most of the other young people were doing since none of them really knew or cared about Larry. I found myself eavesdropping behind the group of women Lillian was talking to.
“Remember what he did to Laura?” one woman said angrily.
“Yeah, but how is that different from one of our men with the same shortcomings?” another woman asked.
“Well.” I heard Lillian’s voice. “He went to prison in the eighties for holding those people from Asia on his farm and making them work while he molested their children. That is really weird. And we have to remember, he is a worldly outsider.”
“So are Emma and Beth,” I heard another woman say.
“Yeah,” Grandma Shrock piped up. “But they were young girls who had been raised on a mountain somewhere. They were less worldly than our own children.”
I raised my eyebrows surprised to hear what they thought of me and Samantha.
“Shhh,” I heard Lillian whisper as she turned and spotted me standing behind her.
About a month later, I heard that Larry had arrived. He was leasing a small piece of property on the side of the Mast farm. He and his Russian wife would be living in a small mobile home he moved onto the property. They were not really living amongst us and following all the rules, but they were going to use a horse and buggy, dress like us and attend some of our social gatherings.
I was helping Phyllis when the couple came around in their new buggy to visit the Bishop’s family. I was shocked to see a young, twenty-four-year-old Russian girl sitting next to the sixty-five-year-old Larry. I made a face when I saw them together, and Phyllis nodded in agreement. Zoya was a tall, pretty blonde girl. Larry was a little shorter than she was; he was chubby and balding with just a sparse amount of gray hair left on his head.
“How did he ever convince her to leave her home and family to come here with him?” I wondered aloud as I watched them walking toward the house.
Phyllis, who was watching them too, said that she had heard that Zoya was from a poor and remote village in Russia and had been only too happy to marry a man from the United States. However, Phyllis said she seemed shocked at how Larry expected her to live. Zoya had told Katie Mast that Larry seemed different in Russia, and that he had not dressed like this or told her she would have to.
“That’s not nice.” I frowned.
Phyllis shrugged. “It is good for her, although she does not know it, I guess.”
“You really think so?” I asked, unconvinced, as I walked to the door and opened it for them.
I smiled at Zoya while trying not to look at Larry—I could not even stand thinking of him. Zoya smiled back at me timidly and stretched out her slim, beautiful hand to shake mine. She was only a couple of years older than I was, and I detected a look of confusion and helplessness in her eyes that I knew only too well.
“Are you Emma?” I heard Larry ask from behind me. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and I did not want to answer him, but I could not risk showing my feelings for fear people would realize I knew more than an unmarried Amish girl was supposed to know.
“Yes.” I turned around and stared past his head.
“Good; you will be a good teacher for Zoya.” He nodded at his wife. At his nod, she stepped forward and stood next to me as if we were playing follow the leader.
I frowned at him. “What do you mean?” I asked, not able to keep the iciness out of my voice.
I saw him study me for a moment as if he could see right through me into my soul. I swallowed hard and tried to keep my composure. I did not want him to see how much he disturbed me. His gray hair, slightly chubby figure and those piercing eyes were so much like Brian’s that it was eerie—the eyes… the piercing, calculating eyes. I didn’t like the way Zoya seemed to jump at his every whim. So much like Brian, I thought.
“Well, I heard you were Englisch and joined the Amish, so I thought you would be able to help Zoya learn.”
Zoya was very friendly and could speak English fluently, but it was easy to tell she was confused and sad at how things had turned out when she arrived in the United States. I felt sorry for her and saw her hang her head more than once. I wondered if she knew about Larry’s past arrests and that he was a sexual predator. Looking at Larry made me sick to stomach. More than once he caught me gazing at him with pursed lips and the calculated look he gave me in return sent a chill through me.
As the weeks passed and summer approached, life became very busy again with all the work a farm brings during planting and birthing season. Zoya learned how to drive a horse and buggy, and since she was lonely much of the time in the mobile home she shared with Larry, she would often trot o
ver to our farm. She followed me and Ella around as we worked. I tried to be a good friend to her. Zoya was sweet and she laughed with us as we worked and played practical jokes on each other, but I saw her face fall every time she hitched up her buggy to go home.
She was being held a prisoner, I thought to myself. Obviously she did not believe in our religion or think she had to dress this way in order to get to heaven. The lifestyle had been something she had been forced into by Larry. She was merely doing it to please her husband, and for her, that must have been a miserable reality.
A Visit from the FBI
Indifference is more truly the opposite of love than hate is, for we can both love and hate the same person at the same time, but we cannot both love and be indifferent to the same person at the same time.
—Peter Kreeft, Prayer for Beginners
A few weeks later, as Ella and I were pulling weeds in the garden, I looked up to see a cloud of dust coming down the dirt lane. Two black SUVs stopped in front of the Bishop’s house. Ella, Moses, and I watched as a woman and a man wearing suits got out of the SUVs and walked up to the porch where Phyllis had come out to greet them. We watched as she pointed down the lane towards our place, where Peter was helping Jacob and Elam work on a neighbor farmer’s tractor. The man and woman got back in their SUVs and drove to where the men were working.
“Who do you think they are?” Moses asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” I answered as we hugged the garden fence in order to better hear what was being said.
“Hello. I am Agent Morrison, and this is Agent Kendrick,” the woman said as she walked up to Peter and flashed her badge.
“I think they are FBI,” I said, walking to the garden gate.
“I am looking for the Bishop of your church.”
“I am the Bishop.” Peter took off his straw hat and wiped his sweating brow.
“Okay.” The woman turned to him in a confident, no-nonsense manner. “I am here in regard to a Larry Flint who recently moved into this area. I am told he has affiliations with your church.”
“Well,” Peter said slowly, “he does dress like us, but he is not a member of our church.”
“I see.” She wrote something down in a notepad. “And are you and your people aware that he is a sex offender?”
“Yeah.” Jacob shrugged at them. “We know that, but we believe a man can change through forgiveness, and we don’t want Larry’s transgressions to permanently label him.”
“Regardless of what your beliefs are,” Agent Morrison said matter-of-factly, “we are taking Larry in for failure to register as a sex offender, and we want you to be aware that you have a potential predator living amongst your group. We know that you do not have internet or television, so we wanted to be sure you were aware of the situation.”
“Yeah, okay.” Peter nodded toward them as they turned, got in the vehicles and barreled down the lane out of sight.
“What is a sex offender?” Ella asked as we walked back toward the garden.
“Um,” I stammered, not knowing how to answer her. “Um…you should ask Mom.”
“Why can’t you tell me?” Ella frowned at me.
“Well, it is something someone does to make the government mad at them, I guess.” I shrugged as if I did not really know.
“Oh.” Ella was still frowning. “I wonder what Larry did.”
I shrugged again. I wished that I could tell her but I could not risk being called to the barn for having an indecent talk with an unmarried girl.
We heard that Larry was going to be in jail for a month. I figured no one would bother to visit Zoya, and that she would be all alone in her mobile home, so I hitched up the buggy a couple of times and went to see her. The first time I pulled the buggy up to the front of their place, I found her sitting on the steps, just staring around and hugging her knees.
She had not known about Larry’s past and I felt she still did not fully understand the enormity of his crimes.
After chatting for a while, I helped her put a small wall hanging into a quilt frame and showed her the basics of quilting. I figured she could at least have something to do and would not be quite so lonely. Larry had left her with no money, so she was unable to go anywhere or do anything except stay at the mobile home and wait for his return. Lillian had sent milk and eggs along with me and Zoya was told not to hesitate to go to the Yoders or the Shrocks if she needed food.
I felt deep sadness as I left this poor girl. She seemed to be in a sort of daze. Perhaps Larry had not expected she would ever find out about his past. He knew no one in our community would tell Zoya. To do so would have meant that they had not fully forgiven him. Larry had thought he could hide among the Amish, but he had been very wrong.
One day in mid-July after Larry’s release, I was getting the mail when I noticed a man in a pickup truck stapling signs to trees and mailboxes. I was even more surprised to see Larry’s picture on them.
“Hey, you,” the man called to me as I was turning to walk down the lane. I turned back to him and raised my brows in inquiry.
“You people know about this guy, huh?” he shouted at me.
I smiled at him innocently, not knowing what to say.
“I know this guy is dressing like you guys and everything, but do you know he is a sex offender?”
I bit my lip, still not sure what I was supposed to answer. Whatever I said would be spread amongst the Englisch and would eventually get back to the church, so I just stood there, looking at the man. He walked over to me and smiled.
“You scared of me or what, girl?”
“Oh, no.” I smiled up at him. “But you probably should ask my dad these questions because they don’t really tell us much about what is going on.”
“Oh, yeah, my bad.” He smiled at me again. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift.” He waved me over to his truck.
I hesitated for a moment, but then walked over and hopped in. He seemed like a nice guy. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and his roughened, callused hands were certainly an indication that he was someone that worked on the land like we did.
“I’m new to the area,” he said as his noisy truck bounced down the lane. “I just moved here with my family from Montana, so I could help my wife’s family on their farm. It’s a couple miles that way.” He pointed to the south.
I just smiled at him, and he grinned back at me. “You will have to pardon me, Miss, but I am not accustomed to talking to Amish ladies, so excuse me if I am rude.”
I smiled again and shook my head to show that I did not think him rude. He seemed very nice and sincere. He wore faded blue jeans and a gray T-shirt with a cowboy hat sitting on the back of his head. I thought he looked more like a Montana cowboy than a Minnesota farmer and was probably only here out of respect for his wife and in-laws.
The noisy truck came to a halt as we drove up to the front of the house.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said as I gathered my dress skirt in my hands to jump to the ground.
“Any time.” He smiled at me and touched his hat.
I went into the house with the mail. After a couple of minutes, I heard shouting outside. Ella, Lillian and I walked over to the open bedroom window so we could hear what was going on.
“You knew this guy was a sex offender, and you let him just waltz in here and be part of your group?” I heard the Englisch man yell at Jacob.
“Well, we do not believe in labeling people as you Englisch do,” Jacob calmly stroked his beard. “We believe in forgiving and forgetting. It is our way.”
“Well,” the other guy shouted back, “that might be your way, but it sure as h*ll is not mine. My wife and I have three pretty little girls, and if this creep so much as looks at one of them, I am going to put a bullet straight between his eyes.”
Jacob shook his head solemnly. “We would never seek revenge like that. R
evenge is the Lord’s, not ours.”
The man started to walk to his truck, but suddenly he turned on his heel and walked back to where Jacob was standing.
“Oh, is that so?” he shouted. “And if that guy came in here tonight and raped that sweet girl I just gave a ride to, you would be just fine and dandy with that?”
“Well, we would not be happy, of course,” Jacob answered in his irritatingly calm voice. “But we would not seek revenge.”
“Revenge? You have got to be kidding me, man.” The guy was clenching his fists. “What about honor? What about justice?”
“That is not our way.” Jacob shook his head slowly.
“Well,” the man shouted angrily, “you know what? Screw you and screw your ways. I have never understood you people, you know that? I have an older brother who died defending this country so you people could look down on him and on us while you farm here, enjoying the very things my brother died for.”
“We did not kill your brother,” Jacob said with a little laugh.
The man was getting more and more irritated. “Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” he shot back. “Well, if people like my brother didn’t die for you, you would not be enjoying the freedoms that you have here.”
Jacob just shrugged. “That’s your opinion.”
“No, that’s a fact,” the man shot back. “I don’t understand why you people look down on us, call us the Englisch and keep to yourselves. When you need a ride or a telephone or something, you have no problem running to us, but it is a sin to have these things yourselves. That’s just weird.”
Tears of the Silenced Page 17