A FEW DAYS LATER, I was on my way to the mailbox when I walked by Datt as he was sawing a piece of wood in half between two sawhorses. Mem had asked him to get some firewood to take the chill off the living room, where she was going to set up the oval galvanized tub for taking baths. Datt was sawing some logs in half that were too long from the previous winter's supply of wood. He didn't look up.
“Lomie, take these into the house,” he said.
“No, I'm getting the mail right now,” I said in an impatient and angry tone.
Datt looked up at me, his blank eyes startled. I knew my mistake was made. I had never dared say no to Datt before, and neither had I dared show any anger toward him.
Datt was too shocked to respond at that moment. I ran into the house, down the stairs, through the basement, and out the north entrance, heading for the cornfield behind the barn. I plowed through the cornfield into the woods beyond before looking back to see if Datt was pursuing me. He wasn't. As soon as I'd reached the thick trees, I found a place to hide and sat down on a stump.
There was no sound of pursuit for a long time. Then, later, I heard Mem calling me. I didn't answer, knowing full well I was making things worse for myself. But I knew one thing for sure: I needed time to think. I had never talked to Datt that way, and I wasn't about to find out what my punishment was going to be.
Mem stopped calling me. I stayed in the woods, thinking about making an escape. I thought about walking out to Forest Road and up to Route 322 and hitchhiking to anywhere from there. But what if a man who wasn't to be trusted picked me up?
When the sun was low on the horizon, I wanted to get up and start walking in the direction of escape while I still had light, but my legs wouldn't let me. I was getting cold. I wished I had grabbed my coat on the way out of the house. But then again, I might not have gotten out of there before Datt would have hurt me.
With no coat, only the clothes on my back, and no money, I didn't think I was prepared to make a getaway yet. I had about four hundred dollars in my bank account that I had saved up over the previous five years. The people I worked for knew I wasn't allowed to keep my own money, so at Christmas time and on my birthdays they gave me ten or fifteen dollars as a gift. I also saved most of my allowance. I had been adding to my savings account more often since June had called me at the Snyders'. I tried not to feel guilty when I skimmed several dollars off before handing my wages to Mem.
As the sun set, sending a chill over the woods, I vowed that I would leave, but I would do it in a way that would not put my safety or well-being in jeopardy.
Where would I go?
I closed my eyes. Where would I want to live, if I could live anywhere?
My eyes opened wide when the answer came. I could make my dream of living in Vermont come true. Instead of waking and finding myself back in my own bed, in Mem and Datt's house, I could really be there. I could see Mount Mansfield and Lake Champlain for real, not just pictures of them. I could sit by the waterfall beside the red covered bridge, just like the woman in the magazine.
But how would I get there?
I had always wanted to travel by train. But how would I get to the train station?
I thought of Megan. Maybe she would help me leave.
Where would I live?
Then I remembered what a woman I'd worked for once had told me when she was talking about leaving her husband. She had said that there were YWCA programs that helped women in transition.
Were there any YWCAs in Vermont?
I could find out.
It was dark now, really dark. And cold.
Should I tell Sarah or Susan in case one of them would want to come with me?
I decided to think about it.
Nearby in the darkness, leaves rustled. It was probably a raccoon going out to feed on the corn at the edge of the field. Still, it made me uneasy. I took some comfort in the fact that there were no wolves or bears or coyotes in our woods. But it could be Datt, waiting to grab me. I sat motionless, listening. The rustle did not come again.
Long after dark, I wrapped my plan like a present, tucked it away deep inside me, and slipped quietly into the basement. The house was still. It was Saturday night and I needed to take a shower, so I heated water on the oil stove as quietly as I could, mixed it with cold in the garden sprinkling can, and hung the can of water on the nail on the ceiling. I sponged down my body, then let the warm water flow down over me. I dried off, wrapped myself in towels, tiptoed up the stairs, slid into my nightdress, and then climbed into the already warm bed next to Sarah. I sighed, thinking at least I could sleep in since the next day was our “in-between-church Sunday.” I was surprised as I settled in that there had been no ambush. I fell asleep quickly and easily.
Out of the Woods
Freedom lies in being bold.
ROBERT FROST
Sarah and Susan stood over the bed, telling me to get up. I put my head back in my pillow. I was glad I didn't need to listen to them.
“Lomie, you have to get up! Mem and Datt said so!” Susan said urgently.
I opened my eyes.
Sarah really woke me up when she said, “If you don't get up, we are going to tell Mem you called the social workers.”
I sat up and glared at them. “You promised you wouldn't! That would only make things worse around here!”
“You made it worse yesterday by talking to Datt in an angry voice!” Susan said. “And then you made it even worse by not coming home! That's why you have to get up now.”
“Why? Is Datt the owner of anger around here?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“He can get angry and hit us any time he wants, but we can't even use an angry voice?”
“He was in a good mood until you set him off. If he gets triggered, it will be your fault,” Susan said.
“Whose side are you on?” I asked. “Why is it a terrible thing if you get chased out in the cold with nothing on, but all my fault if I do?”
“I didn't provoke him!” Susan snapped.
“I thought we were going to stick together,” I said. I looked them square in the face—first Sarah, then Susan.
They were both silent. Then Sarah said, “We just want what's best for this family. We are going to go downstairs. If you aren't down there in ten minutes, we'll tell Mem that you called the social workers.”
With that, Sarah and Susan went downstairs.
I got up and dressed slowly. So much for asking them if they wanted to go with me! Anger was taking over where sadness usually lived.
Susan had sneaked out of the house many times—and we'd covered up for her. Sarah had snuck out the window when Datt had forbidden her to go out—and we hadn't told.
Now they were being so righteous! I got up and combed the front of my hair and put my white kopp on. I thought, Yes, we women and girls have to wear a covering over our heads to show that we are submissive to our men—all because God made Adam before Eve. At least that's what the men say. They like to make these rules and pretend God did.
I put my dress on and pricked myself with a straight pin. I thought, Stupid things! Men get to wear buttons on their shirts and we have to wear pins because buttons might be too fancy for women. Too fancy, indeed! It's only because the men are the ones making the rules.
I went down the stairs and opened the door. There, at the round oak table, sat Datt with his big black Bible open in front of him. Next to him was Mem, and beside her were Sarah and Susan, sharing a German Testament. Simon and Katherine sat in their places in silence, with downcast eyes. There was an empty spot with an open Testament. As I stood there surveying the scene, they all looked at me like a room full of judges.
Mem said, “Sit down.”
I thought about not. But there were so many of them, and only one of me. For a minute I wished I had gone out to the highway the night before.
I sat down with a tight place in my throat. Mem said, “We are going to read scriptures before breakfast this morning.”
I glared across the table at Sarah and Susan. They were the same two people who a year ago had checked out a book from the library about sign language and learned how to communicate silently with one another. That was at the time when Datt would have us get on our knees for prayers every night. He would read one prayer after another, with us on our knees for sometimes more than twenty minutes. Sarah, Susan, and I knew this was another method he used to control us. This was one of the things we couldn't openly disobey, because to the rest of the community Datt was doing the right thing, praying with his family every night. Sarah and Susan used their sign language to poke fun at him. Mem had interrupted Datt to tell him what Sarah and Susan were doing. To our surprise, Datt didn't become violent. But he prayed even longer that night.
Now Sarah and Susan were helping use scripture to bring me under Datt's control? I knew they were traitors. I would certainly not tell them I was leaving!
When it was my turn to read a verse in German, I sat there for a minute. Mem said, “Lomie,” in that solid voice that carried in it both her expectation and her warning. I read in a sloppy way. For once I didn't care what I was reading, or what it meant. I wanted to get through it.
The reading went on just long enough for them to feel that I had submitted, and therefore they had established their dominance over me.
After I had eaten, I slipped back into the woods and tried to figure out how to get to a phone to call Megan. I couldn't go to the Haddocks or the Gingeriches, because they'd tell Mem. The Carters let us use their phone sometimes when they weren't home, but only for emergencies. They had moved in next door when our other neighbors moved to Texas. I had seen the Carters leave while we were still reading scriptures.
But they had pet elkhounds in the house. If the dogs weren't all in their cages, they might not let me in. I would have to open the green metal door they left unlocked and go through the dark and damp basement. If the Carters came home and caught me, I would have trouble explaining what the emergency was.
I took the chance. I got through the basement, leaving the door open for light and a way to get back out. The pack of dogs all began barking when I came in. I went up the stairs. I carefully opened the door. They were all penned. The strong animal odor overwhelmed me, making it hard to breathe.
I held my breath as I reached for the phone. I waited for the dogs to stop barking, then dialed Megan's number with my heart beating faster with each ring.
At last there was a click, then Megan's voice said, “Hello?”
“Hello, Megan? This is Saloma.”
“Hi, Saloma, what's up?” She sounded cheerful and normal, with no idea what I was about to ask her.
I drew a deep breath. “I was wondering if you would help me leave home,” I said. Then I waited. After a pause, I added, “Things have gotten worse.”
She didn't ask me any questions.
“Of course I will,” she said calmly. “Where are you now?”
“I'm at the neighbors.”
“Do they know what you are doing?”
“No, they aren't home. They said we could use the phone in emergencies.”
“Uh-oh, what if they come home? We'd better plan fast. Can you come to my house?”
“Yes,” I said.
“All right,” she said. “Don't come directly to my house. I will pick you up in front of the drugstore in the mall. Do you know where I mean?”
“Yes.”
“Good. When would you like to do this?”
Right now, I wanted to say. “Whenever it's good for you.”
“The Tuesday after next, I am getting ready for my sister to arrive from France. How about Tuesday of the following week? Maybe you could babysit the children when my sister is here.”
“That's fine,” I said, wondering how I would survive another nine days.
“Okay, I'll see you then,” Megan said.
I hung up. Before I could begin to grasp the enormity of what I'd just done, the dogs began barking again. I heard the key in the door click, and then Denise walked in.
She looked surprised to see me. “What is going on?” she asked.
To my surprise, my voice sounded normal. “I hope you don't mind, but I needed to use a phone. It was a local call.”
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
I knew I couldn't say there was an emergency. So I lied. “Yes. I was in a pinch with arrangements for work. I had a mix-up.”
“I don't mind you using the phone, but I'd rather you do it when I'm here, unless it's an emergency.”
“I'm sorry,” I said. I added, “It won't happen again.”
CHURCH WAS AT THE YODERS' my last church Sunday, which was a five-mile walk, one way. I walked with Sarah and Susan. Usually I tried to talk to them, but during the past few months, they would give me the cold shoulder and berate me for talking too much, for the way I walked, the way I waved, or for anything else they could find fault with. On this Sunday, I walked with them in silence, lost in a world of my own. I was thinking, I am about to attend my last Amish church service.
Sarah interrupted my thoughts. “So Lomie, why are you so quiet today?”
Susan said, “Yeah, I didn't think you could be this quiet. Did the cat bite your tongue?”
I decided not to respond.
When we got to church, Sarah and Susan made as if they were best friends with each other and not related to me. I didn't care. I looked around and wondered if I would miss anyone there. I didn't think I would. I wondered if anyone would miss me. I didn't think they would.
The singing at church was nice that day, and I joined in. As soon as the first preacher stood up, I crossed my arms over my knees and put my head down on my arms, the way I usually did to sleep and tune out the preachers. It was common for people to fall asleep now and again. But I did it deliberately, every time. It was my way of avoiding the inner conflict I often felt when I didn't agree with what the preachers said.
This time I used it as a way of having privacy for my thoughts about what I would be doing in two days. That is, if Sarah and Susan didn't discover my plan and tell on me, and I could actually follow through with it. If they told on me, I would be overwhelmed with people talking me out of it—the bishop, the ministers, uncles and aunts, neighbors, and most especially Joe and the rest of the family. I knew if I made it, I could not tell anyone where I was. If I did, the letters and phone calls from people trying to convince me to come back would be overpowering. I wondered if they would send a van-load of people all the way to Vermont to pick me up, as they had done to a young woman in Aunt Lizzie's community in Pennsylvania who had run away.
Or maybe they would be glad to get rid of a troublemaker like me.
ON THE WAY HOME, Sarah and Susan acted differently towards me. They seemed to be testing me to see if my new resolve to be quiet was temporary or not. But no matter how hard they tried to draw me out, I kept my secret hidden deep inside me. I walked alongside my sisters while remaining alone and private.
When we got home, we popped corn, and then our boyfriends came. When Dan walked into my room, part way through the afternoon, I realized this might be the last time I would see him. I felt guilty that my plan didn't include telling him face-to-face that I didn't want to go steady with him anymore. But I sensed that would be a very difficult thing to do, and I had already decided to kill two birds with one stone by leaving the Amish and him at the same time.
“Dan,” I said that evening while we were sitting on the edge of my bed, “do you want to go to the singing tonight?”
“Well, I suppose we could. I'm a little concerned about the distance my horse would have to go, though.”
I remembered Joe using that excuse when Emma wanted to go to a singing and he didn't.
“We don't have to; I was just thinking it would be nice for a change. It's been awhile since we've gone,” I said. I was also thinking how it would be my last one, but I kept that thought quiet.
“How about next week? We've been in
vited to my friend Eddie's for supper, remember? There's going to be a bunch of us, and then a singing afterwards.”
I remembered. I regretted that I wouldn't get a chance to see Eddie again. “That would be fine,” I said, thinking that maybe his horse would have more pep the following week. Then I wondered if he would still go, once he found out about me being gone.
That is, if I made it.
I ASKED MEM IF SHE would split the taxi fare to Middlefield on Monday. She said yes. She went to Spector's store to buy material for a dress, and I walked immediately to the bank and withdrew the contents of my savings account. With the money I had skimmed off the earnings I gave Mem and Datt, and the savings, I had $450 to make this journey. Then I went to the dime store and bought new underwear. I knew I would be buying “high” clothes later, but I figured I might as well buy my underwear in a familiar place, because that would be one thing I wouldn't need to change. It felt comforting that I would be changing on the outside, but inside I would really still be the same.
When I got home, I walked to the mailbox. An autumn breeze caught my dress and blew it against my legs. Oak leaves lifted and circled in a little eddy, then floated back down to the ground. I was so excited, I felt like one of those leaves. By this time tomorrow, I could dance in a circle just like those leaves, and no one would be there to criticize me.
I thought more about my name. I would have to change it. Saloma would stand out too much. I had narrowed my choices—Heidi, Maria, Julia, or Linda. I had always wanted Sue for a middle name. Not only had I gotten an old-fashioned Amish name when I was born, but Datt's mother didn't believe in middle names, so none of us got any. Now I could name myself anything I wanted.
Lamb's wool clouds floated in the sky above the neighbors' field. I looked up and drew strength from the blue around them. Malinda Sue Miller. I liked it. I could see myself fitting into that name. Julia or Maria were too glamorous for me.
Why I Left the Amish Page 19
