“That is our way,” Jacob said again with a shrug.
“Yeah, exactly,” the man replied, walking back to his truck. “Maybe someone needs to let you guys see the real world of taxes and government and how things really work for a while. Maybe then you would appreciate your country a little more.”
“We are not citizens of this country,” Jacob called after him.
I smiled as I saw the man lift his head heavenward, as if begging God to help him understand what seemed to him to be utterly ridiculous.
“Well,” the man started his truck, “just tell this sex offender friend of yours if he comes near my property, I cannot vouch for his safety. My daughters mean too much to me to care about whether I hurt him or not.” He then turned his truck around and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
“Why is he saying those things about Larry?” Ella asked Lillian.
“Because he thinks Larry is a bad man.” Lillian closed the window.
“Is he?” Ella asked.
“It is not for us to judge him.” Lillian replied, walking back into the kitchen.
I rolled my eyes and Ella saw me. “Do you think he is a bad man, Emma?” Ella asked me.
I looked into her wide, innocent eyes, and then I looked at Lillian, who was giving me a warning look. I could be put in Bann for divulging member-only information to a non-church member.
“Oh, at least he doesn’t roll his sleeves up on Sundays,” I finally said sarcastically.
“What?” Ella asked with a perplexed look on her face. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Exactly my point.”
I saw Lillian grin and she seemed to agree with me.
Soon, it was fall again in rural Minnesota. Letters from Samantha hinted that she felt her boyfriend might pop the question any time. I was happy for her. She had finally found some sense of security and was looking forward to a future as an Amish wife and mother.
For my twenty-second birthday, I got a full set of pretty, flowered dishes. I smiled as I put them in my hope chest, but I also sighed. At twenty-two years old, I was fast on my way to becoming one of the oldest girls at the singing table without a boyfriend.
Then one night at the dinner table, my tension with Lillian came to a climax after she accused me of not wanting to get married because I wanted Jacob. All of the pressure I had been under for the previous three years came to a head; I could no longer bite my tongue during Lillian’s acid remarks.
A bitter argument ensued. The children stared wide-eyed, and I ended up running out of the house, sobbing. My life was a terrible mess again. I had to do what Lillian and Jacob ordered me to until I was married. It was an impossible situation and I was miserable. Why would Lillian be so insistent that I wanted her husband when all I wanted was to get away from them? Although I was not allowed to live on my own, I continued to muse about it, hoping Lillian would realize I was not after Jacob. But this argument was the final straw. This was an irreparable rift that set me on course for one of the most terrifying and daring times of my life.
The Bishop’s Maid
You may choose to look the other way but you can never say again that you did not know.
—William Wilberforce
The next day, the matter was discussed with Peter and Phyllis and it was decided that I would move in with them and work as their maid for a year. Perhaps by that time I would have a boyfriend and it would give Lillian time alone with her family. It was decided that I would go home for holidays like a regular maid would do, but other than that, I would live with Peter and Phyllis. Oddly, Lillian was not as overjoyed about the arrangements as I thought she would be. Jacob was not happy at all, and I guessed that Lillian feared she would be blamed for me moving out. The children were sad, and I did not want to leave them, but I felt I had no choice. Even though Peter’s behavior scared me, it was the only way to get away from Lillian and I tried to put any foreboding thoughts in the back of my mind.
The next morning, after doing the breakfast dishes, Moses got his red wagon and helped move my sewing machine to the Bishop’s house. Next, we moved my hope chest and my Sunday clothes, and that was about it. I took the small Bible from under the corner of the bed where I kept it. Although I would be returning in a year, taking my few earthly belongings with me made me feel more like I was in charge of my life, even if this was just an illusion.
As I went to the closet to get my chore scarf, Lillian walked up to me with an envelope in her hands.
“Here is the money you have made so far,” she said, handing it to me.
I looked down at the envelope that held the eight hundred dollars from the quilt I had sold and the fifty dollars a month that I had been receiving from Jacob and Lillian since turning twenty-one. There was also some extra money I had picked up from odd quilting and sewing jobs. There were many figures and dates scribbled on the front of the envelope, and at the bottom of a column of numbers, I saw the sum of fifteen hundred dollars written out.
“That’s okay.” I handed it back to her. “You might as well keep it till I come back.”
Lillian shook her head. “Phyllis will keep track of it till you return here. Give it to her right away and don’t lose it.”
I don’t believe Lillian thought for a moment that I might not give it to Phyllis. An unmarried girl had no need for money and there was nowhere to spend it even if she had it. I did not even think of keeping it when I nodded to Lillian and put the envelope in my pocket. It seemed strange that Lillian gave it to me in the first place, since the norm was for Peter to simply pay Jacob the three dollars a day for my work. But I figured Lillian must not have wanted the responsibility for the money since she had already been accused of treating me unfairly.
When I got to Phyllis’s house with my arms full of dresses, I went to my new room to hang them up. I was just about to go into the main room to give Phyllis the money when I stopped. I stood there at the door thinking for a moment. Chances were Phyllis did not know how much money was in the envelope. Sometimes, parents used their child’s money if they needed it and then returned it when they had the available funds.
I don’t know why I did it, but suddenly I found myself removing a thousand dollars from the envelope. I put it in one of my stationery envelopes and, kneeling down next to my hope chest, I took out several things until I reached the clock, which was still in its box. Carefully, I taped the money to the back of the wall clock, put it back in its box, and then piled everything else on top. I was careful to pile all of the loose dishes across the top in order to discourage anyone that might wish to search my things.
Of course, I would have to return the money if I moved back to Jacob’s house, but for now I felt safer having the thousand dollars hidden in my hope chest. I did not have any conscious thought of ever using the money, but I could not shake a feeling that my life was going to change in the near future.
Phyllis did not even glance into the envelope when I handed it to her. She simply put it in the desk drawer and then helped me make my bed with warm quilts. My room had a lean-to shape that slanted off the house. The family that had lived there before Phyllis and Peter had used the room as an outlet to sell baked goods. Since it was used as a store, they had failed to insulate it and it got terribly cold. Phyllis had been using it as a storage room, but she asked me if I would mind staying there, since it was on the first floor. She thought it would make it easier for me to help with the baby at night.
I agreed eagerly. It was like having my own tiny house. The room was about fourteen feet long and ten feet wide. There was a tiny stove in the middle of the room and it had a few counters and cupboards as well. Phyllis helped me hang sheets on the windows. They would have to do until we had time to make dark curtains. I pushed my bed into a corner and then, just for fun, put a couple of my dishes in the cupboards. The room had a door leading outside that had been added for the bakery. I sat on the edge
of my bed and let my imagination run away with me. I fantasized that I was in my own little house, completely disconnected from the main house. Of course, this daydream was short-lived, as it was Saturday and there was much work to do.
The sounds of children skipping through the house and arguing with each other pulled me back to the real world in which I was merely a maid. I did not really mind being one. It made me feel strangely liberated. I was, at least for now, no longer living under a roof with people that could claim they were my parents. I was so tired of having someone else decide everything for me. At least, as a maid, I had chosen to help someone else.
I smiled at the children as I walked into the main room.
“Aunty Emma’s going to be staying with us,” I heard the children saying happily as they jumped around the house.
“Children, children,” Phyllis was shouting in a tired voice. “We have to get our work done.”
I jumped right into the work and could tell Phyllis really needed my help since the baby cried almost nonstop. Grandma Schrock visited the baby and thought that it seemed to be having a lot of stomach aches, but nothing seemed to relieve them. The baby only slept a few hours during the day and at night.
There proved to be much more domestic work at Phyllis’s house than what I was used to on a daily basis. Due to the number of small children in the house, there was always a never-ending line of dishes in the dish washing bowl. There were school lunches to prepare, bread to bake, breakfast, lunch, and supper to cook. Then, there were the chores and the house to clean, not to mention the vast amounts of laundry and sewing that needed to be done. I was up for the tasks, though. There was nothing I liked more than tackling a mountain of work and then stepping back to enjoy my accomplishments.
As the days passed, I settled into my new routine. Sometimes, Zoya stopped by, but not very often. I think that since I was living at the Bishop’s house she felt uncomfortable being there. Ida, Ella, and Moses popped by quite often at first, but eventually their visits slowed because Lillian told them they were annoying Phyllis.
I spent the holidays back at home with Lillian and Jacob like a normal maid would. Being back for Thanksgiving and Christmas was nice, and I could see that Jacob and the children were very happy to have me in the house again, even though Lillian was obviously not.
The holidays came and went, and January set in with a vengeance. The incredibly cold northeasterly winds seemed to rip through every bit of clothing I wore, no matter how many layers I put on. Phyllis’s seizures seemed to be getting worse, and many nights Peter would knock on my bedroom door with a screaming baby in his arms.
I started to sleep in my dress because Peter stared at me and pretended he did not mean to touch my breasts as he passed me the baby. I didn’t know how to react, so I pretended not to notice. I just took the baby and walked away from him. Eventually, Peter quit knocking on my door and just walked in and shook me awake when it was my turn to care for the baby. If he had not been so creepy, I would not have minded, but whenever he touched me, my skin crawled. He would always tell me he did not want to wake the children by knocking, and then he would stay there, standing over the bed and holding the baby and the lantern while I got out of bed. The first couple of times he did it, I saw his eyes light up because he could see through my night dress. That was when I wised up and began to keep my dress on when I suspected the baby would be really fussy. Locking doors was not allowed among my Amish group, but this was one time I really wished for a lock. Phyllis did not notice Peter’s strange behavior, and like most Amish girls, I did not tell anyone.
Many nights I fell asleep in the rocking chair with the baby in my arms. I often thought Peter could have done a lot more to help out than he did, but who was I to say anything to him?
During the day, I was busy doing most of the household work, and although Phyllis tried to help, she seemed to be getting worse instead of better. I was very worried when her seizures came more regularly—usually in the early mornings and twice a week or, on occasion, as many as three times per week. After a seizure, she would sleep for a few hours and then tend to the baby or do some other light household work. When I suggested that she go see a specialist, she shook her head sadly.
“We don’t have the money, and I have already been to a few. They just want to put me on expensive medication that we cannot afford.”
“But you can’t go on like this, Phyllis,” I said while I washed the dishes and she sat next to me in the rocking chair. “I won’t be here forever. What are you going to do?”
“Well,” Phyllis replied in her tired voice, “Katie will be out of school next year and she will provide much more help around the house. We will manage.”
I bit my lip worriedly. Although Peter was the bishop of the church, they were by no means well-off, and they certainly did not have any extra money. Out of regard to Phyllis, I told both of them not to bother paying me my three dollars a day while I stayed with them. I knew they barely had it, and what did I need it for anyway? Their food supply was also very low. It was only the beginning of January, and the canned meat and vegetables were already growing sparse on the basement shelves. Phyllis told me to serve more bread with every meal since it was cheap to make and would stretch the potatoes, meat and canned vegetables further.
Peter and Phyllis seemed to be in a bad place. Their property taxes were coming due, and they would probably soon have doctor bills for the sick baby. I thought about offering them the thousand dollars hidden in my hope chest, but I could not make myself do it. Once, I had even knelt by the chest to get the money, but I just could not bring it out of its hiding place. I kicked myself for being so selfish, but in the end I decided to not give it to them.
Finally, an answer to our prayers seemed to come along when a couple asked to rent a workshop on Peter’s property. They had a not-for-profit horse rescue company that they had been running for a few months at their current location, but their landlord had raised their rent. They were a couple in their early forties, and they were both “live off the land” kinds of people. The wife, whom I had met a few times, always wore a scarf on her head and had a long braid hanging down her back; she usually wore either skirts or flowered dresses. She was a tall, friendly woman and she told me she was half Choctaw Indian and half Swedish. Her husband was always dressed like backwoods, outdoors man and was also very friendly.
Peter agreed to let the couple stay there for three hundred dollars a month and gave them permission to build any outbuildings they might need. The shop was down past the barn, so Phyllis and Peter agreed that it was far enough away from the main house so that they wouldn’t interfere with our routine. I was excited to have the horse rescue so close.
That week, Phyllis let me go over with Peter and some of the children to clean the shop and help Karen and Carl move their stuff in. Peter was letting them use the barn for the horses they had at the moment, but the next week he was planning to gather some of the local men together and build them a small stable.
I was surprised when there was so little stuff to unload from the horse trailer. I mentioned as much to Karen as I carried a box in behind her.
“Oh, I know,” Karen answered, smiling at me. “I have only been out of prison for a year, so I have not had much time to collect a lot of things.”
“Prison?”
“Oh, I thought Peter told you all.” She set her box on the rough wood floor.
I smiled, embarrassed at how nosy I must seem. “It’s none of my business.” I shrugged.
“Oh, no, you need to know.” Karen had a serious look on her face. “When my probation officer comes to check on me, I don’t want him to think I’m hiding out here.”
“Probation officer?” I asked with even more shock.
“Yeah, I was let out of prison, but I still have two years of probation.”
“How long were you in prison?” I asked, unable to contain my cur
iosity.
“Three years.” Karen stared out the window. “It was supposed to be ten, but I was lucky.” She turned and looked at my inquisitive face. “Okay,” she laughed. “You want to know what for. Well, I was a doctor and I took some government documents I was not supposed to.” She sighed. “And that was that.”
“You were a doctor?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah, but not anymore,” Karen sighed.
I clapped my hands together in delight. “I always wanted to be a doctor.”
Karen just smiled at me and looked me over from head to foot. “I did not think Amish could go to college.” She looked confused.
I looked down at my shoes as my cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. “Oh, we can’t. I always wanted to, though.”
“That’s okay, honey.” Karen patted me on the back. “We all have unattainable dreams.”
Quietly, I helped Karen unpack her dishes. As I was pulling paper from between her plates, a pamphlet with little African children on the front caught my attention. I picked it up and opened it. “Come join us at YWAM in Florida,” it said across the front. Eagerly, my eyes flew across the page as I read that YWAM stood for ‘Youth with a Mission’. It was a missionary training school that took people overseas for three months and gave them the opportunity to live the life of a missionary, helping people all over the world. I did not know there was such a school, and I squealed in happiness as I read it. Karen looked over to see what I was reading and smiled.
“Oh, a friend of mine has a daughter that went there and she is now a full-time missionary with the organization.” She peered over my shoulder.
“Oh,” I sighed. “I have always wanted to be a missionary.”
“I thought you wanted to be a doctor.” Karen laughed.
“Yes, a doctor too…” I smiled, “…a missionary doctor.”
“You are for sure the strangest Amish girl I have ever met.” Karen laughed again as she took some plates out of my hands.
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