“I didn’t want to upset him or turn it into some big issue. I know it may not make sense to you, Katie, but you’re not Amish anymore. You’re not married.” She struggles to find the right words. “I felt … ashamed. I mean, I know it wasn’t my fault; I hadn’t done anything wrong. But still … I know this sounds dense, but I didn’t want to get Wayne into trouble. His wife had just found out she was expecting. I thought it was a passing thing.”
I stare at her, sensing I’m not getting the full story. She’s leaving something out, so I push. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She picks at a hangnail that’s already picked down to the quick. “You know how the Amish are. Sometimes they talk.”
“You mean about you?”
“About the way I look. Some of the women … they don’t like me. Sometimes they’re all too willing to lay blame where there is none.”
“So you didn’t mention it to Paul or anyone else because you thought the women would gossip about you? Blame you?”
“Come on, Katie. You know how they are. Look at how they treated you.” Grimacing as if the memory of my leaving still pains her, she lowers her head, rubs at her forehead with her fingertips. “The women would think I’d somehow tempted him. That it was my fault.”
“Tell me the rest of it.”
“Things got bad when Wayne started coming over when Paul wasn’t home. That was when I knew the problem wasn’t going to go away on its own.”
“Did he ever touch you inappropriately, Mattie? Did he ever try to do something you didn’t want him to do?”
Before she looks away, I see misery and shame in the depths of her eyes and, despite everything, I’m moved. I want to put my arms around her and tell her everything’s going to be all right. That she didn’t do anything wrong. But I don’t.
“He tried to, you know, kiss me. Once. He’d brought eggs and we were in the kitchen. He just sort of tried to put his mouth on mine. You know, all awkward-like, and I pushed him away.”
“Did he get the message?”
She averts her eyes again. “That last night, the night Sarah told you about, I threatened to go to his wife and tell her what he was doing. He stopped coming after that.”
“You never told Paul?”
“No.” Fresh tears pour from her eyes, but she makes no move to wipe them away. “Now I feel as if I betrayed him. As if I’ve done something wrong. I know I didn’t, but he’s gone and I’ll never have the chance to make it right.”
I look away. Even though the door is closed, I can hear the clanging of pots and pans being washed and dried in the kitchen. “How did Kuhns take it when you threatened to go to his wife?”
“He was angry. I mean, at first. But he is Amish, Katie. Aside from his weakness for the women, he’s a good man. He knew what he was doing was wrong. He loves his wife. In the end, he agreed to stay away.”
“Did he ever lose his temper or threaten you in any way?”
“Oh, no, Katie. He knew it was the devil’s thoughts running through his mind. He fought them and in the end he won.”
“Is he a jealous man? Did he ever show any anger toward you or Paul?”
“Never.”
“When’s the last time you had contact with Kuhns?”
“That night on the road six months ago. I’ve prayed for him every day since.”
“Has he tried to contact you?”
“No.”
“Did he ever stalk you?”
“No,” she says.
“Have you seen him at all? Or run into him anywhere? Even by accident?”
“I see him at worship on occasion. He never even looks my way.”
“What about in town? Or when you’re out running errands?”
“No.”
“Have you seen him hanging around the farm?”
“Never.”
I stare hard at her. “Is there anything else you want to tell me about Kuhns? Is there anything you left out?”
“He didn’t do this thing, Katie. He would never hurt Paul or the children. He is a husband and soon to be a father. More importantly, he is Amish. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Of that, I’m certain.”
As I rise and make my way to the door, all I can think is that she has a hell of a lot more faith in human nature than I do.
*
When you’re Amish—even formerly Amish, like me—some things are so ingrained you can’t escape them. Harsh judgment is one of them. I haven’t been Amish for almost eighteen years—more than half of my life—but as I turn onto the highway I feel all of those tattered morals rising to the surface. I don’t consider myself a religious woman. I don’t attend church or pray before meals. But I do believe in fidelity.
I’m well aware that the Amish are held to higher moral standards than their English counterparts. Because of their strict belief system, they have farther to fall from that perch of righteousness. It’s hypocritical of me to stand in judgment of another soul. My own résumé isn’t exactly squeaky clean, and you sure don’t have to dig too deep to find dirt. I’m a sinner just like everyone else. Perhaps more so because of the nature of my crimes. But old habits die hard.