day, Brian and Mamma finally came back with coats and boots that they had bought at the Army surplus store in town. Samantha and I were happy with the long, dark green trench coats that were the same length as our long dresses. They were not very thick, so we improvised by wearing our blazers underneath. The thick, heavy leather boots were great too because we could wear four pairs of socks inside them, and our feet were no longer numb.
Even with the new winter clothes, I could never get warm. The winds that blew across my cheeks and up my dress made my teeth chatter as I went about my daily chores. Up until the snow came, Mamma was unyielding in her rule that Samantha and I take cold baths outside. When the snow started to fall, Mamma started letting us bathe inside. But the house was not much warmer. As the winter grew colder, even Mamma forgot about bathing for a while. It was just too cold. Later, we would start taking showers in town during the cold months at the park. They had showers in the restrooms that took quarters. While this was nice in some ways, after getting out of the shower room the freezing wind would send my teeth chattering uncontrollably.
Later that winter, the sores on my feet covered the top of each toe and were so painful I could not walk. The rough army boots and my constant scratching wore the skin away. When I took my boots off each night, I would painfully pull off the bloody cotton balls and dab each toe with peroxide.
By mid-December, my toes began to get infected. It was a surprise when Mamma took me to the doctor in Wenatchee and we found out that I had frostbite. It was strange, but Mamma liked to go the doctor. Whenever she went to Wenatchee, she would make a random appointment for herself. When she ran out of reasons to go, she started taking me. The visits were free. I would sit fully clothed and silent as the doctors would ask about my upset stomach, headaches, etc. We never followed through with any treatment, but I could tell Mamma loved the attention.
I am still amazed that none of the doctors and nurses tried to get me alone to question me about my odd behavior, but then they could not see the bruises because I was clothed from head to foot.
That winter, however, all ten of my toes were bloody. I am surprised that Mamma was not worried about getting in trouble for her neglect. The Amish act and the clothes served her well and no one seemed to question that I might be abused.
On Sundays in the evenings, Brian read aloud to us. We would sit and listen as he read old books Mamma brought home from the library. We were never allowed to touch these books, and only Brian was allowed to read them to us. His reading was a regular ritual.
Even though we loved stories, we would listen with mixed fear. The slightest thing would set Brian off, and when he switched from one of his supposed nice moods to an angry one, his eyes would become crazy and I often felt I would pass out just from looking at him. These were the most eerie moments—without logic or sense. One minute, he would be reading about the Oregon Trail and laughing about something in the book. His laugh was strange and did not sound like a laugh. Samantha and I would laugh nervously, hoping he would keep reading. Then, out of nowhere, he would see a fork on the table, or he just plain did not like the looks on our faces and he would erupt. Samantha and I would jump up defensively, but we knew if we tried to run, we would get a worse beating once caught.
The heart has no tears to give—it drops only blood,
bleeding itself away in silence.
—Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom’s Cabin
The next spring, Brian found an orchard shack that we could have for free. It was the size of a small house and bigger than the tiny structure we had spent the winter in. Brian hired a big truck and was able to have the shack moved up to the mountain where it was placed on a flat spot about fifty yards from our house.
It was nice to have a bigger place to live but, as we moved our belongings into the orchard shack, I felt a little uneasy. This meant we would be staying on the mountain for good. Samantha and I had been secretly hoping that we would go back to Arizona, somewhere closer to civilization, but it did not look like that would be happening any time soon.
We set up a wood burning stove, a picnic table and a wood table on which we put two large stainless steel bowls to use as a sink. We set the two treadle sewing machines along the wall. Upstairs we put two mattresses, with Mamma and Brian on one side of the room and Samantha and me on the other. I always hated these arrangements because Brian stared at us while we undressed, and he would dress and undress in the middle of the room so there was no chance we could miss it.
That spring, Brian and Mamma bought many animals: pigs, chickens, rabbits and calves. The work was endless, and Samantha and I could hardly crawl out of bed each morning when the alarm rang at 5:00 a.m. My sister and I were rotated on a weekly basis. One of us would do all of the work inside of the house, while the other would do all the work outside. We were still not allowed to talk to each other, and we were still not fast enough at our work, no matter how hard we tried. Every day, we were beaten for being too slow.
When Brian read the story Uncle Tom’s Cabin aloud, I could relate to Uncle Tom. I felt I was a slave who had been sold down the river to the cotton fields. But instead of cotton fields, I was trapped on an often-freezing mountain with Brian, a man who could be every bit as cruel as Uncle Tom’s master, Simon Legree.
Gradually our farm grew, and we started a farmers’ market route. On the weekends, Samantha and I took turns going with Mamma to sell our crafts and produce from the farm. This was the one part of the week we looked forward to. However, when it was Samantha’s turn to go to the market with Mamma, my day at home was spent mostly upstairs with Brian. Many times, when Samantha would wave goodbye, I seriously considered ending my life. That is how bad it was.
As the farm grew, we started an egg route as well. Soon, we had five hundred laying hens at once, and every night before the outside girl was allowed in the house, she had to collect and clean the eggs and put them in cartons to sell in town.
Occasionally, a neighbor would visit with Mamma and Brian, but Samantha and I were usually sent outside or somewhere out of sight.
The only times Samantha and I came off the mountain was to help sell alongside the road. Once or twice a year, we would be invited to one of the Mennonites’ houses for dinner. There was a small community in the valley below the mountain that had noticed us right away when we had moved in. Brian would usually lecture us for hours on why the Mennonites were going to hell. They wore flowers on their dresses and were worldly. On these rare occasions, Samantha and I would stand in the kitchen of the Mennonite house and not say anything. We would quietly help put the dinner on the table and then do the dishes afterwards.
Sometimes, we would go upstairs with some of the Mennonite girls, but we always knew to keep quiet about our home life and we never stayed long. Brian would watch us from the side of the room where he would be arguing with some of the men. I think the only reason he agreed to these visits was so the Mennonites would think we were halfway normal plain people. We never stayed long, but these visits left Samantha and me feeling sadder and more bewildered. We could glimpse a world beyond our grasp. But we did not belong to that world. It seemed we did not belong anywhere but on the mountain. How often had there been a chance for someone to help us? Our withdrawn behavior and lack of conversation skills were abnormal.
One day, a neighbor who lived on the county road in a nice cottage asked me if I liked to read. I think she pitied me. I was a teenaged girl in a dirty gray dress, a long black apron and a white cap on my head. I was exhausted and sad and wished she could have seen
