Sophie's Journal – Part Two

The Bible teaches how we shouldn't judge people, because the job of judging people belongs exclusively to God. I stopped short of passing judgment on my foster mother, Ruthie. At first, she was nice enough to me and treated me well, but I never grew comfortable living with her.

Why? She had cold eyes.

That may sound crazy, but when Ruthie smiled, her eyes remained cold, as if she wore a mask hiding an evil spirit dwelling within her body.

I thought it was my imagination. I blamed post-traumatic stress over losing my family. I wondered if it was guilt. If I grew to like her, it made me feel like I was betraying my dead mom and dad.

We lived above her baked goods store. Every morning we would get up before dawn and make all manner of pastries, cake, pies, and donuts. I enjoyed the work. The smells of sugar and vanilla baking in the ovens were divine. So different from my job of milking my family's cows and cleaning their stalls.

The store catered mostly to non-Amish customers who stopped by on their way to work for coffee and a donut or pastry. Most customers were friendly and respectful.

After a few weeks went by, just before closing time on a Friday afternoon, a man wearing a business suit entered the store. I was in the back sweeping the floor when I noticed him. Ruthie told me to stay in the back and that she would talk to the man.

Something I sensed about him made me nervous, so I quit sweeping and stood hidden behind the door to eavesdrop. I watched them through the crack in the door.

"I understand you have a package for me?" He asked after Ruthie greeted him.

She nodded, turned my way, and wore her cold-eyed smile. "Sophia, come out here a minute."

I didn't want to. Instinct told me I should run, but Ruthie was my foster mom. She wouldn't let anything happen to me, would she?

Trying to appear confident, I smoothed my apron and joined them. The man was maybe thirty years old and looked me up and down with undisguised lust.

"My name is Skip Sheaffer." He held out his hand inviting me to shake.

I remember how my hand trembled when I took his. He wouldn't let go and pulled me to a table, made me sit. Then he pulled up a chair in front of mine. Ruthie went into the back and left me alone with Mister Sheaffer.

"I'm Amish, just like you," he said. Then he corrected himself. "Well, I was Amish. I went on rumspringa when I was your age and never went back. Never joined the faith."

He paused, I figured to gauge my reaction. I looked toward the door wanting to escape. I sensed evil in the man.

He wore a contrite expression. "I know about your family. I'm sorry for your loss." His contrite expression changed to a sneer. "You're at the age when you should be on rumspringa, to see how the rest of the world lives, to make sure you're making the right decision about whether or not to join the faith. Losing your family is terrible, but it doesn't mean you can't enjoy your period of freedom. I remember what it was like to be sixteen, so I know I'm right."

He was wrong. I was still in mourning. Freedom from the faith was the farthest thing from my mind.

"I can help you with that," he said. "I own a big house in Minneapolis that I rent out to young ladies. Nice girls, friendly girls. It so happens I have an opening. I put the word out and Ruthie contacted me. Would you like to come with me to check it out?"

I shook my head. I wasn't going anywhere with him.

Ruthie joined us from the back and sat with us. I suspect she had been listening.

From his inside suit jacket pocket, Mister Sheaffer pulled a thick envelope and slid it across the tabletop toward Ruthie. My foster mother snatched it up as if she were afraid he would take it back. When she glanced at the contents of the envelope, her cold eyes turned warm when she smiled.

"Sophia, honey," she said. "More and more big chain donut shops are opening, and it's becoming harder for me to make ends meet. I hope you understand."

No, I didn't understand.

Mister Sheaffer addressed Ruthie. "How are you going to explain it when she goes missing?"

Ruthie shrugged. "She couldn't get over the death of her family and became increasingly distressed. I tried my best to help her, but I couldn't reach her." She looked at me, her eyes once again cold. "The poor thing. Tomorrow morning when I go to wake her, I'll find her gone. She's going to run away. When the authorities question me, I'll say I have no idea where she might have gone."

Mister Sheaffer nodded. "Plausible, Ruthie. You just make sure to always stick to that story and the two of us won't have any problems."

I struggled and fought but Mister Sheaffer was too big and strong. He forced me into the back of a windowless delivery van and locked me inside. We drove away and an hour or so later, he made me get out. It was dark and there were big buildings all around, so I knew we were somewhere in the city. He led me into his house and introduced me to a half dozen girls who wouldn't make eye contact. They appeared all hollowed out and skinny. The house reeked of perspiration and some chemical odor.

By then, I figured out what he was and what was going to happen to me. Or so I thought. The first time I had an opportunity, I planned on running. If that failed, I would kill myself.

Mister Sheaffer marched me upstairs and took me to a bedroom. "This is where you'll be staying."

A man he called Luke joined us. He had a lot of muscles and a short haircut like a soldier. I remember the instructions Mister Sheaffer gave to Luke.

"This one is super special, she's not to be touched," he said. "She's not to be marked in any way, and don't shoot her up with any drugs to make her compliant. She's to stay clean. If she gives you trouble, just tie her to a chair with silk handkerchiefs. No need to gag her, she can't scream."

Evan, you can't imagine how terrified I felt or how helpless. Luke locked me in that room for days, I lost count. With each passing moment, I feared being raped. Nobody touched me in that way, but the thing that eventually happened was just as degrading.

One night, Luke, the muscle man ordered me to take a shower. I welcomed the opportunity, because until then he only allowed me to wash up in a small bathroom sink. While I was in the shower, he took my clothes and left me a white bathrobe. I guessed someone was doing the laundry. I guessed wrong because I never saw my clothes again.

Luke led me to the basement of the house into an area with no windows. He made me stand in front of a camera and lit me up with bright spotlights. Mister Sheaffer sat at a computer and wore headphones with an attached microphone.

Mister Sheaffer started the camera and mentioned something about dark web. I didn't know what that meant. A few moments later he spoke with someone he called Cousin Titus through his headphones. "Last month you let me know you were looking for another wife. Are you still interested?"

I could only hear his side of the conversation. After a pause Mister Sheaffer spoke again. "Yes, I found one, a perfect girl and she's raised Amish like us, so she's no stranger to hard work. Comes from a dairy farm and in training to be a midwife."

After a moment of silence, Sheaffer laughed and said, "Of course you can see her." Luke made me face the camera. I started to cry.

"Look at that long, beautiful, fiery red hair," Mister Sheaffer said.

Evan, I learned about slave auctions from history when I attended school. Going through the experience firsthand, I now understood the degradation, the dehumanization. To these men, I was just an animal to be bought and sold.

"Titus, I need to ask a premium price for this one because I saved her best feature for last. She can't speak. She'll never be able to backtalk you. She'll never scream."

That was the last thing I heard of the conversation. Luke led me back to my room.

Evan will eventually read this. How will he react?

Top Photo Credit: Pexels/Ekrulila