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Women’s Fiction
They took her childhood, but they couldn’t take her voice…
At ten years old, Ivy Schrock’s world is shattered when her father’s abuse leaves her hospitalized and torn from her Amish home. Thrust into the foster care system, she is forced to navigate a string of families where survival is never guaranteed. Each placement erodes her trust, yet she slowly learns the strength of independence and the fragile power of friendship.
As Ivy grows, the scars of her past refuse to fade. As a new passion offers a way forward, old shadows resurface, threatening to pull her back under. Heartbreak and betrayal sharpen the questions she cannot escape: Where does she belong, and how much of her past can she leave behind?
Through resilience and courage, Ivy is determined to forge a life of her own, opening her heart to love, friendship, and a future she never thought possible.
Leaving an indelible mark on the landscape of tomorrow.
Preface:
Some stories come from imagination. Others grow from truths too deep to ignore. Little Amish Girl was born from both.
My mother was once a little Amish girl. She grew up in a strict Old Order Amish community in Indiana, where tradition ruled with quiet, unforgiving authority. Behind the kerosene lamps, home-baked goods, and reverent prayers lived pain that few outside the community ever saw. My mother endured that pain. She carried it, buried it, and later in life, began to speak it aloud.
She left the Amish in the early 1970s, alongside my father, because they could no longer reconcile the teachings of the church with what they believed was right. For that choice, she was shunned. She was no longer welcome at her family’s table. Literally. Years ago, I accompanied her to visit Amish family in Indiana. We met at a diner, but when we arrived, they quietly pulled our two tables apart. They could not be seen eating with someone who had left the faith. We didn’t stay, and my mother cried all the way back to the car. I tried to make her laugh, tried to brush it off. But the wound had been reopened. That day was only one of many when this religion, her own roots, cut her deeply.
Little Amish Girl is fiction, but it asks a quiet, aching question: What if someone like my mother had been taken out of that life earlier? What if she had found help? What might her healing have looked like, sooner?
Before my mom passed, she offered Amish phrasing suggestions for this book. She was happy I was writing it and was excited to have a copy in her hands one day. Sadly, I wasn’t able to give her that in time, but I know she’s smiling down at me now.
She also left behind essays she wrote while earning her GED—reflections of her Amish upbringing. Those stories were a gift, and I’ll always cherish them along with her memory.
This novel is dedicated to her, and to all the girls and boys who were never given a voice.
May they find one here.
-Viola
