A Plain Leaving

by Leslie Gould

  By the time Mamm, Aenti Suz, and the girls gathered around the table, Arden, Vi, and their five children filed in. Milton gave me a nod. The youngest, Pammy, rushed at me and threw her arms around my waist. She was seven, and frankly I was surprised she remembered me.

  I hugged her back as Arden cleared his throat and then said, “Pam, remember what we talked about. Take your seat.”

  The oldest girl in the family, Brenda, shook her head at her little sister as if in disgust. Brenda was only nine. Hardly an authority figure yet, but apparently peer pressure was working well in their family. Milton avoided eye contact with me and quickly pulled out a chair between Luke and Leroy.

  Arden sat down in Dat’s place, and Vi and Mamm sat on either side of him. I’d been wrong about Silas. He wasn’t joining the family for dinner.

  I shuffled toward my table and slinked down in the chair, surprised at how humiliated I felt even though I certainly expected the drill.

  Arden led the silent prayer. I bowed my head along with everyone else, but no prayer came. That had been a problem ever since I’d left—I’d thought the freedom of being away from Bishop Jacobs, Marie, and Arden would free my spirit. But the opposite had happened. I struggled to pray, to feel connected to God.

  My face grew warm and I forced myself to pray. I needed it now more than ever. I asked God to help me to be kind. To not be harsh. To love my family.

  As Arden said “Amen,” the back door slammed.

  “You’re late.” A smile spread across Gail’s face as she looked into the kitchen.

  Silas stopped at the side of the table. “One of the cows is ready to calve,” he said, not moving. “I’ll go check on her again after supper.”

  Everyone began passing food and chatting. Jah, their voices were subdued, but it was still a racket. Luke and Leroy were arguing about something until Milton gave them a withering look that reminded me a little too much of Arden. Then Pam knocked over her glass of milk.

  Silas hurried into the kitchen as Vi said, “Honestly, can’t we have one meal without an accident?”

  Leisel grabbed her napkin and threw it over the spilled milk as Silas returned with a dish towel and handed it to Vi.

  I expected Silas to sit beside Gail, but instead he picked up his plate, silverware, glass, and napkin and walked toward me. Gail gasped. I froze as everyone turned.

  “Ignore them,” Silas whispered as he took the chair closest to the wall, the one facing the big table.

  I complied, trying to stare straight ahead, but I couldn’t help but sneak a look at Silas. His eyes seemed tired but as kind as ever. I whispered, “You can’t sit with me. It’s against the Ordnung.”

  “Not for me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I haven’t joined the church.”

  A shiver raced up my spine. “No, you did. The Sunday after I left.”

  “I didn’t,” he answered.

  My stomach tightened. “Why not?”

  “I wasn’t ready,” he answered. “I went through a . . . spiritually dry time.”

  I shivered. That pained me. “But you’re ready now?”

  “Jah,” he answered. “I started taking the class again two Sundays ago.”

  “I see.” Most likely so he could marry Gail.

  I glanced toward the big table. Gail had her head bowed as if she were praying—or crying. Marie glared at me. Mamm pushed back her chair and then came toward me, quickly. She snatched up my plate. I thought perhaps they’d pass the food our way, since Silas had sat down with me, but that didn’t appear to be the plan.

  “Come fill your plate,” she said to Silas, over her shoulder as she returned to the table. I knew her dishing up for me was part of the shunning.

  He followed her. Rebellious yet compliant. That had always been the paradox of Silas. He could be such a rule follower, but then he also always stuck up for the underdog, too, which in this case was me.

  Mamm returned before Silas and placed the plate in front of me. I managed a quick thank you before she retreated. This was difficult for her. No Amish mother wanted her child to leave. I’d hurt her deeply.

  I breathed in the savory scent of the roast beef and the gravy spread across the meat and mashed potatoes. Cooked carrots, green beans, applesauce, and buttermilk biscuits.

  Marie continued to glare at me, which didn’t prevent me from enjoying the food. I savored every bite.

  Silas shot me a smile. I ducked my head, not wanting to smile back. After I first moved into my apartment, I used to flick the lights on and off for the pure joy of it. I loved the way the entire room lit up. I strung lights around the inside of my apartment too and purchased extra lamps. I loved the light.

  That was how Silas’s smile felt to me. Like a room full of brilliant lights.

  I kept my head down as if I were concentrating on my eating. I’d need to do my best to avoid Silas, especially his smiles.

  And I needed to do my best to simply accept my shunning, whether Silas continued to sit beside me or not. There was no reason to challenge or protest it. I wouldn’t have to suffer through it for long.

  I wondered if Ruby’s family shunned anyone. Perhaps not. Perhaps no one ever left. Although it sounded as if Zachary was a bit of a rebel. Like me, he wasn’t willing to do his older brother’s bidding.

  “Clearly Thomas Wolfe was right.” I stood in the middle of my childhood bedroom. “You can’t go home again.”

  Unfortunately my sisters and Gail were all in the room with me. I should have kept my mouth shut.

  Marie bounced off her bed and landed on her feet a few inches from me. We were eye to eye. Jah, she’d grown even prettier in the years I’d been gone. “You’re the one who left,” she said. “This is your fault—not ours.”

  “I get it,” I answered. “Completely.” I’d never written a letter to someone who’d left the faith, but I truly understood the motivation. If Silas had left instead of me, I would have done everything possible to plead my case for him to return. Same with Marie and Leisel too.

  “You can’t come back for a day and expect things to be as they were.” Marie planted her hands on her hips as if she were five. “You’re not in charge anymore.”

  “I was never in charge,” I muttered. If I had been, I never would have left. I started toward my bag to retrieve my pajamas.

  Marie couldn’t seem to stop. “You’re the one who chose the ways of the world.”

  I spun back around. “Is that why you think I left?”

  She nodded.

  “What ways, exactly, do you think I chose?”

  “A car. Probably a TV and a computer too.” She sneered as she shifted her gaze to my pocket. “Definitely a cell phone.”

  “You think I left my family because of stuff? Who told you that?”

  She shrugged.

  “I know Dat didn’t.”

  “No, he didn’t say anything about you. It was as if you were dead to him.”

  I crossed my arms. I didn’t believe that, not at all. “Then why did he come visit me?”

  Marie shook her head in disgust. “Don’t lie.” It was the same response as Vi’s. Where did they think Dat had gone on those days he totally disappeared?

  “I’m not lying.” I turned back toward my bag. The last thing I wanted was to fight with Marie. I pulled my perfectly modest pajamas from my bag—but I still knew Marie wouldn’t approve.

  I took off my Kapp, shook out my hair, and untied my apron. Next I wiggled out of my dress and hung it on a hanger and put it away in the closet. It was only then that I remembered I had on bright red Victoria’s Secret undergarments. I should have undressed in the tiny room down the hall.

  “First Timothy 2:9,” Marie quoted. I knew what was coming. “‘In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel—’”

  I spun around, grasping for some sort of smart remark, but the look of surprise on Leisel’s face stopped me. When my gaze met hers, she broke out in laughte
r. I couldn’t help but join her. I stood there with my pajamas against my chest with Marie and Gail shooting nails with their eyes. But at least my sister hadn’t quoted any more of the verse.

  I couldn’t stop laughing.

  “Come on, Gail,” Marie said. “Let’s come back later. After Miss Englischer has calmed down.” They both headed toward the door.

  Leisel abruptly quit laughing and spun around. “You have no right to treat Jessica in such a way. She’s our sister.”

  “She’s no sister to me,” Marie retorted as she reached the door. She yanked it open and then slammed it after she and Gail both passed through. The sound echoed down the hall and into the room.

  I slipped the pajama top over my head and then whispered “Sorry” to my little sister.

  “It’s not your fault,” Leisel said. “Marie keeps getting more and more . . . uptight?”

  I nodded, verifying the word she’d chosen as I pulled on my pajama bottoms.

  “Dat referred to her behavior as legalistic one time.”

  “Really?” That surprised me.

  “She hangs on every word that Bishop Jacobs says and reads her Bible all the time, but not in a way that worships God. More in a way to catch people and tell them they’re wrong.”

  I groaned.

  “Jah, I was reading a medical book about Dat’s illness a week ago, and she quoted ‘Proverbs 19:15.’”

  I gave her a questioning look. I couldn’t remember that one.

  Leisel took her nightgown out from underneath her pillow as she quoted, “‘Slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep; and an idle soul shall suffer hunger.’”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.” She stepped toward the closet to hang up her dress. “She was mad that I wasn’t helping with the cooking and cleaning more.”

  “Wow, I don’t remember her being that bad before.”

  “Jah, she’s steadily gotten worse over the last few years. And when Dat was diagnosed with cancer, she said it was because of sin in the family. He was paying for the sins of others.” Leisel pulled her dress over her head.

  My stomach sank. “Whose sin?” I asked as I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste from my bag.

  “Guess.”

  “Mine, I imagine.”

  “Jah.” Leisel pulled off her beige slip, revealing a pair of old-lady beige underwear and a beige bra. Mamm purchased our underthings. I shuddered, grateful she no longer purchased mine. “And she blames Amos too.”

  “But he’s been gone so long.” Poor guy. He had no idea what he’d be walking into tomorrow.

  “She’s convinced the two of you have shamed our family and caused some sort of—” My sister stopped.

  “Some sort of what?”

  Leisel shook her head. “Not curse . . .”

  “Consequence?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. “And she thinks that was why Dat got cancer?”

  “Jah. She said it was your fault Dat died. If you two hadn’t left like you did, God wouldn’t have needed to . . .” This time Leisel’s voice trailed off.

  “Strike Dat? Torture him with cancer? Kill him?”

  Leisel looked so innocent in her white nightgown with her blond hair halfway out of her bun. Tears welled in her eyes. “Convict the two of you of your sin.”

  “That’s so harsh.” Before she could respond, I headed down the hall to brush my teeth, not wanting to raise my blood pressure further by discussing Marie. I could hear voices below as I walked. Serious voices. Marie, most likely, tattling to Mamm about what a horrible person I’d become. Or had always been. The latter was probably more likely Marie’s view.

  I stepped into the bathroom, shut the door, and turned on the water, completely drowning out their voices as I began to brush my teeth. I’d been the best of friends with my sisters. Sure, there was normal competition between us, but not anything too drastic. Then, about six months before I left home, Marie became self-righteous about pretty much everything. She started keeping track of how much time I spent working in the fields. She thought it wrong that I helped pull calves, that I fixed the tractor, that I stood up to Arden when I disagreed with him.

  She agreed with everything Bishop Jacobs did and said, saying he was exactly what our district needed. “We were getting too liberal,” she explained, more than once. She began measuring the distance from her ankle to the hem of her dress, the length of her Kapp ties, and even the brim of Dat’s hats. She avoided riding in cars unless it was absolutely necessary. Then she started measuring Leisel’s and my dresses too.

  She pointed out, more than once, that the previous way of thinking in our district had affected me more than anyone else. “Be careful, Jessica,” she used to tell me. “You need to rein yourself back in before it’s too late. We’re called to be submissive. We need these rules—and roles—to preserve our way of life. You’re much too bossy. You expect the men to take orders from you instead of the other way around.”

  I ignored her. Dat had always encouraged my interest in farming and my initiative to try new things. Before, when Arden tried to dampen my spirits, Dat had intervened in a kind way.

  Marie ended up going to Bishop Jacobs to “talk” about me. The bishop then went to Arden, who confirmed everything Marie had said, most likely adding more trespasses to the list. Soon every one in the district was feeling sorry for Silas, except for Silas and me and Dat.

  When Bishop Jacobs finally spoke with my father, instead of just with my sister and brother, Dat told him he didn’t think there was a problem. “She’s acting within her gifting” was the rumor of what Dat had said. Even though I asked Dat what his exact words were, he never told me, claiming the conversation was private.

  Soon after, Arden approached Dat about selling off the woods to a developer who wanted to put an apartment building in on the highway. Dat was opposed to it, but wasn’t as firm with Arden as I thought he should be. Then I overheard Arden bring up the possibility of fracking with Dat.

  I was livid. Again, Dat said he wasn’t interested in the idea, but he didn’t shut Arden down the way he needed to. True, we used some oil and gas products as Amish for our generators, propane appliances, and tractors, and also when we hired drivers to take us places. But we didn’t believe in blindly consuming resources. We didn’t wear jewelry and therefore didn’t play a part in the geopolitical warring over gold and diamonds, something that I’d Googled recently. We tried to heat our houses with wood as much as we could, rather than gas or coal, although I knew woodsmoke was a pollutant—but it was also renewable. We managed our woods as best we could, replanting seedlings for every tree we cut down.

  Much of what I knew about natural resources, I learned from all the research I did after I left the Amish—but it taught me to value, even more, the Plain approach to the consumption of those resources. Even without having all of the background information, I’d been raised to be a good steward of the land.

  And I had firm opinions about how our land should be treated. I couldn’t reconcile how fracking or developing a section of a two-hundred-plus-year-old farm was good stewardship of what God had entrusted us with.

  Even though we’d been raised the same, it was obvious Arden didn’t want to farm and was doing everything he could to make money off our land in other ways.

  I’d given him a piece of my mind, and he told me it wasn’t any of my business. I told him it was. “No, it’s not,” he said. “You have no stake whatsoever in this property. It will never be yours.”

  Soon after that, the bishop requested a meeting with me. Arden was there too—but not Dat. At the time, he was in Haiti for a two-month period, helping to house, feed, and care for victims of the 2010 earthquake.

  During that time, both the bishop and Arden wanted to discipline me. I’d gone against the Ordnung. I’d stepped out of my role as an Amish woman. I’d been prideful. I’d tried to manipulate my brother.

  I’d asked for them
to wait until Dat was home. The bishop agreed, saying he’d set up a meeting for as soon as Dat returned. I talked with Silas over and over about what was going on. Clearly, it all made him uncomfortable. Jah, he felt they were being unfair to me. On the other hand, it was the bishop and my older brother. They deserved my respect.

  As it drew nearer to Dat’s return, I thought about how a meeting with the bishop, my brother, and father would play out. I would be pitted against Arden and the bishop with Dat in the middle. My father hated conflict, especially between his children.

  And Arden was right. I had no future on our farm. I was a woman—I could never be a Bavvah.

  I’d had no idea what Silas and I would do, what would make it possible for us to farm together. We saved every cent we made, but we wouldn’t be able to buy property of our own. The land he lived on was only ten acres, not enough to make a living from. And he and his Mamm didn’t even own it—a distant relative allowed them to live on it.

  I shivered as I spit into the sink, rinsed my mouth, and then turned off the water, hoping my gums wouldn’t be sore from my overzealous brushing as I pondered the past.

  Marie had started a snowball effect, for sure. But as it sped down the hill, picking up pebbles, rocks, and then boulders, I was the only casualty when it hit the bottom. And Silas wasn’t there to catch me. It was his one fault—being too passive. Bowing to authority too quickly. Being influenced by my brother and Bishop Jacobs. Silas didn’t actually side with Arden, but he never unequivocally defended me either. Jah, he was supportive. Jah, he thought I should have a say in how the land was managed, but he wouldn’t say it to Marie, Arden, or the bishop.

  My heart raced at the memory. It was definitely my choice to leave. That was true. But really, what option did I have?

  When Dat returned, absolutely physically and emotionally exhausted, the bishop scheduled a meeting. I balked, fearing it was a bad idea. Dat was the quietest I’d ever seen him. He’d helped dig through the rubble of Port-au-Prince. He’d comforted widows, widowers, and orphans. He’d cared for the injured and the ill.