Chicago to Pittsburgh, Capitol Limited, Train No. 30
An Amish girl on board an Amtrak train
Traveling from Chicago’s Union Station to Pittsburgh I board the Capitol Limited, scheduled to leave at 6:40pm. And it does. I find my assigned seat, number 45, near a window and settle in. My seatmate is eating a raspberry colored applesauce with a plastic spoon. A white cap covers her head and ties beneath her chin. A long apron dress reaches her black shoes. She appears to be in her early 30s. Wire rim glasses balance on her slightly pointed nose. Faint pink cheeks complement her pale complexion. She reminds me of a young Meryl Streep. She is not wearing a wedding ring, an observation I am keen on since having removed mine just days ago. I stick to traveler questions as we begin talking.
“Where are you coming from?” I ask her.
“California. We’ve been on the train since Monday,” she says politely. It is Thursday.
“What were you doing in California?”
“Well,” she hesitates and turns her head to the elderly couple sitting across the aisle from us. “My father needed a surgery. We don’t have health insurance. This was the best way.”
“Where were you in California?”
“San Diego.” She hesitates again. “Actually, we were in Tijuana, Mexico, where my father had his surgery. We went up to Santa Barbara after,” she says with a lift in her voice.
I avoid asking about the lack of health insurance and Tijuana as a destination for surgery.
“Oh, Santa Barbara is beautiful. Is your dad okay?”
An Amish family waits at a train station
“Yes.” She replies. Her father’s long shaggy beard accents his profile against the train window. Her mother is wearing the same kind of cap and dress as the daughter.
“Are you Amish?” I ask.
“Yes.” When I look to see who else is in the train car, I realize that nearly 80 per cent of my fellow travelers are Amish. They are wearing simple clothes: White caps and long dresses on the women, and long beards, suspenders and straw hats on the men.
The family closest to us has two young daughters who are wearing pretty dresses patterned with red and orange flowers. I understand only a few words as they talk with each other. I feel like a foreigner amidst them.
I ask my seatmate, “What language are they speaking?”
“It is a mix of Pennsylvania Dutch or German and a few English words thrown in.”
“Some of the German words I know. My son speaks German. We traveled to Germany two years ago,” I tell her.
“He probably learned high German. We speak low German,” she says.
My seatmate is outside of her contained world answering my questions and not tempted to ask any of her own. Efforts at conversation are awkward. I know little about the Amish way of life and have never been this close to an Amish person. What song would she dance to? I turn to look out the window.
I feel an inexplicable joy moving through the countryside on a train. It’s as if nothing could harm me. My ears are being massaged by the low hum of rolling wheels. The tight grip I keep, loosens.
It is late in May so I didn’t think to bring a jacket or a blanket, which I see some people have. I shiver a few times and ask my seatmate: “Do you think it’s cold in here?”
“They keep the temperature cool in trains,” she replies. I plug in my phone and listen to a meditation app in hopes it will soothe me to sleep.
Still awake my seatmate taps me on the shoulder and says, “Ma’am would you like this blanket to use?”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “You don’t need it?”
“You can use it,” she says. The blanket is white and feels soft like cotton balls. Within its warmth I fall asleep. Throughout the night I never notice when the train stops to pick up passengers. A concern I had before deciding to take an overnight train.
I awaken in early dawn to see my seatmate’s white cap pinned to the seat in front of her. Her head is still covered with a dark blue bandanna or kerchief, as is her mother’s head. Who would ever imagine that my first over night after being divorced would be with an Amish woman and her family?
When the train arrives at the Pittsburgh station at 5:00am, my seatmate picks up her bag, waits for her mother to stand and reaches for her father’s arm before escorting them carefully to the stairs. I follow their slow pace, remembering the patience it took to help my own parents get up and down the stairs, across the street and in the car.
I wonder how she will wash the blanket given to me for the night. Without understanding the Amish way I can only guess. Does she spend her day without computers and other digital distractions? What does her counter-culture lifestyle mean to her? I lose sight of her and feel regret that I will never find her again.
Curious, I have since learned that Amish do not wear jewelry so marital status is hard to determine. Adult Amish do not dance, but their children may. They often travel by train. They do not purchase commercial health insurance. They pay for medical care with cash, upfront. There is a particular doctor in Tijuana that some Amish travel to for cancer surgery. They don’t contribute to the social security system and wave their right to receive any benefits. They do pay taxes, but they don’t fight in wars or hold political office or file lawsuits. They rely on each other. What they have, they will share with a stranger.
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