by Sandy McKee
“Oh, Fannie. That is awful. Did whoever did it leave a message? Did anyone see anything?”
“No. Nothing. We have no idea who would do such a thing. It’s sick. Eli is going to tell the police. We need all the help we can get. I’m sorry if I seem off. I just can’t stop thinking about everything.”
“Do you think whoever did this is aiming their anger at just the Amish community in general or certain people in particular?” I asked, taking a bite of the still warm bun.
“No one seems to know. We spend a lot of time going over who in the world would be so mad at us. We’ve always been harassed by some, but nothing like this. We think it must be someone who really resents us and or what we stand for.”
“Fannie, this is probably way off. But I was reading my old childhood diaries and came across the time when you had told me that you had a brother who had been shunned. Do you think there’s any chance that he might be angry about his treatment?” I asked, feeling embarrassed at raising what I figured was a pretty sensitive issue.
“I can’t believe you kept a diary with that. He passed away a few years ago. I had always hoped that we’d make amends with him and his family, but it never happened. I did secretly write to him over the years. He had a nice family and seemed pretty happy with his life. I know that he missed our large family, but he never sounded bitter. I’ve lost touch since he died. I’d love to meet his children someday. He has two girls and a boy.”
“Well, I doubt that his kids or wife would care about the past history that much, but if you don’t mind, I could see if I could locate them.”
“If you can keep it hushed up, that would be fine. The last I heard, they were living over in Ohio, this side of Columbus. I can give you his last address.”
“Good. I also heard some developers out of Pittsburgh were trying to get Jacob to sell his farm to them. Do you know if they’ve done anything heavy handed??
“Not that I know of, but the men don’t always tell the women all that’s going on,” answered Fannie.
“You know what, Dana. I think it may just be a crazy person doing this. We heard that there was an Amish man not far from here who just went crazy and killed his whole family. Maybe there’s someone like that around here.”
“Could be. I hear they might tear down the school house where Constance was killed.”
“Yes, they are. The kids are going to actually come next door to John’s house for schooling until they get the new one built. John’s wife, Elizabeth, has agreed to teach them until they find someone else. It’s funny thinking that this building will become a school again.”
“It sure is. I imagine the kids are still pretty upset. Our schools would provide counseling for all the children.”
“Well, the parents and elders have talked at length to the young ones. They need a chance to say how they feel about everything. I know that John’s wife will help them work through this, too. She’s such a warm and loving soul, a lot like Constance. I’m going to help out with their two children. They both have a genetic disorder called maple syrup urine disease. It could kill them if we don’t watch them and keep them on a very restricted diet. Constance was a big help to Elizabeth, too. She adored those children.”
Before long, some tourists came knocking at the door. I bid Fannie farewell and headed home, still no closer to figuring out who was behind the evil deeds that were creating havoc in our peaceful community.
I decided to see if I could locate Fannie’s shunned brother’s family. I had purchased an old one horse open sleigh from a shop near Columbus a few years earlier. Maybe Mom and I could take a day trip out that way and see what we could learn. I was also in the market for a nice set of sleigh bells. I proposed the idea to Mom for the next day, and she readily agreed. I decided to spend the rest of the day seeing what I could learn about hate groups in the area. The state university I attended had a wonderful library and there were probably still a few of my old social science professors in those halls of ivy.
First, I began to heat up some lunch for Mom and I.
“Oh by the way dear, I invited Helen to stop by to have lunch with us. I told her you made the best lasagna.”
“Well I learned from the best, Mom. When is she coming? There’s plenty. I’ll throw together a tossed salad and make some garlic bread.”
“That will be great, Dana. Helen will be here around noon. You also got two phone calls from Pittsburgh yesterday. I’m not sure what to say to her. I wish you’d come to grips with this.”
I decided not to chide my mother for the short notice on Helen’s coming to lunch or on her nagging me about the phone calls. Some of my past was catching up with me and I needed to deal with it, soon. I was so glad to see Mom enthusiastic and prayed that there wouldn’t be any set-backs. My brother had said she’d been depressed since Dad died, and then the small strokes had just made it worse.
Helen breezed in at noon carrying a Boston Crème Pie.
We caught up on all the news as we enjoyed the meal at the kitchen table.
“Well, how is your investigation going, Nancy Drew?” asked Helen, with a giggle.
“I’m getting no where fast, Helen. What have you got for me? I was over at my friend Fannie’s place this morning. Did you hear that someone shot one of their horses?”
“No dear, that’s really terrible! The police need to patrol better and find out who these troublemakers are. Why are people so intolerant of anyone who has a different lifestyle?”
I knew that Helen’s youngest son, who was a dentist in Pittsburgh, was openly gay. While Helen’s husband, who was now deceased, never came to terms with it, Helen whole heartedly supported her son. She had become a very outspoken voice against all types of discrimination and I really admired her for it.
My mother poured us more iced tea and commented, “You know I was thinking, back when I taught grade school, those little kids would come to school and tell me all kinds of stories about what was going on in their homes. Their parents would be so embarrassed if they knew some of things I heard. Do you suppose some child told that Amish teacher something that might have gotten one of the parents in trouble?”
“That’s not a bad possibility, Mom. I hadn’t really thought about that.”
“Another thing I thought of was something your father told me a couple years before he passed. Do you remember back when your Uncle Leo from Detroit gave him those marijuana seeds? He had plants growing out back. I was sure we were going to jail. He was so curious about what the big deal was with smoking grass and all. Well anyhow, one day years after that, he came in from hunting and said he’d come across a field way back in the woods that looked like folks were growing marijuana.”
“Did he think the Amish were growing dope?” exclaimed Helen.
“Oh, I don’t think he had any idea who it belonged to at the time. But you just never know,” replied my mother.
“Maybe that teacher saw a drug deal or something and they, whoever “they” are, killed her to shut her up,” suggested Helen. You, know that teacher, Constance, was just such a lovely young woman. A retired teacher friend of mine, Diane Wagner, and I actually visited her classroom last year. We were just curious about what an Amish school was like. I know Constance’s mother through the store, and she set it up for us. There were twenty-four children in the class. I was amazed at how well behaved they were. They sang songs for us. Then they did their reading aloud and math worksheets. Diane didn’t think too much of Constance’s teaching methods, but she’s was just a kid herself. And that school was so clean! Every Friday afternoon, the children would help the teacher give the school a good scrubbing. Constance even made the children take off their shoes during muddy weather to keep the room clean. She was such a good person, I really hope we can figure out who did this to her. I’m betting you’ll figure this out, Dana.”
“I think we’re like ‘Charlie’s Angels’,” I laughed. “If the three of us put our heads together, we should wrap this up real soon. The drug
angle could be a possibility. We’re close to Interstates 79 and 80. I hear some folks refer to I-80 as ‘cocaine alley’.”
We finished lunch, and I left Helen and Mom debating whether or not the Amish drank or used drugs. I recalled that teenage boys, and sometimes girls, did go through a period of sewing wild oats before they settled down. They called it “rumspringa” and it gave them a free pass to explore the world outside while parents looked the other way. I’d heard that while most Amish teens used the time to court and date, some really went wild with drugs, alcohol and sex. There were tales of the boys hiding cars back in the woods. I’d even heard that some of the girls sought out abortions if the father wasn’t willing to marry her. Thinking of partying made me realize that it was time for me to get back on a college campus for my research.
The campus was only thirty minutes from Solitude. It was good to be back to where my love of learning had so flourished. I knew that a life of study and teaching were for me shortly after I arrived on the campus. I went directly to the social science building where I hoped that some of my favorite professors remained. I looked over the directory and recognized few names. It had been twenty years. Luckily I saw the name of Catherine Farmington. I had taken several courses on Colonial America and Pennsylvania history from her. She was so knowledgeable and dynamic as an instructor. I hoped she was in. I found her office and was pleased to see she had office hours from 2-4 pm. I knocked lightly. She looked up, her hair was shorter and graying but she still had the same welcoming smile.
“Don’t tell me, Diane, no…. Dana, right? I usually remember the really good and really bad students. I’ll leave it for you to decide which one you were! Didn’t I hear that you were teaching history somewhere in the South?”
I quickly brought her up to date on my life and what I was doing and asked if she had time to talk about the problems in nearby Amish country. She even recalled a paper that I had written on dating and marriage customs among the Amish. I was impressed. I asked her if she thought the crimes could be the work of hate groups.
“Well, Dana, Pennsylvania is home to a huge number of hate groups. William Penn would be so disappointed. But I don’t really know or hear too much about their anger being aimed at the Amish. They’re more apt to target Hispanics, blacks, and gays. Most of the harassment of the Amish has been by teenagers wanting to cause trouble. They call it ‘clayping’ and often just pelt the carriages with stones or run them off the road. There was a case out of state a few years back when a rock hit a six month old infant who died. That was so tragic. Of course the teens never intended to kill anyone. They just resented what they call the Amish hypocrisy… you know using phones but not owning them, riding in cars but not driving them. Plus the Amish are an easy target. Unless something really bad happens, the Amish don’t report it, and pretty much ‘turn the other cheek’. Then I heard about another case up in Canada where a broken beer bottle was thrown into a buggy. A young woman’s face was severely cut up. That time it was thrown by some Amish boys who had been drinking.”
“So that seems to suggest someone besides a hate group could be behind the murder,” I mused. “I think the hate group theory was my best guess. I’d read that during the world wars, the Amish were really harassed for being pacifists and thought maybe that the current lousy economy and our troops fighting in the Middle East could spur some negative reaction to the Amish. So do you have any other theories on what’s going on, Dr. Farmington?”
“Oh, please call me Catherine. I should be calling you doctor. Well you know, I do have a thought on this. You may not like what I tell you, but I have done some research and can’t help but wonder if there are some other things at play here. Some researchers have suggested that sexual abuse of children is almost a plague in some Amish communities. It’s difficult to get the numbers because most of it doesn’t get reported. There was a fairly recent case in Ohio where a girl had been raped by her two brothers through most of her adolescence. The Amish values dictated that she forgive them after they had been shunned for a couple months by the Church. When she proceeded to press charges and one brother got sent to jail, she was the one seen in the wrong. The Amish community felt she should forgive and not involve the courts.”
“That’s awful.” I closed my eyes, shuddering at the reality that some young women must face. “I’m not sure how I could ever find out about something like that, but if Constance, that’s the teacher who was killed, was going to turn someone in, they might have chosen to stop her.”
Catherine nodded solemnly. “I wouldn’t rule it out.”
“One last thing. I was talking to my Amish friend. She said that her grandchildren had something called maple syrup urine disease. She said it was a genetic disorder. Do you know anything about it?”
“Not really. I hear it’s pretty serious and that the urine smells like maple syrup. It’s interesting. The Amish don’t have converts, so they have been a virtually a closed society for over ten generations. There’s a lot of intermarriage. That makes them more prone to genetic diseases than the general population. I recently read an article about a county in Ohio. Only ten percent of the population is Amish, but they make up over 50% of the special needs children in the county. There are some studies going on that hold promise for treatment and early detection, but unfortunately most Amish communities are really far away from major hospitals. Too many Amish infants are sick or dying. There are nearly 100 genetic diseases that affect them more than most people. Some of the illnesses don’t even have names.”
“You’ve been so helpful, professor. Thanks so much.”
I decided to skip the library and drive home. I was shaken by the information that my former professor had given me to think about. And how in the world could I ever broach the subject of incest with my Amish friend?
Chapter 10
Wednesday
The next day dawned cold and rainy. I had hoped to make the trip to Ohio to check out Fannie’s shunned brother’s family, but my mother was clearly ailing. She seemed confused and complained of a dull headache. I decided to see what I could find out by telephone later in the day. It was probably a long shot anyway.
I sat down with the morning paper and my coffee. My letter to the editor had made this edition. With what I had learned in the last few days, it was probably one of my dumber ideas. But it was too late to take it back. Maybe it would bring someone out of the woodwork. I was sure that I would get some interesting comments.
The first phone call came from my brother. I’m not sure how he had gotten a paper so early, but I had to hold the phone away from my ear.
“What in the hell is wrong with you? You’re supposed to be the smart one in the family! Do you want to get you and Mom killed? Did you stop for a minute to think where this could lead? If there is some crazed killer or angry hate group around, they’ll be glad to make your life miserable.”
I tried to explain to Phil that I was hoping to get a reaction that I might be able to turn over to the police, but he wasn’t buying it. I also told him if he really believed Mom was in danger, she could go and stay at his house for a few days. That seemed to calm him down.
“Well, just watch your back,” he warned. “ I’ll try to stop up later this week. And quit playing detective. You’re not as smart as you think you are.”
I stuck my tongue out at the phone and hung up. He always was a pain in my neck. I guess Phil did make some sense, but I was impatient and mad about what was going on in Solitude.
I got a few other calls with varying opinions before I left for the post office. Once there, I heard a few more opinions. Most people were polite and seemed glad that I was trying to help out, especially when the police had come up with so little.
I stopped by the quilt shop on the way home. The owner, Lynn Gruber, was another old high school friend. Everyone always said she looked like Julia Roberts. I’d run into her at church, and she said to stop by. She had a beautiful display of Amish quilts throughout the store. “This is
really lovely, Lynn. How did you get into the quilt business?” I asked, while touching some of the soft materials and picturing one on my high poster bed.
“Well, my mother was a quilter, and I was always interested in it and learned about it from her. After my husband ran off with his secretary (how cliché’ is that?), leaving me with three kids under the age of ten, I had to figure out a way to keep afloat. I wasn’t sure what to do with a Liberal Arts degree in art. So I tried this. It’s amazing what people will pay for Amish quilts. I ship them all over the world.”
“They are really gorgeous,” I agreed. “I always wondered why the so called “Plain People” would do such beautiful artwork.”
“It’s interesting. The Amish do look down on art for art’s sake. But the quilts serve a purpose and are a salvage art in that they make use of scraps of material. They use a lot of geometric designs since they frown upon realism. I think the Amish women really love to get together to work on them.”
“You mean like quilting bees?” I asked. “Did you know that Susan B. Anthony gave her first talk on equal rights for women at a quilting bee?”
“You are ever the history teacher, Dana. The Amish just call them ‘quiltings’. Anywhere from eight to sixteen women get together, have a big lunch and work for hours. They get to socialize and make some extra money. I can’t believe how people have actually stolen quilts right off their clotheslines!”
“Really! Speaking of crime, what’s your take on all the crime going on around here lately?” I wondered out loud.
“Oh, I don’t know. When it comes to murder, I always figure it has something to do with sex, money or greed. When Geoff left me, I could have killed him. He still sends nothing to help with the kids, so I could still kill him. He’s got a whole new family.”
