Tears of the Silenced

by Misty Griffin

  I tried not to cry as the detective told me what I already knew. Peter and his family were not coming back, at least not for a long while. There was no way to track a person without a social security number, passport, picture ID, or credit cards. The Amish were allowed to travel back and forth through Canada using the family Bible where the records of family births were kept. Many were even ushered through without anyone even looking at paperwork. They were considered harmless and not worth the time it took to ask for their identities. Besides, there was no picture of Peter available and no fingerprints on file. There would be no way to identify him.

  The detective asked me if there might be something far worse in Peter’s past that would cause him to pull up stakes. I told the detective that I thought poisoning his wife and threatening to kill me were bad enough. The detective, however, believed there must have been something else, and if the police were to connect the dots all the way back to when Peter was a young man, they were confident they would find a series of crimes in his wake. Of course, this was mere speculation, but it was possible since the Amish rules order all crimes to be forgiven and are never spoken of again. The fact that Peter had fled the country spoke volumes, but unfortunately, there was not much that could be done. I asked if a sketch artist might help, but the detective told me they would probably have to bring in thousands of Amish men, and I would have to look at each one. Even then, we would most likely never find him.

  I sighed and hung up the phone after thanking the detective for believing me. I was angry. They had come so close to arresting Peter, and then he got away. Where had he found the money for all the bus tickets? Church officials must have given him money from the church treasury, which was kept at the deacon’s house. That would have been the fastest way to get that much money.

  I went into the bathroom and shed a few angry tears. First Brian and Mamma were off the hook, and now Peter had escaped. Why did the bad guys always seem to get away with doing such bad things? I had spent my whole life trying to do the right thing, but it seemed that every which way I turned I met some sort of roadblock, while people like Brian and Peter seemed to get away with their evil deeds and continue to thrive. I sobbed into my hands; I could not help feeling that I had failed again.

  A Voice from the Past

  You never fail until you stop trying.

  —Albert Einstein

  The whole ordeal was upsetting, but I couldn’t let myself get depressed over it. I was far too busy. Aunty Laura managed to set up an appointment at the congressman’s office about a month after I came to Seattle. We needed some way to get my social security number, so she could put me on payroll. And the fact that I was an undocumented alien seemed to really bother her.

  The morning of our scheduled appointment, I gathered whatever evidence I could find to prove who I was and put it in a bag. There were a few letters from Samantha, the Amish apron I had kept and my German Bible and songbook. My hands shook as I flipped through my song book and remembered the young people’s gatherings. It seemed worlds away from where I was now. I shuddered and quickly placed the book back in the bag.

  As we left, Aunty Laura handed me a few pictures that she had found in her photo album. I looked down in shock to see a picture myself when I was seven. There were a few other pictures that Aunty Laura said Brian had sent her. Some were the pictures we had taken for the state when they wanted to come up and see Aunt Fanny’s living conditions. There was one of me hugging a cow, one of me and Samantha holding a cow’s halter, and one of me and Samantha standing on either side of Brian. I sighed. These pictures brought back bad memories, but I was glad Aunty Laura had them. It was very obvious it was me in the pictures — my facial features were very distinct — so I hoped they would serve as some form of ID.

  On the way to the congressman’s office, Aunty Laura and I discussed ways to get Grandma back. I had told her and Uncle Bill the many horrors that took place on the mountain, and Aunty Laura cried and told me she had not known. She was now terrified to let her mother stay with Brian any longer. The only problem was that Grandma had put Brian in charge of all her affairs and seeing how the police had not done much the first time I contacted them, it did not seem likely they would try again.

  Aunty Laura said she had been up there at the beginning of March and noticed that half of Fanny’s face was bruised, and when she asked her what had happened, Fanny had told her that Mamma hit her in the face with a plastic bucket. I gripped the arm rest until my knuckles became white and closed my eyes, hoping the gnawing feeling in my chest would go away. I could see Fanny’s sweet face in my mind.

  “I really thought it had to be an accident,” Aunty Laura said as we got out of the car. “I know Sue is an evil b*tch, but I could not imagine she would purposely hurt her own sister so badly.”

  I sniffed. “That’s pretty mild compared to some of the other things she does.”

  Aunty Laura looked horrified as she held the door open for me. “Those two are insane.” She shook her head in dismay. “I don’t know how they found each other.”

  I shook my head too, and as I sat in the waiting room, I thought of something. Aunty Laura said Mamma and Brian were still planning on getting foster children, and their application was being processed. Somehow the police report I had filed had not stopped them. Mamma had to have fixed the fake address she had given the State. I figured she had most likely updated her records and told the State she moved after Samantha and I left since there was nothing to hide now. Brian’s children were all well over eighteen, and the only checks they received now were Brian’s social security, Grandma’s $1000 check from the postal service, Fanny’s SSI check and Mamma’s disability check.

  I was outraged when I heard they might be getting foster children and knew I had to do something that would stop them permanently. Aunty Laura said the house and farm looked gorgeous, and that Brian had hired a few men to do work for him a couple days a week. She said she could really see how they could fool the adoption agency into letting them foster, or even adopt children. There was such a shortage of families in that part of the state that were willing to be foster parents.

  After a short wait, we were ushered into an office where a man was talking on the phone. He was an assistant to the congressman, and he smiled and waved at us to sit down. After listening to my story and looking at the pictures and letters I had brought with me, he nodded and gave us some paperwork to take to the social security office.

  With Aunty Laura’s ID, we were able to get my social security number. The assistant said he would send us the rest of the paperwork through the mail. He said, be patient. These things usually took a couple of months. Aunty Laura helped me open a checking account which was joint with hers — that way I would at least be able to use a debit card without needing any form of ID.

  I was happy as I deposited all of the money I had left over. Things were taking shape for me, and I was starting to feel alive and happy, despite the sorrow that still lurked in the shadows and assaulted me when I least expected it. Terrible flashbacks popped into my mind several times a day. Certain smells or sounds would trigger them, and when they did, I had to clench my fists and close my eyes to block the images. They only lasted for a few seconds, and then I could take a deep breath and move on. After these episodes, I always put on my perpetually cheerful smile and worked hard at being happy until the next time they occurred.

  Around mid-June, Aunty Laura and Uncle Bill went to see Mamma and Brian. They planned on trying to bring Grandma home with them for a couple of weeks so they could have her checked over. I had told Samantha where I was and asked her to not tell Brian and Mamma. She wrote them once or twice a year (why, I did not know), but she promised not to tell them anything.

  They were due back on Sunday, and I stayed home studying and getting Grandma’s bedroom ready. We had decided that I would stay at home with Grandma for a week, and then Aunty Laura would try to get her into a nurs
ing home. They hoped that she would say she wanted to stay there, and then, perhaps, Brian would not be able to take her back. I was not too sure about the plan. I knew how much Brian and Mamma depended on Grandma’s check and how mad Brian would be if Grandma managed to escape them. Aunty Laura had said it was going to be okay, because she was Brian’s older sister and that he would not risk doing anything stupid in front of her. I merely raised my eyebrows, but I hoped she was right. We had all agreed it was critical that Brian and Mamma not know I was there, or else they would never agree to let Grandma come to Aunty Laura’s house for a two-week visit.

  I was surprised when Uncle Bill and Aunty Laura drove into the driveway with Grandma in the backseat.

  “They said we could have her for one week,” Uncle Bill said as he got out of the van. “They have to come over here next Monday for a meeting with someone and insisted on picking her up.”

  I froze in place and looked anxiously at Aunty Laura.

  “Don’t worry.” Aunty Laura opened the back door. “You can stay with Denise from Saturday through next Wednesday; just to be sure everything is okay.”

  “What about work?” I asked.

  Uncle Bill shook his head. “We can’t run the risk that they might stop by the store and see you there. You are doing so well, and we don’t want them messing you up again.”

  I walked around the side of the van and blinked back tears as I saw Grandma’s small frame. She was in a light blue dress and black apron. Her white Kapp was haphazardly placed on her head, and her long white hair was falling down over her shoulders.

  “I took the pins out of her hair.” Aunty Laura stoked Grandma’s soft white hair. “I saw that there were some small sores on her head. I think Sue has been leaving those pins in for days without checking them.”

  I nodded. “Most likely.”

  “That b*tch!” Aunty Laura grumbled under her breath. Uncle Bill carried Grandma into the house and we all followed.

  Aunty Laura and I put a nice flannel nightgown on Grandma and helped her into the hospital bed that Uncle Bill had rented. The side rails were very handy, I thought. At least we would not have to worry about her falling out of bed like she had done sometimes at home. Grandma was rambling, and she did not seem to recognize any of us. Aunty Laura said that for the first time, she was glad that Grandma had dementia. At least she could not remember all the terrible things that had been done to her or the things she had seen. It was a small comfort.

  The next morning, after Uncle Bill and Aunty Laura left for work, I got Grandma up and gave her a sponge bath. I dressed her in some of the new clothes we had bought for her. She was irritable and kept trying to slap me. I didn’t mind, but I wondered if she thought I was Mamma. It made me sad to think she could not understand that she was safe now. After I dressed her, I tried to get her to eat. I remembered that she always liked mashed potatoes, so I made her some, even though they were a strange breakfast offering. She refused to eat anything, and all I could get down her was a little bit of a chocolate vitamin shake. As I maneuvered her out of bed and into her wheelchair, I estimated her frail frame could not have weighed more than ninety pounds.

  We both sat in front of the TV for an hour or so, watching the news. Grandma fell asleep again, and I was nodding off where I sat next to her in Uncle Bill’s recliner. Suddenly, the jangling of the telephone jolted me out of my sleepy state. I answered it thinking it was Aunty Laura checking on us.

  “Hello,” I said, trying not to sound as sleepy as I was.

  There was a pause. “Hello?” I said again, thinking maybe it was a wrong number.

  “What are you doing there?” I heard an all-too-familiar voice say on the other end of the line. I had not heard that voice in years. I suddenly felt dizzy and my visual field went black for a second.

  “Misty is there, at their house,” I heard Brian say to someone in the background.

  “Son of a b**ch!” I heard Mamma say. “How do you know it’s her?”

  “That voice is unmistakable.” Brian sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

  I stood there, frozen as I listened to their conversation.

  “I don’t think so,” I heard Mamma say. “Why would she be there? That does not make any sense!”

  “Misty?” I heard Mamma shout into the phone. I did not answer for a moment. We had not thought about them calling, and now that they had, I did not know what to do. I decided that they might as well know it was me. It would be too hard for Aunty Laura to try to convince them it wasn’t me.

  “What?” I answered, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

  “What the h**l are you doing there?” Mamma exploded.

  It made me angry that she was yelling at me like I was a bad little girl. I was a grown woman now. I was no longer a scared child with nowhere to turn. If something happened to me now, there would be hell to pay and that gave me comfort.

  “I left the Amish and I’m staying here for a few months until I leave for a missionary school in Florida,” I answered her. It sounded just important enough to make them raise their eyebrows, I thought.

  “You left the Amish?” Brian yelled into the phone. “You stupid b**ch.” I heard the phone click on the other side.

  I was a little panicked after they hung up. I knew they would be on their way over the mountain pass to get Grandma as soon as they hung up. I knew it would take about four hours even if they went over the speed limit, so at least I had enough time to get a hold of Aunty Laura. Hurriedly, I checked on Grandma and then called the store. Blake answered and said Uncle Bill and Aunty Laura had left and told him they would be back in a few hours.

  I figured they were probably looking at nursing homes, and since they did not have cell phones, I had no way to contact them. I explained what had happened to Blake, and he told me to call 911 if Brian showed up at the house and tried to get in. He said he would call all of the places that my aunt and uncle might possibly be and see if they were there. I was scared, although I knew that if Brian and Mamma tried something, I could call the police and maybe have them arrested. The only problem was that Brian had power of attorney over Grandma and could possibly say we kidnapped her.

  I carried the phone around with me as I closed all of the windows and locked them. I pulled all of the curtains closed and made sure the back door was locked, and I even went into the garage and shook the door to make sure it was secure. Then I sat in the house, waiting anxiously for a call from Aunty Laura or Uncle Bill. I kept the lights, TV, and radio off so I could hear and see everything that was going on outside the house. Then I sat on the couch, peeking out at the driveway through a crack in the drapes. Why did all these things have to happen, one right after the other?, I thought. It made me wonder if I had done the right thing by coming to stay there. It seemed as if I had stepped back in time instead of leaving my past behind me.

  Some three hours later, the phone rang. I answered hesitantly, not sure who would be on the other end. (To this day I have trouble answering the phone if I do not recognize the number on caller ID). Thankfully, it was Aunty Laura on the other end of the phone. She said she was at the furniture store and should be home in less than twenty minutes. She said if Brian showed up to keep the doors locked and call the police.

  By now it was getting dangerously close to the time I had estimated for their arrival. It normally took five hours to get to Seattle from the mountaintop, but that was with bathroom stops and at a time when we weren’t in much of a hurry. I knew that there were few police cars patrolling the pass going from eastern to western Washington, and I was afraid that Brian would speed the whole way. A sudden thought occurred to me. What if they had been in Wenatchee when they called? That means it would only take them two and a half hours to get here. I sat on the couch nervously fidgeting with the phone I held in my lap and poised to dial 911 at any moment.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when Aunty Lau
ra pulled into the drive.

  “Everyone okay?” she asked as she hurried through the door.

  “Yeah.” I was shaking. “I’m sure glad to see you, though.”

  Aunty Laura looked around the dark house with all the curtains closed and lights turned off. “What is going on in here?” she asked.

  “I was scared they might try to get in,” I said sheepishly.

  “My God.” Aunty Laura opened the drapes covering the window that faced the driveway. “They’re not ninjas or CIA assassins.”

  I could tell she was trying to lighten the tension, but it was hard for me to lighten up.

  Aunty Laura said we should not act as if we were scared of them. She said she was not afraid of her little snot-nosed brother, and that if he tried anything, she would kick his ass. I was not so sure she could do that, but I agreed that we could not act like we were afraid.

  Aunty Laura suggested we make stew for dinner to keep busy until they got there. I wheeled Grandma into the kitchen, and she woke up and began to ramble about things we could not comprehend. I smiled when I saw Aunty Laura hugging her mother tightly. This is how Brian should be with his mother. I asked Aunty Laura what she thought was wrong with Brian, and Aunty Laura just shook her head.

  “I don’t know.” She stopped peeling the potato and gazed out the window. “All I know is that he was never a nice kid. He was a brat from the very beginning. I was two and a half years older than he was. I remember trying to play with him when we were little, and he would pinch me really hard and laugh. Sometimes he pinched so hard I was left sobbing and had bruises for a week.”