by Sandy McKee
I never dreamed that a member of our Amish community would be the victim of a brutal murder.
Chapter 2
September 1990
Friday
I knew that moving back to my childhood home at the age of thirty nine would clearly take some adjustments. Part of my reason for returning to the peaceful hamlet of Solitude was to care for my mother who at seventy five had suffered some mini strokes that left her unable to drive and rather forgetful. She still lived in the large Victorian house her grandfather had built but she was unable to take care of it. My other reason was even more personal. I was just tired of the life I’d established in Florida. I felt the need for change but had no idea what that should be. Spending some quiet time in my laid back childhood home seemed to be the perfect place to make some decisions about where I hoped the next phase of my life might lead.
As it turned out in that summer of 1990, the village of Solitude was anything but calm and peaceful. A crime wave like never seen before took a grip on our community that sent things into a tailspin. The victims were some of the most innocent of our citizens, the Old Order Amish. My mother had told me that a couple of Amish barns had burned down in the spring and arson was suspected. No arrests had been made, but there seemed to be several suspects. As I got back into the routine of living in a small town, I sometimes met up with neighbors in the morning at the general store/post office where news and gossip were shared. I learned that there were other ominous events taking place. Our major source of news was Helen Beam.
Helen Beam was my mother’s oldest and dearest friend. She looked and acted like she was fifty five instead of seventy five. She had plenty of “contacts” and spent a good part of her day on the telephone gathering news about our area. She’d often stop by to visit Mom for morning coffee around 10:30 after the 9:00 am gathering at the post office. Helen said that in three different places Amish buggies had been forced off the road the night before and there had been some minor injuries. The first thing I thought of was Fannie and her family and hoped that they were okay. I decided to stop by for a visit and see how she was doing.
A bit about me. I’m Dana Blades, a thirty-nine year old who took an early retirement from a position as a university history professor in southern Florida. I loved the beaches and weather in Florida, but began to hate the traffic and nonstop development. Things were just going too fast for someone who specializes in Colonial America. I was married, ever so briefly, to my college sweetheart. He was a Navy pilot shot down over Vietnam in 1972. For years, I hoped and prayed for a miracle and that I’d hear word that he’d survived. It never came, and I’ve yet to meet someone who measures up to my idealized memory of him.
I left behind many close and interesting friends in Florida that ranged from quilters to fishermen to international spies. My hobbies include travel abroad and at home to historic sites, antique collecting, skeet shooting and reading mysteries. I’m a social liberal and a devout Christian. On good days, I’ve been told I bear a passing resemblance to Meryl Streep (if she were twenty pounds heavier, had myopic blue eyes and unruly brunette naturally curly hair). Despite an addiction to coconut ice cream and Cape Cod potato chips, I can outrun most thirty year olds. I love to wear Birkenstocks, jeans, tee shirts from places I’ve been and soft leather jackets. Like most people, I’ve made a few mistakes over the years and have some regrets, but I try not to dwell up on them.
Now my closest companion is a terrier mix named Toby, adopted during a get away trip to the Greek island of Santorini. My fantasy world is that of a sleuth resulting from an early addiction to the writings of Agatha Christie. A couple successes at helping the police to solve campus crimes in Florida have resulted in perhaps a bit of an overconfidence in my detective abilities.
Along with my mother, Edith, I have a younger brother, Phil, who lives in the area with his wife and three kids. There are also several aunts, cousins and childhood friends with whom I looked forward to renewing acquaintances. But I needed to first touch base with Fannie and find out who was trying to make the Amish miserable.
Chapter 3
Friday
I picked up some fresh coffee and cranberry scones at the local bakery and headed over to Fannie’s home. I figured that morning was as good of a time as any to drop by. I spotted Fannie out in the garden picking tomatoes. She smiled as I got out of the car.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon. How is your mother?” asked Fannie.
“She’s doing very well. I think she’s glad to have me home, although we both have to get used to the idea of living together. I’m glad the house is so big. We can keep out of each other’s way a good part of the day. She even seems to like my cooking.”
Fannie laughed. “Let’s go in. It’s getting hot already. I’ll make us some coffee.”
“It’s my treat today, Fannie. I picked up some scones too. I hope you like them.”
The inside of the house still smelled of wood smoke and was pleasantly cool even though the temperature was to get into the mid 80s. Fannie was clearly a good housekeeper. Everything was neat and simple and scrubbed clean. She motioned for me to have a seat at the huge oak kitchen table.
“Now that the children are seldom her for meals, this table seems huge. It’s still good to have when we have the church services or the grandchildren come. Those scones really look good.”
We enjoyed our midmorning snack and discussed our families until Eli came in. He gratefully accepted a scone and coffee and joined us at the table.
“I was upset to hear about the buggies being run off the road. Has anyone been badly hurt?” I queried.
“Oh just some cuts and bruises so far, but someone is going to get seriously injured or killed,” said Eli sadly, shaking his head.
“Do the police have any idea as to who might be doing it?” I asked.
“Not that we know of,” answered Fannie. “Although our people don’t talk that much to the police. We try to mind our own business. It’s seems like it was a black or dark blue pickup truck that ran the buggies off the road, but no one was able to get a license plate number or see who was driving. It had those dark tinted windows. “
“Do you think it’s just some teenagers?” I asked. “I remember a few years back when they arrested some local teens for harassment.”
“ This time the trouble seems more persistent. Some of the elders think it’s tied in with the barn burnings. A couple of our men have also gotten some threatening notes at their businesses. Joseph Byler, who has the sawmill got a note saying that if he doesn’t stop cutting down so many trees, the sawmill will be burned down. Then Jonas Miller, Fannie’s brother, who works growing grapes for the winery, got a threat on his life. His note accused him of being a hypocrite for contributing to the making of alcoholic beverages.” Eli took a sip of his coffee and held Fannie’s hand.
“We’re all worried. We try to get along, but someone seems to have a real grudge.”
“Do the police know about all of this?” I asked.
“I imagine so,” replied Eli. “But we don’t really have any local police out here, and the state police are twenty miles away. Unless something happens, we’re pretty much on our own. It’s worrisome and difficult to know what might happen next.”
Just then, a young man rushed in the door. He was clearly agitated and didn’t seem to notice that I was there. Fannie quickly introduced me as Dana, her old school friend. He was John, their oldest son who had two young children and was living in the other side of the Fannie and Eli’s refurbished old school house.
“Something terrible has happened,” he cried with tears streaming down his face. “Elizabeth’s sister Constance was found dead at the school house this morning. We just are headed over to be with the family. Will you watch the children until we get back?”
“Of course,” replied Fannie rushing to hug her son. “What happened, who found her?”
“I’m afraid we don’t know much yet. I was at work at the buggy shop when
the children came running from the school. They found her there when they arrived for school. They said it was all bloody and that she had a knife in her. They were in shock. We ran to the school. Constance seemed to be already dead, no pulse. We went to the pay phone and called an ambulance and the state police. The police wanted us to keep the children there, but they had already gone home. The police are at the school now. We’ve got to get over to be with Elizabeth’s family.”
Fannie looked at me clearly distressed. “Dana, I’ve got to go get the children. I’m so…nothing like this has ever happened. Maybe we can talk later.”
“Of course, I’m so sorry. Let me know if I can be of any help. I need to get back to check on Mom. I’ll keep in touch.”
On the way home, I drove by the one room Amish schoolhouse. It was a plain white cement block building with an outside toilet. There were state police cars all over the place along with reporters and photographers from local radio and television stations. Cars were being motioned past, so I had to keep going. I couldn’t believe it. I don’t think a murder had ever taken place in the area. What in the world was going on?
I got home and fixed a grilled cheese sandwich and soup for my mother. I had no appetite. When I told her about what I’d learned, she just shook her head. “It’s hard to believe that someone would hurt an Amish school teacher. It makes no sense.”
“I know. The Amish teachers are so young. The children only go to school until eighth grade and their teachers have only gone as far and are usually only fourteen or fifteen themselves. What possible motive could anyone have for doing such a thing?”
“Well if I know my daughter, I imagine you’ll be trying to find out, won’t you? Just be careful. There must be some dangerous people around here.”
“I know, Mom. I’m just naturally curious and maybe I can be of some help.”
“Dana, have you given any more thought to what we discussed last week?”
“Not now, Mom. I have enough on my plate right now.”
By evening, the Pittsburgh news stations were full of stories about the death of the young Amish teacher. None of the Amish were willing to be interviewed so all of the information was relayed through the state police. They said that Constance Slaghbach was sixteen years old and had been teaching for two years. Some older students arrived at the school and found her stabbed around 8:00 a.m. Two boys ran for help while two girls sent the other students home as they arrived at school. Constance’s parents had said that she’d left for school around 7:00 a.m. and that it was about a ten minute walk from their farm. The school was set a good distance back from the road and there were no houses nearby. They mentioned that what seemed like a hate message was written on the chalkboard. “Death to the Dutch” and three swastikas and two pentagrams were drawn with chalk on the board. The police asked that anyone having any information should contact them at a toll free number.
I racked my brain to think of who might be able to provide me with some additional information. Beside my mother’s pal, Helen, I recalled a good friend from high school who owned the local cheese shop. Someone had said that she was married to a retired state policeman. I made plans to stop by and get reacquainted the next morning.
Chapter 4
Saturday
The next morning was beautiful. The air was a little cool with a hint of the fall weather to come and some of the maple leaves were beginning to turn to brilliant shades of red, yellow and orange. My mother was up early watching the news and drinking coffee. I had purchased a new coffee pot that would start with a timer so that Mom would have coffee waiting for her when she got up. She had told me that one morning she got up and had simply forgotten how to make coffee. I could see that her memory loss was a source of great frustration for her, and tried to not act overly concerned. Her greatest worry was the possibility of having to go to a nursing home. I had assured her that my brother and I would do all we could to keep that from happening.
She told me that my younger brother Phil was coming by later to do some mowing. Phil owned a sporting goods shop in the Pittsburgh suburbs, but managed to get home at least once a week to help out. I told her that I was going to visit an old friend, but that I’d get back in time to see him. I suggested we have a family picnic in the near future, before the weather turned too cold for outdoor dining.
I took Toby for a run along Big Bass creek and wondered if any additional violence had taken place overnight. After a quick shower and making some poached eggs for my mother and myself, I got in the Miata and headed for the Cheese Shop. The shop’s owner was Sharon Switzer. She was a classmate who had grown up on a dairy farm. She was the girl who most girls wanted to be and most guys wanted to date. She was blonde, attractive, petite, a cheerleader and homecoming queen. She was voted most likely to succeed. Everyone was surprised when she got pregnant in our senior year. Although we traveled in different circles in high school (me with the nerdy music, newspaper and science club geeks) the school was small enough that we were still pretty friendly. Instead of college, she’d married the guy and settled down near Punxsutawney. When her parents passed on, she sold the dairy farm for what was rumored to be a lot of money. A few years later she and her husband purchased the local Cheese Shop. I was glad to see her behind the counter when I opened the door. “Good morning, Sharon. It’s been a long time. This is really a neat shop. What a variety of cheeses!”
“Hey, Dana! I heard you were back. It’s good to see you. I was just making some coffee. Have a cup. And try some of our cheeses. We make over fifty kinds of cheeses, processing over 80,000 pounds of milk a week. The difference in flavor is usually just about one degree in temperature. We’ve come up with some new flavors of cheese, like blueberry, apple pie and chocolate cherry. Here try this cranberry walnut. Now, tell me about life outside the boonies.”
“This is delicious, who knew there could be some many kinds of cheeses. What do you do with all the excess whey?” I asked trying to show her I’d done my homework.
“It’s so neat. A local dairy picks it up and it’s used for fertilizer and for power to generate electricity.”
After sharing news about families and bringing each other up to date, I asked her what she thought about the murder.
“Oh, it’s just the worst thing to happen in this community. We’re all so upset. I have a lot of Amish who work here in the plant and a lot more who provide us with milk. I’ve never seen them so stressed, not that I can blame them. I think those of us who aren’t Amish are just as upset. Everyone is on edge. Constance had even helped me out in the shop a when we were really busy. She was a great young lady. Very hard working, polite and got along so well with the customers.”
“Does anyone have any idea who might be behind the violence?” I queried.
“Not really. There are lots of theories, but nothing solid. You know my husband, Bob, retired from the state police just two years ago. He still talks to a lot of the troopers. They don’t seem to have a lot of leads either.”
“I’d love to meet Bob sometime. I’d like to run a few ideas by him if you don’t mind. I’m still the nosey wanna-be detective and reporter that I was in high school.”
“Oh, I remember,” laughed Sharon. “You were always nebbing around looking for a good story for the school paper. We had a lot of fun back then, didn’t we? Well Bob stays pretty busy. We recently bought the local winery and he’s overseeing that, not that he’s much of a vintner. But he was able to get full retirement after twenty years and is only forty-two, and he needs to keep busy. Why not stop over at the winery around lunch time. I know he likes to take a break then. I’ll give him a call and let him know you’re coming by.”
“That would be great, Sharon. I ran into one of the Amish women who I’d been friends with back in grade school and this whole thing really grates me. I’d love to ask around and see if I can be of any help.”
“Your mother used to brag on you at church. She said you’d helped solve a couple crimes in Florida. She seeme
d so proud of you. I have to warn you that my husband may not be as appreciative. He is definitely of the opinion that crime investigation should be left to the professionals.”
“Oh, I’ve encountered that attitude before,” I smiled. “Believe me, I don’t have the skills to be a detective. My background in history just sometimes gives me insights and ways of looking at things that others may not see.”
“I hear you. Oh it looks like a tour bus in pulling into the lot. I better get working.”
“How is business? Every time I come back, I’m amazed at the new shops and restaurants. It’s starting to look like Lancaster County.”
“We do really well, Dana. Every since the movie “Groundhog Day” came out, Punxsutawney has become a popular destination and the new Jimmy Stewart museum in Indiana is also a draw. We get groups from all over. People love the quaintness of the Amish farms. I think most people like to escape to a little slower pace of life.”
“I’m all for that. I just don’t see who would want to harm the folks behind this economic boon.”
“Me neither, Dana. Let me know what you find out.”
“Will do, Sharon. And thanks so much. I can’t wait to meet Bob.”
On the way out, I noticed a nice new red Mercedes parked out front and figured that Sharon must be doing quite well. I had some time before my noon visit with Sharon’s husband and decided to buy some groceries and supplies for the house. I’d noticed that my mother had cupboards full of light bulbs, toilet paper and dish detergent, but was lacking in other basic staples like food, laundry detergent, paper towels, and condiments. I had the impression that she had been eating very little when left on her own. She’d lost over thirty pounds in the past year, and I was determined to work on her nutrition, hoping that might help her mental acuity.
