by Sandy McKee
Solitude Death
An Amish Country Murder Mystery
By Saundra J. McKee
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Solitude Death, an Amish Country Murder Mystery by Saundra J. McKee
Prologue
1960
I don’t remember very much about 1960. After all, it was thirty years ago, and I was only ten years old. Two events do stand out. I remember being a “Kennedy girl,” parading around in a red, white and blue straw hat and patriotic banner when John Kennedy campaigned in our rural county seat. My parents were Democratic Committee people and made sure I got to shake the hand of the future President. My Dad believed that JFK was the best thing since FDR. In 1960, even more importantly, I remember making a new and somewhat unusual friend that I will never forget. My memories of my Amish friend, Fannie Miller, and the choices she made continue to shape my thoughts about life and people. Then in 1990, the Amish would come to play a larger role in my life than I could have ever imagined. Murder is like that, it can bring all sorts of people together in new and unimagined ways.
Back in 1960, several Old Order Amish families moved into our rural region of western Pennsylvania. They purchased numerous farms from elderly people who wanted out from under years of hard agricultural work. Many of the local farmers’ children had gone to college and were anxious to take less demanding careers “off the farm.” Most of us “English”, as the Amish referred to anyone who was not Amish, knew very little about this Christian sect whose lifestyle remained unchanged for over two hundred years. Some of our neighbors scoffed at how the Amish men immediately tore out the telephones, electricity and plumbing from the houses they purchased. I was fascinated by the large families who rode through our small town in horse drawn buggies and dressed in dark colored heavy materials, even in the hottest days of summer. The Amish men reminded me of a bearded William Penn, our state’s founder.
When school started in the fall at the two room Consolidated School (formed from several area one room school houses), it was great to see the kids that I’d been learning with since first grade (kindergarten was viewed as frivolous). Grades one through three were in one side of the building with grades four through six in the other. Being in fifth grade, I’d already had a year with Mrs. Hoover who I still think was the best teacher ever. She stood much taller than the blackboard, wore large horned rimmed glasses on the tip of her nose and had a funny story for every occasion. I especially loved it when she sat at the piano and enthusiastically played songs. Her music ranged from patriotic to religious to silly, and we all loved to sing along.
There were twelve of us in the fifth grade and a similar number in fourth and sixth. Mrs. Hoover would teach some things to the whole class while at other times, she would teach one grade separately and the rest of us would work on assignments. Now days the educational pundits call this “looping.” For us, it was the rural reality.
We were all quite surprised when on the second day of school, three Amish kids came to our class. The girl’s name was Fannie Miller, and Mrs. Hoover had her sit directly in front of me. For most of that day, I just stared at her back; her white prayer bonnet over a bun in her hair, and the long sleeved, ankle-length royal blue dress that appeared to be held together by straight pins. Her shoes were black and looked like clunky men’s work boots. Fannie seemed pretty shy, and for a few days we only exchanged some smiles and hellos. While the class played softball or “bull in the ring” at recess, Fannie and the two Amish boys stood on the sidelines and watched.
One day, Fannie left her lunch on the school bus. We didn’t have a cafeteria, just cartons of warm milk delivered to school each day. We ate at our desks. I’d noticed that Fannie usually ate a big piece of homemade bread and a chunk of cheese. I usually brought a cheese or peanut butter sandwich myself, so I offered to split mine with her. At first, Fannie said, “No that’s O.K.,” but when I assured her that I couldn’t eat it all, she agreed to share my cheese sandwich.
That sandwich marked the beginning of our friendship. It “broke the ice,” and got us talking throughout the day. At first we talked about school, homework, where we lived, and our brothers and sisters. Fannie had a total of eight older brothers and one baby sister. I just had one younger brother who was in first grade and followed me around like a lost puppy.
When I told my parents about my new friend, they seemed to sense my excitement. In a few days, I found a colorful book about the Amish on my desk at home. The book described a fascinating lifestyle that though rooted in tradition, had many variations across states and communities. My mother had been a teacher and my dad loved history, taking us on regular vacations to Gettysburg, Valley Forge and Washington, D.C. Both my folks asked me lots of questions about the Amish and seemed as fascinated by their way of life as I was.
As the fall days grew colder, Fannie and I became more and more comfortable with each other. Fannie never asked me as many questions as I asked her, but she never seemed to mind sharing what her life was like. I kept a diary, and much of it was devoted to what I was learning about the Amish from my friend Fannie.
Chapter 1
1960
In October, it was time for getting our school pictures taken. I noticed that Fannie along with John and Eli, the two other Amish in our classroom, did not have theirs taken. I asked Fannie about this. She said that they didn’t believe in having photographs taken because the Bible said that people should not make “graven images.” I wasn’t sure what a “graven image” was and doubted that the Bible we used in our Methodist Church had a problem with school pictures. Fannie said she thought their Bible was the same as ours, so I decided to check with my Sunday school teacher. She confirmed that we all used the same Bible, but we just interpreted things differently. When I asked Fannie where her church was located, she explained that services were held in people’s homes every other week. She said that the service lasted nearly four hours and was all in German.
“Fannie, I didn’t know that you could speak German! My uncle was in Germany during the war, and can say a few things. Say something in German.”
“Well, we actually speak Pennsylvania Dutch,” she replied. “We aren’t supposed to speak it here at school.”
When Halloween came, Fannie and the other Amish did not come to school on the day of our party. “You missed a great time. I came as a hobo, like the ones who travel along the railroad. Were you guys sick?”
“No, we just don’t celebrate everything that you English do. We have some different holidays, but we do have Christmas and Easter,” Fannie explained.
In November, Fannie missed several days. She returned to school anxious to tell me about the weddings that had taken place. She said that they usually wait until after the harvest to have weddings and that they were usually on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
“I’ll bet they get lots of presents,” I guessed.
“Not really,” replied Fannie. “The couple goes around and visits homes in the days after the wedding. That’s when they are given gifts. That’s also when the husband begins to grow a beard.”
“I think I read about that somewhere. It said that Amish men don’t grow mustaches because they were a military symbol in the old days. Why does that matter?”
“We don’t believe in fighting wars. My dad says that long ago, when the Amish were still in Europe our people were persecuted by the armies. It was terrible. That’s why we don’t us
e buttons, too, because those soldiers did.”
“It’s amazing how we are both Christians, but do things so differently,” I said. “But my mom says all Christians are the same when it comes to the really important stuff. Our new President is a Christian. As a Catholic, his ideas are different too. Do the Amish vote? I heard they didn’t.”
Fannie shook her head. “Both my parents vote. We pay taxes too. Some people think we don’t have to pay. But we never take handouts from the government. When my grandparents got too old to live alone, they moved in with us.”
“My grandparents lived with us until they passed away a couple years ago. They got Social Security from the government. My grandpa said he earned it.”
When our school Christmas party rolled around, I brought Fannie a pair of blue mittens that my mother had knitted. Fannie was out of school the whole week before vacation and missed our party. Mrs. Hoover explained that one of the Amish family’s barns had burned down and since they didn’t believe in carrying insurance, all the Amish families in the area and some from outside came together to build a new barn.
When Fannie came back to school after the holidays, I gave her the mittens. She seemed pleased and reached in her desk and handed me a plainly wrapped package. We both laughed when I opened it. Her mother had knit me a pair of green mittens!
When spring finally came, we had an Easter break. Fannie was excited because her family was going to visit relatives in Ohio. “Do you ride in a buggy all the way to Ohio?” I gasped. “That must take forever.”
“Oh no,” laughed Fannie, “We are allowed to pay people to take us on longer trips in cars. We just don’t own or drive them ourselves.”
“I don’t really get that,” I answered, “What’s the difference?”
“It’s just our way. I guess it’s also why our women never cut their hair. There must be something in the Bible about it. We can even figure out who we’ll marry by working with some Bible verses.”
“Go on!” I exclaimed. “You’ve got to show me that!”
“I will, but it’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone!”
Fannie explained a complicated process with a key and a rubber band, which I didn’t totally understand. However, I was so pleased that she felt we were close enough friends to share such secrets.
When May finally came, we were all anxious for summer vacation. Fannie seemed kind of sad and distant. She finally told me that the Amish community was building their own one room school, and that it would be ready by fall. She explained that they only had to go to school until the eighth grade, and that the teacher was usually a young woman who had only gone through the eighth grade.
“But what’s wrong with this school?” I asked feeling so disappointed.
“Nothing. This is a good school, but our elders fear we will get “too English” if we live in your world too long. One of my older brothers left us and married an English woman. My parents have to act like he no longer exists, and the whole community shuns him now. But my Pa says it is up to me about school. He said I may come back to this school next year, but after that I must go to the new school for the last two years of my education. I have learned so much from Mrs. Hoover and I love that we have become good friends. I’m not sure what to do.”
“I’m so glad that we’re friends too. Maybe I should go to Amish school,” I suggested.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed,” sighed Fannie.
So I wasn’t really too surprised when Fannie didn’t show up for sixth grade at Consolidated School. She had made her choice, and at some level, I guess I understood why. I missed my friend. I never heard from her and had no idea how to get in touch with her. Our bus would go by the small white Amish school each day, but I never saw her there.
As the years went by, my interest in the Amish remained. I talked about and wrote about their interesting lifestyle at college and to my friends. As I started my career as a school teacher and later a college professor, I would share stories about my friend Fannie. As I traveled the country and world, I was surprised how widespread Amish communities were. At one time, over twenty states and ten countries had Amish settlements. I gave my parents, as well as Fannie, much of the credit for my keen interest in not just the Amish but history, politics, religion and culture. I think that knowing her also made me more tolerant of various faiths. I studied Hinduism in India, Buddhism in China and Islam in the Middle East. I learned that like Mother Theresa did that I loved all religions but was “in love” with Christianity and all its facets and manifestations around the globe.
As my own life got more complicated with family matters, jobs, finances and the daily rush, I would often think of Fannie and wonder what her life was like. This was especially true when I traveled home to visit my parents who never left the house in which they raised my brother and me. One year, I was really surprised to learn that the old Consolidated School, that had set empty for years, was bought by an Amish family who turned it into a home!
In the early 1980s, my mother sent me an article from the local newspaper. It seemed that the Ku Klux Klan was sponsoring a rally in the area against the Amish. That shocked me. How could anyone feel hatred towards these peace loving and hard working people? When I spoke with my mother on the phone, she said that it seemed to just be based on their growing numbers and buying up so much of the farmland in the area. She later said that on the day of the Klan rally, a lot of area churches scheduled their own rally against the Klan’s intolerance. She said there were thousands of church members there from many denominations. The papers reported that the Klan rally had only attracted a few outsiders.
Not long after that, my mother sent me another article reporting that FBI agents, disguised as Amish, were riding in buggies in the community, due to some attacks on Amish men and women while riding in their carriages. They eventually arrested some troublemakers from the community. I couldn’t help but wonder how these events made Fannie feel about the English.
Then just last week, I drove by my old red brick school that now looked like an Amish condo. I noticed a hand painted sign offering baked goods, rag rugs, and quilts. I decided to stop, more for a chance to peek into my old school than to buy anything. I was in my late thirties and many changes in my life were making me yearn for those warm and happy childhood memories.
It was a warm late summer day. The lane was very muddy from all the recent rainfall as I drove up to the former school. When I knocked on the familiar door, a small boy opened it. I noticed the inside was warm, dark, and smelled of wood smoke and cinnamon rolls. I asked the boy if I could see someone to buy some bread.
“Grandmama!” he yelled.
“ Grandmama” had been baking and was covered with flour. She was chubby and pleasant looking and asked how she could help me as she wiped her hands on her apron. As my eyes adjusted to the light and she stepped closer, I recognized her. It was my old friend, Fannie!
“Fannie, it’s you!” I exclaimed. “Do you remember me from fifth grade right here in this building?”
“At first she seemed uncertain. Then she smiled. “Dana. Dana McKenzie. Of course I do. I have thought about you many times over the years.”
“Me too,” I laughed. “I can’t believe you’re living in our old school. Oh, and my name is Dana Blades now.”
“Well, the price was good and Eli and I wanted a big house. Most of the good farms had been bought up. Eli is really more of a carpenter than a farmer. We both had good memories here from the fifth grade and thought it would be a good place to raise our children. The years have really flown by. Now, I’m a grandma.”
“I have to ask you this, Fannie. If you liked it so much, why didn’t you come back for sixth grade? I was so disappointed to lose your friendship.”
“Dana, I did choose to come back to this school, and my father thought it would be fine. However, my mother got very sick that summer, and I was needed to stay home and help with her with my baby sister. She passed away after several months, and I ne
ver did go back to school.”
“I never knew. So how many children do you have, Fannie?”
“Oh, I’ve lost count! Just kidding. We have five. They’re all through school now and working, some married, but we see plenty of them. How about you, Dana. Do you have children?”
“No. I lost my husband shortly after we got married. I enjoy being an aunt to my brother’s kids and an honorary aunt to many of my friends’ children,” I responded, thinking Fannie could hardly fathom what my single life must be like.
We drank coffee and talked and reminisced for a good while. As I was leaving, we hugged and promised to try to keep in touch.
“You know, said Fannie, “You are the only English friend I have ever had.”
“And you have been my only Amish friend, Fannie. You taught me so much, especially to appreciate how everyone doesn’t have to do things the same way or make the same choices to be a good Christian.”
Driving away, I was struck with how my world had changed since 1960. Cell phones, microwaves and computerized everything for me. Although even in 2010, cell phone towers and cable TV had not reached my native village of Solitude. I had several advanced degrees, lots of insurance policies, mutual funds and material things of no interest to the Amish community. But for Fannie, what she taught me about the Amish lifestyle in 1960 still held true in 1990, and would probably be true in 2060. Their clothing, tools and methods of doing their daily work and traveling remained unchanged.
Later that day, I stopped at the hilly cemetery where one of John Kennedy’s biggest fans, my dad, was buried. I hoped he died knowing how much he had instilled the love of learning about people and their history in me. I realized that the choices we make, whether we’re Amish or English Christians, are probably based on similar values. I had recently made a choice very similar to the one that my friend Fannie had made back in the 1960s. I started my little red sports car and headed to my childhood home where, since resigning from my teaching career, I would stay to care for my ailing mother. Little did I realize that within a few days, I would be thinking about little else than the Amish.
