Christmas In Seattle
You may be the only person left who believes in you, but it’s enough. It takes just one star to pierce a universe of darkness. Never give up.
—Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway: Quotes,
Verse, & Grumblings for Every Day of the Year
On the way home, I made a quick detour to my old Amish community, which Denise had programmed into my travel plans at Karen and Carl’s request. They picked me up at the bus station and then drove me back to their place to spend the evening. I didn’t want to see any of my former community, so I stayed low in the truck as we drove to their place. I figured no one would recognize me anyway, but I did not want to take any chances. As I got out of the car, I heard the sound of Simba whining with excitement. I immediately went into the house so no one would see me, and Karen brought the dogs inside. Simba jumped up on me like he was trying to hug me and nearly knocked me over backwards. He was so happy to see me, and I, him. I buried my face in his long, winter coat. It was like hugging a bear.
That afternoon, Simba stayed attached to me while Karen, Carl and I talked about everything that had transpired over the previous few months.
I proudly showed them my GED and they both told me I really had something to be proud of. I nodded happily. There was still a part of me that thought I was being prideful, but I told myself it was not pride; it was merely satisfaction for something I had worked very hard to accomplish.
As the evening grew later, I tried not to look out the window that faced Peter and Phyllis’s old place, but there was a time or two I couldn’t resist. Afterward, I found myself staring into space for a few moments. I was remembering the morning that had changed my life forever—the morning I had gone to the police station. It seemed so long ago and yet it seemed as if it had happened only yesterday. Around 7:00 that evening, I saw an open buggy coming down the lane, and my heart skipped when I saw Jacob driving. It brought back so many memories, some good, some bad.
Karen saw me watching the buggy as it trotted over to Jacob’s farm. She put an arm around my shoulders, and we just stood there watching together. Life had so many twists and turns… It was a mystery.
I slept on a pile of blankets on the floor next to the wood burning stove. I lay awake for a while, listening to the howl of the November Minnesota wind and the crackle of the stove. Simba lay snuggled against me, wagging his tail whenever I moved. I had a hard time going to sleep. I had not realized how hard it would be to return here, and I was constantly reminded of the nights I spent terrified in the small trailer. I fell asleep snuggled against Simba. No one could harm me with this giant dog next to me.
Early the next morning, Karen drove me back to the bus station. I hugged her goodbye and promised to keep her updated on my travels. I waved as the bus pulled out of the station, happy to be on my way to Seattle once again. I watched as Karen got smaller and smaller in the distance, and I wondered who she really was and what she had done to go to jail. I knew she had not told me everything, but that didn’t matter. When I was in trouble, she had helped me, and for that I would be forever grateful.
When I arrived at the Seattle bus depot the next morning, Uncle Bill and Denise were waiting for me. They both ran up and we hugged each other. I was so relieved to be home.
“Your uncle has been fretting for hours,” Denise said as she punched him playfully on the arm.
I smiled at them, and Denise commented on how tired I looked. I was happy they didn’t ask me too many questions about the trip. They wouldn’t have understood, I thought. That morning, I felt relief as I stood in the shower, letting the steaming hot water run over me. Surprisingly, this had been one of the main things I missed while gone; it was my favorite of all the modern technologies I had embraced. Relaxed and out of the shower, I smiled as I aimed the hair dryer, which I had finally adjusted to, toward my long hair.
I stretched out in bed afterward, and my eyes became heavy. For a while, I thought about what it might have been like if Samantha had come back with me. I imagined her reactions to things like the shower and hair dryer as I remembered what my own reactions had been. I drifted off into a deep sleep. It had been a long two weeks.
I went back to work at the store the next morning. No time for dwelling on what I could not change, I told myself. Aunty Laura was going over a list of things she thought I might need for my Florida trip, and I kept shaking my head in amusement. I didn’t need anything on that list. I liked to travel light and was told room at the mission would be cramped. Uncle Bill just laughed and told me to let her have her fun, so I did. Aunty Laura was a goodhearted woman, and I owed her a great deal. I hoped she understood how much she had done for me.
The holiday season was upon us, and it would be my first one outside the Amish. I happily went shopping with Aunty Laura and Denise as they got things ready for Thanksgiving dinner. Holiday music was playing from the stereo in the living room as we made plans for the family feast. Aunty Laura’s granddaughter was coming into town with her two small boys, and her daughter was driving up from Utah, and of course, all of the local family members would be there as well. Aunty Laura put me in charge of the baking, saying this was the first time they could have fresh Amish baked goods for Thanksgiving.
When Thanksgiving came, I had fun watching funny movies in the living room with the women while the men watched football in one of the bedrooms. As I sat on the couch, squished between Denise and Aunty Laura’s daughter, Eva, I felt I was finally somewhere I belonged. I even took a sip of the wine that was being passed around between outbursts of laughter. I blinked with dizziness, and everyone laughed at me.
That evening, as I helped Aunty Laura put the food on the table, everyone ooh’ed and aah’ed over the rolls and pies I had made. I smiled to myself, thinking it was a talent befitting an Amish girl. I winced for just a moment as thoughts of Samantha crept in. I held back a tear and then dug into the delicious dinner with everyone else. I also had thoughts of Mamma, Brian, Fanny, and Grandma. Today was a day for family, but mine was scattered to the four winds. I wondered where my dad and brother might be.
After a few seconds of being lost in my thoughts, I shook my head. It was so sad and so unnecessary. I blinked to block out the thoughts. I couldn’t let my former life ruin the present one I told myself, as I choked back another tear.
After the Thanksgiving holiday, the days flew by. It would soon be time for me to leave for Florida. I could hardly wait.
On Christmas Eve, the local family all gathered at Denise’s house; I drank hot chocolate while everyone else drank wine. We watched a couple of holiday movies, and then as the clock struck twelve, Blake and Uncle Bill jumped up and down, yelling, “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” I got caught up in the excitement and jumped right along with them, yelling, “Merry Christmas!” as I clapped my hands. Christmas was my favorite holiday.
Everyone then ripped open their presents. Aunty Laura cocked her head at me suspiciously as she pulled the necklace and earring set out of the box. It was one that I had seen her looking at and I had passed the valuable information on to Uncle Bill.
“Bill, did you have Misty spying for you?” she asked as she pretended to be upset.
“Is it that obvious?” Uncle Bill frowned and winked in my direction.
Aunty Laura smiled. “It’s beautiful, honey,” she said as she kissed him.
I smiled. After fifty years of marriage, Uncle Bill and Aunty Laura still acted like newlyweds.
I happily opened my presents. There were a lot of them, and some were from people I didn’t even know. I tried not to cry, but I was touched so many people had thought of me. It made me happy to really mean something to someone.
A week later, I went with Blake and a few of his friends to ring in the New Year at a friend’s house. I sat on the couch as everyone drank. Blake kept telling everyone that I was his cousin and that I was leaving for missionary school in a fe
w days. The young people were very nice and asked me a lot of questions. I smiled at them shyly; the party reminded me only too well that I was from a different world than they. I was quite awkward around people my own age and usually felt as if I were at least fifteen years older. I did participate in a few of the games they were playing. They were all so nice to me, despite my awkwardness.
It was fun counting down the seconds to the New Year, and I did relent and have a few swallows of champagne. 2006. This could very well be the best year of my life.
On January 3rd, I jumped out of bed with excitement. Everything was packed. I did not plan on coming back to Seattle. My plans were to stay on at the mission and start classes at a college nearby.
Aunty Laura and Denise drove me to the airport. Uncle Bill hugged me goodbye at home and said he was sad to see me go. I told him I would miss him, too. He was one of the nicest men I had ever known.
When we got to the airport, I hugged Denise and Aunty Laura goodbye. We were all in tears, and they made me promise I would call often — even if I got stranded in the middle of an African desert. I smiled at them and thanked them for all they had done for me, and then turned and walked into the airport. Another chapter of my life was ending, and a new one was just starting. I was excited and scared at the same time. For the first time in my life, I would be entirely on my own.
As I walked into the airport, I felt a little sick. I had never been in an airport before, and I was unsure how to proceed. The Seattle airport was gigantic, and I stood for a moment gazing around, unable to believe that I was standing in the middle of such a modern and progressive place. This was certainly a long way from the frozen cornfields of Minnesota and my crude mountain home.
I pulled out the list of instructions Denise had given me. It was a step-by-step list of how to get from the checkpoints all the way through to boarding the plane. First, I had to go through the scanner, it said. I walked up to the moving belt and put my bag on it. When my turn came to move through the metal detector, the agent looked at me oddly. I smiled at him not realizing that my long denim skirt, waist-length hair and high-collared button-down shirt might raise a few red flags. I frowned, confused, when they asked me to step to the side while they opened my carry-on. They pulled out my German song book and Bible.
“What language is this?” the agent asked me.
“It’s German,” I answered innocently.
I knew about 9/11 and wondered if they thought I was a terrorist. The agent just looked at me and waved me on. I felt they had been more curious than sincerely concerned.
Since I was two hours early, I decided to stop at Subway and have a sandwich. I loved getting to decide what I wanted to do without anyone there to tell me I couldn’t. In fact, there was no one to tell me anything. I had gone from a life where I had zero rights to one where suddenly I was totally in charge of and responsible for my whole life. It was exciting, but also scary.
After eating, I sat in the waiting room, looking at magazines and newspapers. I was so anxious to get on the plane I could hardly contain myself. I finally heard the call for my gate, so I gathered my things and made my way toward the boarding gate. I was anxious I would get on the wrong plane, and I must have asked at least six different people to make sure I was in the right spot. When I walked onto the plane and stowed away my carry-on bag, I sat in my seat and looked out the window at the gray December sky. A few snow flurries were swirling here and there, and I smiled knowing that I would soon be in Jacksonville, Florida, and would be leaving the cold weather behind.
Eventually, I heard a voice giving us instructions over the speakers, and I could feel the plane starting to pick up speed on the tarmac. At that moment it really hit me. I am actually doing this, I thought. The last eight months were a blur, but all of sudden, here I was on an airplane, and I had truly left the Amish behind. As the plane took off, I saw flashes of my life through a blur of tears. It was all like a dream. In the years to come, people would get wide-eyed when they heard my strange and tragic story. But now this story was about to take a turn for the better. At that moment, I had no idea that my path would go in a different direction than I had planned. My destiny would revolve around something other than the mission fields of Africa and India.
The Last Thirteen Years
If you have a dream, don’t just sit there. Gather courage to believe that you can succeed and leave no stone unturned to make it a reality.
—Roopleen
I yawned, and with only one eye open, I poured hazelnut creamer in my coffee cup. I stumbled the few feet to the living room and plopped down on the couch. It was 5:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Church was at 10:00 a.m., so I had at least four hours to study. I glanced at the coffee table and made a face at a thick book that seemed to be staring at me. The book was called Fundamentals of Nursing. How I had squealed with delight as I had opened it a few months prior. Now with final exams looming, I did not want to ever see a single page of that book again as long as I lived.
It was spring 2016 and it been eleven years since I had boarded that plane to Florida. It seemed like a lifetime had passed. How could I, a university student, a wife and an author be that same girl who had tried to run off of a mountain where she had been held prisoner for most of her childhood? How could I be the same scared Amish girl who had walked into a rural Minnesota police station and begged for help?
But I was that girl, and I kept her hidden. Most people never saw the tears, never saw the pain, but I saw her, and I never forgot what she had survived, fought for, and accomplished.
My stay at the mission had been an exciting time. I lived with six other girls and was soon submerged in the modern culture of young American women. A few weeks after arriving at the mission, the girls there convinced me to start wearing jeans and T-shirts. I let them drag me to the mall to try on clothes. The tight jeans took a couple of weeks to get used to, but soon, I looked much like the other girls around me.
The girls at the mission thought it was fun to teach an Amish girl the basics of modern life. One girl gave me a radio. I learned makeup and hair style tricks from others and asked all kinds of ridiculous questions that sent my new friends rolling with laughter. None of them had ever met an Amish person before, and although I no longer dressed it, I was still pretty Amish.
A couple of days after reaching Florida, I met my future husband. He was twenty-nine at the time and had blue eyes and dark hair.
When I first saw him, I smiled at him shyly, and we just stared at each other. Contemporary Christian worship music was blasting loudly from the speakers at the front of the auditorium and young people from all over the country were milling about, getting to know each other.
I was in a near floor-length, dark blue skirt and a long-sleeved floral blouse that was buttoned all the way up to my neck. He was in blue jeans with holes in the knees and a distressed T-shirt.
“Are you Amish?” he blurted out after a second.
“I used to be,” I said as I struggled to look into his face and not the floor as I had been taught.
I thought he was going to walk away, but when I sat down next to one of the other girls, he pulled up a chair next to me. We both sat there, barely saying anything for two hours. I would smile a little at him everyone once in a while as I listened to the others talking and laughing. And he would grin back at me.
Eleven months later, we were married and I have had the joy of spending the last eleven years with my best friend. Sometimes, he still laughingly says, “Are you Amish?” Then a squeaky girl voice answers him, “I used to be.”
While at the mission, I received word that Grandma had passed away from a stroke. While Aunty Laura was sad, she was also glad that her mother was finally at peace. I cried for a week and when asked what was wrong, I told everyone my grandmother had died. Little did they know the real reason for my tears. They could never understand how bad I felt for being unable to make Grandma’s
last days better.
I called Samantha several times, but each time the kind neighbor lady said Samantha could not come to the phone. I knew she wasn’t supposed to talk to me, but I wanted to hear her voice, so, every week for two months, I left a message for her to call me. She never did, but one day during training, one of the volunteers told me that I had a call from Wisconsin. I flew out to the phone but was disappointed when I heard the Deacon’s voice on the other end. He angrily told me to quit calling. I sadly hung up the phone, just wanting to hear her voice.
About a week later, I received a letter from Samantha giving the good news that I would become an aunt. At first I was overjoyed, but that emotion soon gave way to sadness as I realized that the child would probably never really know me.
A few months after, I got married. We stayed in Florida for almost a year before moving to the southwestern United States. After the move, I began my nursing prerequisites and worked as a waitress while my husband studied to be a psychologist.
Starting college proved to be a challenging but rewarding step for me. I still remember my very first class. It was math, and on the entire first day I sat looking around the room, almost unable to believe I was there. As I got into my science courses, I marveled at the new world that was opening up before my very eyes.
One day at the end of English class, the professor asked me to stay behind. I nervously picked at my sweater, wondering what I had done wrong. Our assignment had been to write something funny from our childhoods. With apprehension, I walked up to his desk and saw he had a stack of ungraded papers in front of him. Mine was at the top.
I swallowed hard, wondering how bad it was.
The professor looked up at me, smiled, and I smiled back. He was a balding man in his late forties, very tall, and stocky. On the first day, he had seemed intimidating as he walked in with a nearly bursting briefcase. But when he had turned to the class to introduce himself, he had had a very kind and jovial expression that soon put everyone at ease.
Tears of the Silenced Page 30