As I made my way into the First Baptist Church where I had been attending for quite a while, I realized how refreshing it was to have the freedom to worship without the judgment of others. I could sit down in a pew with red velvet seats in my favorite pink blouse and black pants, and not worry that I was not less than worthy of being the true me.
I grew up in a community populated with relatives, friends, and children of all ages, shapes, and sizes. It was a community where everyone knew just about all there was to know about everybody else, and then some. Some of them were nosey, and others were just plain jealous and conceited. Despite being surrounded by so many people, I still felt lonely. I did not feel like I fit in and I wanted to be by myself rather than hang out with them on Sundays. When I spent time around them, I felt I had to walk on my toes so I would not offend anyone. Most of the girls knew I had been caught with several radios. They also knew what had happened that one day with Roger. I could tell they were just waiting for me to make another wrong move so they could gossip behind my back even more.
Roger was not Amish, and looking back on it, I cannot believe I had trusted him. But back then, I had never heard of people hurting someone else.
My bold behavior started when Roger, a sixty-five-year-old man who had become a regular visitor while I sold baskets along the roadside in town, kept asking when he could take me to see a movie. I told him as soon as my parents left home for a few days, when I could sneak out much easier.
After waiting more than six months, an opportunity to sneak out finally presented itself. I took the chance one Thursday night when Mem and my brother Sammie got on a bus to visit Miller Dowdy (my maternal Grandpa) in Ohio. Even though Datt was still at home, I decided to take a huge risk and finally respond to Roger’s invitation. So that Friday, while I sold baskets, I told Roger I would finally go. We made plans to meet the next Monday night.
Sarah was with me when I made the plans, and she expressed her doubts about it. The Amish taught that watching television was evil, and Sarah was more concerned about my ending up with a bad illness or a broken leg if the Good Man willed it.
“I know it’s scary to think about what could happen,” I said, “For goodness sake, I can’t even look at the televisions in Wal-Mart without fear of getting a disease.” I tried to assure her, but it came out all wrong.
Sarah busted out laughing and said, “I feel the same way when I am at Wal-Mart.”
Sarah’s confession loosened us both up a little, but when Monday rolled around my level of anxiety and guilt notched up extra high. I wondered why I had made plans to do this when I knew Datt was not going to Ohio with Mem. Not only was watching TV immoral, but driving in a vehicle with Roger, whom my parents did not know well, was even worse. I hardly spoke any English and I figured I would let Roger do all the talking and I would just say “yes” or “no.” Sarah suggested I should just stay home.
“I have to do this,” I told her. “There is no way to let Roger know I don’t want to do it after all. I just hope he doesn’t show up.”
I was afraid if I did not go out to meet him he would come to the house to look for me. I could not bear the thought of him telling Datt he was taking me to see a movie. Datt would probably have a calf.
The evening rolled around and I was ready to go at 10:30. I waited upstairs in my bedroom until everyone was asleep. Then I crept down the squeaky stairs and made my way outside. I waited a bit at the door to make sure Datt did not wake up. After I was sure no one heard me, I ran down the gravel road barefoot. After a little while, I slowed to a walk. All kinds of scary noises erupted from the dark woods, almost scary enough to make me turn around and run back to the house, but it was not long until Roger came driving up the road in his little green pickup. I climbed in and immediately felt safer. He drove me about 25 miles to his house and we watched the movie Dances with Wolves. I was sixteen years old, and that was the first movie I had ever watched. I was scared through the entire movie because of the Indians—they terrified me and I had no idea people like that even existed.
After the movie finished, Roger took me home; it was about three o’clock in the morning. Roger was a nice man and he respected me. He did not try to take advantage of me because we were just good friends, or that is what I presumed. Back then I did not know the dangers of getting kidnapped or raped, or even worse, getting killed. I had never heard of such things happening in an Amish community. I always assumed no one wanted to hurt someone like me if I did not do anything to give them a reason. If I had known then what I know now I would have never gone out like that.
I consider the experience with Roger as a time God wrapped His arms around me, protecting me, and maybe even inspiring me to continue with my plans to leave the Amish. Roger had known I wanted to leave since I was fifteen years old, and we had talked about it all the time. He had given me some pointers on what to expect in the real world, and he had even told me he could give me a place to stay. Of course, when the time came he backed out.
§
My boldness got placed on hold soon after the secret movie night. It was an embarrassing moment in my Amish life, but something I do not regret. It all began one hot August day in 2004, when I was sixteen.
After long hard weeks of weaving baskets by hand, I always looked forward to an occasional day off when we would go to what I called “fantasyland.” My parents had found a spot to sell baskets soon after we moved from Ohio to Missouri. The location was perfect because our setup was close to Interstate 35, where many travelers exited to eat at a popular restaurant and truck stop called Dinner Bell. The interstate was in plain sight, and sometimes I would count the vehicles by making a mark on a piece of paper for every vehicle going north and south. It was a great way to pass the time between helping customers. Sometimes Sarah and I would pick out different cars and trucks we wanted to own someday. Then there were days when I would open up the back end of the buggy, sit on the tailgate with my feet hanging down, and take off my white cap to let my hair fall loose and just enjoy the fresh air. I would daydream of the day when I could have my long brunette hair blow in the wind free as a bird forever.
Sarah and I always had a good time when we were together, especially when we sold baskets. We learned how to use a camera so we could take pictures for the many tourists who asked to be in a photo with the horse or the handmade baskets, and if they wanted Sarah and me to be in the photo, we gladly accepted their wishes and posed. Amish rules forbade us from having our picture taken, but some days the rules just did not matter to us.
Sarah and I were selling baskets at the truck stop that day when Roger stopped by to visit. He asked me to go with him to buy cold beverages, thinking it would be a treat for us. I really did not like any kind of pop because I did not like the burning sensation in my mouth from the fizz. Besides, my parents did not really want us to drink pop since it was not good for our health. Instead of telling Roger I did not want a drink, I got into his vehicle. I thought, What the heck? Riding in his van could do me no harm. We drove a few blocks to a small gas station and bought Coca Cola while Sarah stayed with the baskets.
When we returned, Roger parked the vehicle and told me I could stay in the passenger seat if I wanted to. He offered Sarah to sit in the back seat to cool off too, but she declined. So I sat there, drinking my Coke and listening to him talk about himself. He was a part-time postal employee who delivered mail from one post office to another every evening, and he did not care whether we understood what he was saying as long as he was talking. I was not paying any attention to my surroundings when Sarah’s hollering jolted me out of my daydreams. “Emma! There is a buggy coming up the street!” Sarah yelled in German. “It looks like Mem and Datt!”
“Oh no! I am in serious trouble now!” I shouted. I panicked. My bones froze. I tried to think of a fast way to escape the vehicle without my parents seeing me, but it seemed impossible. I started shaking and Sarah, who stood next to the van, franticly yelled to me to hurry and get out. She looked pale and scared too. There was only one option left: climb out of the vehicle even if my parents saw me. Everything happened so fast it felt like it was just a bad dream. Unfortunately, it was real.
Datt drove to a telephone pole to tie the horse, which was a few hundred feet from where I stood next to Sarah. Roger stayed in his vehicle. Even though Sarah and I could not speak English very well, Roger knew we were in trouble and he tried to keep a conversation going. When we did not respond after a minute, he gave up.
Sarah and I tried hard to act like nothing had happened, but we soon changed our minds when Mem began walking towards us. She had a fuming look on her face, which told me my life would soon be even more miserable than it already was. Datt stayed behind. At first, I was glad he did not get off the buggy because he had a temper worse than Mem, but after seeing her face it did not really matter which parent came forward. She walked over to Roger first and flatly told him to leave. He instantly complied.
Next she spun around and looked at us, “What do you girls think you are doing?”
“Roger asked me if I wanted to sit in his van to cool off and drink a Coke,” I answered sheepishly. “I didn’t see anything wrong with that.”
“He could have taken off with you,” she scolded, almost in tears.
I did not say anything, and Sarah stood deathly quiet. I wondered why she did not have anything to say like she always did when we got into trouble. However, I was the only one really in trouble, so I could not blame Sarah for her actions. Or inactions.
It may sound wrong to trust a 65-year-old man to not run off with me, but I had known Roger for over three years. He had stopped almost every Friday just to visit and pass the time. I could not imagine him kidnapping me. If he really wanted to take us, he could have done it a long time ago. It did not occur to me he only stopped when Sarah and I were there, but Mem told us he only stopped occasionally when she sold baskets. I had a feeling Roger did not like Mem, but who could blame him? Mem did not easily warm up to strangers, especially English people.
I decided not tell Mem I had gone to the store with Roger. All my parents saw was me sitting in his van, and I reasoned that if I let them believe I was sitting in the vehicle to cool off, my punishment would be less severe. She did not ask if we went anywhere, so I decided not to bother providing any further details.
Mem broke the silence again: “I wonder what else you girls do here that you shouldn’t.”
For the first time one little word squeaked out of Sarah’s mouth: “Nothing.” I kept my mouth shut. And because of my actions that day with Roger, my fantasyland became history.
§
The next six-months dragged by slowly and painfully. All my friends found out because Rhoda told them what I had done. It took many sleepless nights to get over the humiliation of what took place that day because other people now knew about it and judged me harshly. Where did I go wrong in life? I would lie awake at night wondering if other girls were as senseless and naïve as I was. Probably not, but we never talked about anything other than well-behaved “lady like” subjects. It bored me out of my skin.
Sarah and I were very close, and it seemed like Mem and Datt tried everything they could after the incident with Roger to not to let us do anything together. I felt bad that my parents were punishing Sarah too, especially since it was my fault. We were so scared of my parents we did not even dare to be together upstairs in my room for fear of Datt sneaking in and discovering us. He would occasionally just walk right into my room without knocking and start looking through my dresser drawers very slowly, his pipe dangling from his mouth. It irritated the crap of me.
Sometimes I could not remember where I had hidden my secret stash of nail polish, lipstick, and a little bit of jewelry. All I could do was sit and hope everything vanished as Datt got close to finding it. Our neighbor lady, Nina, had given the makeup to me once after I cleaned her house. I never wore any of it because the Amish forbade it, but I did not want to part with it either. If Datt ever found out about it, I would have had some hard explaining to do. I could not handle the fear of getting caught with it, so I dug a hole behind the house under a tree and buried my wooden box of possessions. Before I buried it, I locked the box in case someone stumbled across it, then I wrapped it in a plastic bag to keep the moisture out.
The punishment probably seemed harder and more miserable because my parents no longer allowed us to go to the corner to sell baskets. The stress of trying to be on good behavior even affected our daily activities: instead of talking and having fun while cooking and washing dishes three times a day, we did our work in silence, each tending to our own duties in the kitchen. We did not know if we could even look at each other if either Mem or Datt was near. It was miserable. I could not understand at the time why sitting in someone’s vehicle could make my parents so angry and ruin my reputation with my friends. More than ever, all I could think about was figuring out a way to run away.
My workload doubled, or maybe I thought so because I felt guilty about my actions and tried to work harder to convince Mem and Datt to appreciate me more. Of course it did not work. I could feel Datt getting more distant from me. We were not close to begin with, so as it became harder to please him, I felt even more unappreciated. Maybe I deserved it, but I also wanted another chance. My whole life I had tried to do things the right way to seek approval, but that was impossible because my parents never affirmed us. So I gave up.
It annoyed me that Datt would not help make baskets more often, and I learned that asking him to help only made him angry. Mem wanted him to at least cut out the wood needed for the baskets, but he did not. He kept busy doing his regular job: sitting around and smoking his pipe. Even after almost losing my little finger while cutting wood with the table saw, he made no effort to take on any more responsibility. After that I was scared to death to continue to using the table saw, but it had to be done to make baskets.
After completing our three-story house, Datt took a break from work and it seemed to last a long time: Following the move to Missouri he did not continue with the sawmill business, and he failed at many attempts to start something on the farm to make an income after that.
On his first attempt to provide for our family, Datt bought beef cattle and allowed them to graze on half of the 125 acres he owned; we raised crops on the other half. The cattle business did not work out too well. Wintertime was rough on the cattle, and it took a lot of hay to keep them fed, which was something Datt did not have plenty of. Then one day he got a wild hair and bought a hundred sheep. The barn and the pasture were not prepared to handle such beasts. Sheep always escaped through the smallest holes, they were always hungry, and they were always loud. When they started to give birth, the ewes lowed so loudly I thought they might as well have been laying eggs. Most of the sheep bore either twins or triplets, but some gave birth to as many as seven babies at once. It was a complete disaster to take care of so many babies: many of them got sick, some lost their mothers, and mothers lost their babies. Datt soon lost interest in them and handed the responsibility of taking care of them over to us.
Next he decided to buy seventy-five rabbits. No one else supported the rabbit business because we all knew he would wind up forcing his children to take care of them, even though he promised he would not. I would pick loud sheep over stinky rabbits any day. Datt penned the rabbits up in a barn, and while they could not get out or make loud noises like the sheep did, they pooped a hundred times a day, and soon the building filled up with manure we had to haul out. The odor from the rabbits and manure grew so severe no one had any interest in taking care of them. For his part, though, Datt kept his promise and did his best to raise the rabbits as much as he could himself.
The farm kept us busy. The boys worked for other Amish people at both a sawmill plant and a metal shop business. The girls worked in the house and helped on the farm from sun up until sun down; there was never any time to relax and enjoy life. Sarah and I finally got used to having a double workload, and our punishment eventually seemed less severe.
§
I believed there was another world out there, if only I knew how to escape this one. I was not looking for just any kind of escape, but I knew there was a destiny beyond my understanding. I knew it would be revealed to me if I persisted.
I thought I had someone to help me make my escape, but that changed when our neighbor lady, Nina, died of a sudden heart attack. I had been cleaning her house for three years, and at one point I confessed to her I wanted to run away from the Amish. I do not think she took me seriously since almost every child goes through a stage where running away sounds like a good idea. However, she said she would help me find a place to stay if I waited until I was eighteen. We did not talk much about it because I was still only fifteen at the time, but I kept my eyes and ears open for any opportunity to learn more about the outside world. Meanwhile, I planned the escape in my head. The plan included Nina helping me even though I was a little scared of her; I was certain she hated Amish people, but it was probably just in my head. She was not always the friendliest woman towards my family, and her goddess-like personality made me very insecure with the way I lived. And being unable to speak much English did not help my confidence.
After Nina died, I started thinking of other people who could help me. I was not sure about Roger anymore, since I could no longer communicate with him. It took me a while to realize it, but there was one other person, an outsider who had been around the family for a while. I did not think about asking him for help at first because he had a close connection with my parents. That could have spelled disaster because there was no way I wanted them to find out what was on my mind.
I met Virgil one day when he stopped by the farm to chat with my father about horses. After that, he started showing up on a regular basis, and eventually I met his wife Jolene. They were the nicest people I had ever met, and I was flattered they would visit the farm. Virgil had a charming and opinionated personality, which created some tension between him and Datt. Sometimes the questions Virgil asked about the Amish lifestyle made me want to bury myself because I knew Datt did not appreciate an outsider digging for answers he could not explain. Amish would rather just leave questionable actions under the rug and live quietly as they were raised to do. Most of the tension originated from questions asked about church, or Christianity, and education. None of those subjects ever made sense to me. It was complicated.
Despite the embarrassment, I was drawn to Virgil and Jolene because I was curious about the English world more than ever. I needed to hear everything possible, as it gave me hope for my future escape. I did not have enough guts to ask many questions about what it was like to live as they did. All I could do was observe silently. Mem and Datt would have become concerned if I began to ask too many questions.
In late 2004, when I was sixteen, and after Levi had left the Amish and I struggled with the dating scene, I started to get headaches regularly, and had to get some doctoring done. During this time, I finally had to think about giving up my plans to leave the Amish. It felt like I was having bad nightmares, horrible dreams that had been going on for years. Circumstances forced me to plan the escape by myself, and it was taking a toll on my health. I was confused and angry with my life, but I blamed myself for my unhappiness because I thought if I just behaved better, then I would feel better. I had been caught sitting in Roger’s vehicle, and Datt had found out I had hidden four radios in my room. I had a nervous breakdown and thought for sure God was finally punishing me, just like I had always expected.
My sickness became worse and I started to throw up and feel very weak. All I wanted to do was sleep; once I fell asleep, it was hard for me to wake up. I cried a lot in my room. The only good thing about being sick was I got a break from dating anyone.
My parents hired Virgil to take me to an Amish lady chiropractor and herb doctor about sixty miles away. She massaged my neck then used a small flashlight and looked into my eyes with a magnifying glass. My datt used to do eye readings when I was younger. Amish people from all over the community and surrounding areas would come to him and let him read their eyes. He had a chart which showed a diagram of everything that could be wrong.
Whatever the chiropractor saw in my eyes must have been serious because she talked to Mem in private about it. Later I found out from Virgil the doctor thought I had a tumor on my brain. I did not realize the seriousness of having a possible tumor, so I did not worry too much about it. I went to the Amish doctor a couple more times before she referred me to a quack doctor who specialized in shooting balloons up the nose. The balloon therapy was designed to help people with headaches by relieving the pressure. Quack doctors were not really doctors, but it was the only thing my parents believed in.
The balloon doctor was in a small town in Lathrop, Missouri, out in the middle of nowhere, about eighty miles away from home. The first time I went to see him, both Mem and Datt came with me. Virgil drove. It was okay to hire a driver to go to the doctor, but beyond that, Amish were not allowed to hire a driver. Horse and buggy was the main transportation. I should have been thrilled to get a chance to ride in a car, but I was too sick to care.
When we got to the doctor’s office, I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was he was a quack. After confirming my appointment, I sat down in the waiting room next to Mem. I started to feel paranoid from the small space and the bad, suffocating smell. Oh Good Man, why in the world am I here?
An elderly woman came out from the back room, and as she paid her bill I heard her tell the receptionist how much better she felt. I thought to myself Okay, this can’t be too bad then if she likes it. Soon a tall, long-legged gentleman in a white coat came to the door and called my name. Datt jumped out of his seat and walked to the doctor ahead of me. It annoyed me because the doctor called my name, not his. What is his hurry? I wondered. I did not want Mem and Datt to go back there with me. My English vocabulary was worse when my parents were listening, and I could never say what I wanted because they intimidated me.
I greeted the doctor with a forced smile and a handshake.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked.
“Umm, I am feeling fine,” I lied. My hands were sweaty and cold.
The doctor smiled and said, “Something tells me not to believe you. Don’t be nervous, everything will be all right.”
I followed him to a room behind the receptionist and sat down to answer several questions about why I came to see him. Datt could not keep his mouth shut and tried to answer questions for me. This is why I wanted to be with the doctor all by myself. With Datt butting in, I shut down completely. The doctor proceeded to tell me about the method he planned to perform, and he assured me it would not be bad. I wanted say, Are you kidding me… what you just told me sounds terrible, but I kept my mouth shut and my thoughts to myself.
Soon after the doctor explained everything, a nurse came into the room and arranged a table for me to lie down on. The table was extremely hard. The nurse then pinned my legs, and another person held my head. Then the doctor placed a special kind of balloon, which looked like a gooey white plastic blob, on a pointed piece of pipe. Attached to the pipe was a hand-held device which pumped air through the pipe to fill the balloon while it was shoved up one of my nostrils. They pushed the balloon so far up my nose I felt when it reached the middle of my forehead. Once they had the balloon in place they began to blow a little more air into it and I thought I was going to die. I could not breathe or scream. I grabbed the doctor’s arms but he did not budge when I yanked on him. Everything happened in less than minute, but not fast enough for me. Then they moved to the other nostril. With tears running down my cheeks the doctor had enough pity to let me recover a bit before they did the second side. There is not a word horrible enough to describe how awful that experience actually was.
Once he finished, I left the doctor’s office with no feeling; my brain could not comprehend what I had just gone through. Apparently, the balloons were supposed to relieve some pressure from the brain, but for me it only succeeded in building up more pressure of frustration and anger.
Virgil had stayed outside in the car while I was with the doctor, so when we got back to the car, he asked, “How did it go, Emma?”
I smiled politely, and sarcastically said, “Great, I feel better already.”
My smile and the tone of my voice did not match my true feelings; Virgil did not let on if he noticed. I was far from feeling better, but I could not tell the truth because I felt I needed to say something that would make Mem and Datt feel like they had accomplished something. After all, they were paying for the treatment and I wanted it to work so their money did not go to waste. On the way home, Datt explained to Virgil the whole scenario performed with the balloons. I could tell Virgil was not too happy with Datt’s description because he became unusually quiet. But Datt was too excited to notice. I tried to act as happy as possible in the back seat with Mem, but on the inside I was hurt and angry. I knew I was faking my contentment, but complaining was frowned upon, and having an anger issue was a sin—so I just dealt with it the best I knew how.
As soon as we got home, I went upstairs to my room. I lay down on my bed hoping I could go to sleep, but I started shaking and could not find a place on the bed to relax. I was like a dog, turning around three times before laying down. Except I did it over and over again. I prayed to the Good Man to erase the memory of this day and let me go to sleep.
I went to the same quack doctor four more times after the first visit. Each treatment got worse. At first I did not complain out loud; my parents thought I was getting better because that is what I led them to believe. I thought the sooner I got better the quicker the treatments would end. But the suffering became so unbearable I told them I did not want to continue anymore. I started begging them to try to understand the pain I was going through, but they refused to listen.
I hated it when Datt would brag to other Amish people about the balloon doctor. It was something nobody had ever heard about, so he was proud he was the first one to discover the magic. He made it sound like it was the best thing to cure anything. How could I let him down?
Virgil came by the house almost every day just to visit and pass the time. Every time he dropped in, Mem or Datt would tell me to say I am feeling well if he should ask. Virgil despised the balloon treatment, so my parents decided it would be better if I made him think it was working.
On the fifth trip to the doctor, I turned to Mem and said, “Don’t make any more appointments after this, I can’t handle it anymore.”
“Well, you should talk to Datt about it,” she answered.
That was the exact answer I expected. I clenched my teeth.
“Talking to Datt will do no good because he is so caught up in his newly-found doctor; he would not understand nor will he care how I feel,” I muttered to Mem.
“Maybe just one more time and then we can stop, depending on what the doctor says,” she reassured me.
“No, Mem, we are not going to depend on what the doctor says,” I retorted. “For goodness sake, he’ll have me come for the rest of my life!”
She looked at me sternly, and I knew better than to say another word.
I was angry because I did not know enough English to tell the doctor how I really felt about his abusive treatments, nor was I ever without my parents, which made it much more difficult to communicate my discomfort. The worst part was when Datt answered the questions the doctor asked me, and I knew if I said anything it had to be something my Datt wanted to hear. At one point, I was so mad I wanted to scream at everyone, but I kept it all inside.
There is nothing more frustrating than not being able to express your true feelings. Bottling everything up inside was driving me crazy, but at the same time I had to act like an Amish girl and be submissive and do what the elders thought was best. I knew anger was a waste of space, but for the past two months, instead of the butterflies I normally had fluttering around in my gut in fields of rainbow-flavored stomach acid, I had killer bees buzzing around in an angry swarm.
Several times on the way home after leaving the doctor’s office, Virgil and Datt argued about whether or not the balloons were working. One day Virgil suggested I go to a hospital and have an MRI done, but Datt would not even hear of such a thing. They got into a big tiff over it. I was in the back seat with tears running down my cheeks. Mem did not go with us that time, so it was safe for me to cry without anybody seeing it.
When we got home I decided to ask Datt about the MRI. He was in the living room, sitting in his chair, smoking his pipe, and opening mail. My chance to talk to him was now, or forever hold my peace.
“What is wrong with getting an MRI done?” I asked bluntly.
He looked at me and muttered, “Don’t get that idea in your head.” He threw down a letter he was reading and reclined back in his chair, blowing smoke through his nose.
I was not satisfied so I pressed for more answers.
“But what is so wrong with the idea?” I prodded, hoping for an answer which actually made sense for once.
By now Datt was getting agitated. “It costs too much and the MRI machine is operated with electricity which can cause more health problems.” He paused, then added: “I am sure you asked because Virgil brought it up.”
From the tone of his voice, I knew better than to say anything more. Besides, he would never consider it because an outsider had made the suggestion.
I sat quietly, thinking about what Datt had said and wondered; Is an MRI really that bad? Could it be worse than the balloons? I could not imagine it being more expensive than five trips to the quack doctor, although I did not know how much they had paid for the balloon treatments. I had never been in a hospital except for the day I was born, much less knew what electricity had to do with it, so I just assumed it was really dangerous.
I must have been in tears, because Mem walked into the room and asked, “Are those treatments really that hard on you?”
I could only nod my head. If I said anything now I was going to start crying hysterically. Mem tried to comfort me by telling me that after the next appointment I would not have to go back.
Before my next appointment arrived, I decided to try my best to cancel it without permission from anyone. I wanted to go to the neighbor’s house and use the phone, but running over there would be almost impossible without looking suspicious. Plus I did not know how to use a phone. So I did what I knew best and wrote the doctor a note:
Dear Doctor,
Hopefully you receive this in time because I want to cancel the appointment for Thursday morning. I won’t be scheduling any new appointments.
Sincerely,
Emma Gingerich
P.S. I can’t stand your awful treatments anymore and they are too painful. My Dad might like you, but I don’t.
I put the note in an envelope and wrote down the address, then, to my disappointment, I discovered the stamp book was empty. I did not have enough money to buy a full book so I gathered forty cents in change, taped it to the envelope, and stuck it in the mailbox hoping the mailman would take it without a proper stamp. My parents were not at home when I mailed the letter, but I told them about it a couple days later, the day before my appointment. Datt was not too happy, but at least I saved him some money that was going to be wasted anyway.
§
The battle against the headaches continued with a different treatment. I got another checkup at the Amish chiropractor and herb doctor. By then enough time had passed for her to find another experiment for me to try. This time it was at a clinic in Kansas City. This clinic experimented with minerals administered through the veins. I had heard the clinic had just started this method and it was still in the trial stages, but many people were already raving about the results. Of course, my parents climbed on board instantly. Another new journey began. I traveled every Wednesday with a driver to Kansas City to have a needle poked into my arm and a mineral solution injected into my veins. I did not know what it was supposed to do to my body because after each treatment I did not feel any different. It was a waste of time and money, but it was not nearly as rough as the balloon treatment.
One morning I woke up early and could not go back to sleep. My gut told me something was about to change, but I could not put the pieces of the puzzle together. I crawled out of bed and opened the window. A sweet, cool morning breeze blew in as the warm sun climbed up through the trees. Today is going to be a beautiful day, I thought. I had to go to Kansas City again for my appointment at the clinic for the sixth time. I was tired of the needles they stuck into my arm, tired of traveling five hours back and forth, tired of Datt always acting like he knew how I felt, and tired of being trapped by my own headaches. I was slowly getting better physically and had started going to church with the family again, but I was still lost. My desire to get away from the Amish seemed like a dream. While I sat on the bed leaning against the windowsill and daydreaming, the flame ignited in my head: Why couldn’t I go by myself with the hired driver to the clinic? I watched as white fluffy clouds played together in the cyan sky. Suddenly I had a brilliant idea: maybe I could talk to Virgil about my plans if my parents did not go with me.
The night before I had heard Mem say she would not be able to go because there were several bushels of green beans to can. Now all I had to do was convince Datt to stay at home too. I could not take another day of riding in the car with him. He always disagreed with Virgil. No matter how wrong Datt was about any subject, he was always right.
I honestly did not think talking Datt into staying behind would be possible because he enjoyed the rides back and forth. Getting to ride in a car did not happen too often, so this was like a mini vacation to him. I had been longing to talk with Virgil about the idea of my leaving the Amish, but was not sure how to approach him. I needed help and I had a feeling Virgil could give me some ideas. The question was: how was he going to respond to me? I was worried he would not approve and would tell my parents about it. Then I could just forget about ever leaving. Nevertheless, it was a risk I had to take.
I ran downstairs as soon as I heard Mem in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Now was the perfect time to ask if I could go by myself with Virgil to Kansas City.
“It would mean a lot if he stayed home to help get caught up with work in the basket shop,” she said when I asked.
After breakfast, while Datt still sat at the table smoking his pipe, Mem helped me to convince him to stay home. He reluctantly agreed, but not without making a snide comment to me about trying to be bigger than I really was. I did not tell him I planned to not make another appointment. I did not see the point in letting a clinic use me for an experiment. If he went with me, I would not have the opportunity to cancel.
That morning, as I sat in the passenger seat on the way to the clinic, I was nervous. But Virgil had a way of telling stories that helped me calm down, although he was clueless about what I had on my mind.
For me, the glass was not only half empty, I personally needed to brave the extreme conditions to find the water, dig a well, fetch a bucket of it, and try to fill up the glass myself. Therefore, I began to fill the glass after completing another round of minerals. I boldly told the nurse I was not coming back for any more treatments. It felt so good to make the decision on my own. I hoped Datt would thank me later for not spending all of his money on something so useless.
Virgil took me to eat a hamburger, and afterwards, in an attempt to continue filling my glass with wine—I mean, water—I spilled my guts to him.
“Virgil, I want to leave the Amish,” I said urgently.
He looked at me startled. His mouth was full so he could not say anything for a minute.
“Do you know what you are getting yourself into?” he finally asked.
I shrugged and did not say anything. The tone of his voice worried me.
After some silence he asked, “Why do you want to leave?”
“There are many reasons why I want to leave,” I said calmly. “I am emotionally drained from going to the balloon doctor, and Datt still thinks it was a good idea. I think going to church is pointless. I do not like the dating rituals. I cannot express my opinion about things that are just plain stupid. I am expected to get baptized soon, and I do not want to get married and have a dozen kids. I want to get a better education, and I want to have some freedom.”
“Whoa girl, that seems like a lot of reasons,” Virgil said with a laugh.
I let out a huge sigh of relief. At least he was laughing; maybe confessing to him was not so bad after all.
“I am sorry that you had to suffer through the balloon treatments,” Virgil said with a hint of remorse. “I tried to convince your parents not to take you there after I learned what it was all about, but they didn’t listen.”
It was all I could do to hold back the tears, but I managed because I did not want an outsider see me cry. It was nice to know someone else was on my side even if the Amish would not listen to him. He was proud of me for standing up for myself and canceling appointments at both clinics.
On the way home, Virgil asked more questions and I answered as best I could. The one thing that hit me hardest was when he suggested I stay home until I was twenty-one.
“I would leave right now if I could, but I decided to wait until I am eighteen,” I said evenly. “There is no way I could handle three-and-a-half more years.”
“Where are you going when you leave?” he wanted to know. “You can’t just live out on the street.”
I bit my lip and said, “I don’t know yet, it is so difficult to make any plans. Especially since I am a girl, I have very little freedom and I am scared I will get caught.”
“Why don’t you just tell your parents you want to leave?” he asked.
“They would lock me up,” I answered tersely. “Besides, they’ll never get over it because it’s a sin to live like the outsiders do.”
“Well, I would love to help you, but it will ruin my relationship with the Amish. I can’t afford to let that happen.”
“I don’t want you to help me other than just give me some ideas of how in the world I can get out.”
“I will have to think about it, Emma. I need to get all of this wrapped around my head. I promised your parents a while back I would tell them if one of their kids said something to me about leaving.”
“Oh, Virgil, no! You cannot say a thing. I will be Amish forever if you tell them.” I panicked and began to shut down.
“I made a promise to them,” he said with a serious expression.
My heart was beating a million times a minute. I had to convince him not tell them, but I struggled for words.
“I think I could convince your parents to let you go,” Virgil continued. “I would think they would want their daughter to be happy, so why would they deprive you of that?”
“I am speechless; I don’t know what to tell you,” I said. Then I added, “If you could understand my language I could explain to you much better why you shouldn’t tell them.”
He smiled and said, “Just sit tight for a while, I will first just give them little hints about your situation and see how they react.”
“If you use my name they will suspect something is going on.”
“I will only use you as an example.”
“They are smart enough to figure it out, especially since they know I am unhappy.”
“Well, it might not be as bad as you think. Just let me handle it,” Virgil urged.
I did not say anything more. I was still not sure it would not ruin my opportunity to leave if I ever got that far. My parents did not care about my happiness; they cared about their image as Amish parents. Giving me permission to leave and do what I wanted would get them into serious trouble with the church. I was frustrated because of my language barrier; it kept me from saying what I really wanted to say.
As Virgil drove north on interstate 35, I sat quietly in the passenger seat and daydreamed of what life would be like if I left. I wondered if I would ever be in the driver’s seat of my own vehicle. I could not comprehend seeing myself drive, not only because I would probably wreck, but because vehicles were considered very worldly, and it would be a huge sin to have one. I would have to overcome that fear.
I got home feeling a gigantic weight lifted off my shoulders, yet another weight began to form: wondering whether or not Virgil was going to tell my parents about my confession. I had to let it go and hope if they did find out there would still be sanity—and mercy—left in their hearts. I was determined to continue planning my escape until all of my options were exhausted. If only there was an outsider I could live with until I could get on my feet, but who would take on such a responsibility? I ruined my chances with Roger, although I had a feeling it was ruined for a reason. He was not the one who could help me even though he told me multiple times to let him know when I was ready. Surely the Good Man had a plan for me some other way. I thought it would be easy to find a job, but I did not think anyone would hire me because of my Amish background. Then again, I knew almost nothing about the outside world.
§
Things started to get back to normal after I stopped going to the balloon doctor, and I gradually gained my strength back by taking herbal medicine and keeping positive thoughts. I made up my mind I would never complain of a headache again. While I got stronger each day, my head still hurt, and there was no way to ignore it. It was not easy to block the memories of having my head filled with balloons.
Some nights I got up and kept myself awake because the dreams had gotten that bad. I thought it was better to be tired the next day than to fall asleep and have any more nightmares. There were days when I worked in the basket shop, and out of nowhere tears would start flowing down my cheeks. I tried my best not to let Mem or my sisters see me. I would get up and disappear into the outhouse until I got myself under control. There was a small hole in the wall of the outhouse, smaller than my little finger, and I would look through that hole and say to myself, “Someday I will squeeze through this hole and be on the other side of the wall looking in, never to return.”
Virgil and I did not have very many chances to talk about my plans after our conversation. Every time he came to the farm to visit with my father, I was sure that any minute serious chaos would break out because Virgil had told them about me, but nothing happened. Weeks and months went by and I worked steadily in the basket shop to keep my mind off things. I had given up depending on Virgil to give me guidance. I was one month away from turning eighteen when my hopes were ignited again. I was out in the barn getting ready to milk cows when Virgil pulled up in his old blue truck and parked close to the area where we stored the feed for the animals.
“Hey, Emma, can you please come help me unload this feed?” he hollered.
I was the only adult out in the barn, but I still found it strange he would ask me to help. So I walked over to his truck and proceeded to grab a bag, but he stopped me.
“You don’t have to help me,” he said. “I just wanted to give you this phone number, in case you still want to leave home.”
He quickly handed me a small piece of paper and I stuck it in my pocket without looking at it.
“Now,” Virgil said in a low voice, “I don’t know who those people are that agreed to help you, but they used to be Amish, and a relatively new friend gave me the number. I am sorry, but that’s all I can help you with because I can’t ruin my relationship with the Amish.”
“Thank you,” I managed to say.
While grabbing for a bag of feed Virgil continued, “I decided not to tell your parents because your Datt didn’t keep his promise about something and we got into an argument, but don’t worry yourself over it; it’s between him and myself.”
I remember this day as if it was just yesterday. When Virgil gave me that number I felt very relieved, but it put a lot more weight on my shoulders in a different aspect. I had no inkling when I would be able to sneak away, but before I could stress over it too much my chance came when I was least expecting it. It was the beginning of my path where I fought to make one.