It’s been almost 25 years, but I can still see that hateful scowl like it was yesterday. That Amish woman, in her crisp navy-blue dress and head covering, glared at Dawn with such a look of sneering contempt that it took my breath away. Her stare seemed to snarl out the words, “You filth. You disgust me.”
This was my Dawn. Sweet, gentle Dawn. The Dawn, whom I can’t imagine anyone finding fault with. Why would she be the object of such scorn?
We were in the emergency room of the regional hospital in Sharon, Pennsylvania. It was 1989. Dawn was in the middle of a painful miscarriage. But all that Amish woman saw was that Dawn was wearing shorts.