“So it is a yes?” finished Harvey. He was so elated. He had actually passed the test!
This marked the beginning of a beautiful journey as we learned to know each other better. At times, things came up that needed to be worked through, but afterward love’s warm rays shone brighter than before.
Next came our engagement. And then the busy months getting ready for the special occasion.
I sighed as I reviewed what a major undertaking it had been to get the haymow ready for the reception. It had been a perfect goat haven during the cold winter months. This was their shelter where they had borne their young and stayed cozy. The free-roaming kids had bounced around on the hay bales like balls of soft fur. Overhead the white king pigeons had cooed and reared their young in shallow hay nests they had built on the stately beams. Now, both the pigeons and the goats had to find another home for a few weeks until the wedding festivities were past.
One evening when the animals were asleep in the barn my adventurous brothers came in and scrambled up the posts. One by one the pigeons were placed in gunny sacks and transported to a pen in the machinery shed.
Hay, twine, and manure in the haymow had to be cleaned out. That job alone took weeks. My brothers had to back the big hay wagon into the mow. They loaded it as high as they dared and took the load out close to the swamp behind the milk barn where they unloaded by hand again. With sheer determination, they pushed through their aching muscles and blistered hands to accomplish their goal.
Then Harvey brought his power washer over and gave everything a thorough washing. Finally, the only vestige of the goats and pigeons was a faint smell.
On this night an increasing anticipation and excitement filled the air. In all this happiness, my thoughts turned to my precious family. I had grown up as the oldest child in a happy, sheltered home. A lump formed in my throat as I remembered how we’d labored together all these years—Dad, Mom, and my six sisters and five brothers, all of us having formed many a fond memory with each other—though my four-month-old brother, Timothy, would never remember me as a sister at home.
I walked over to the big haymow opening and my gaze swept across the fields. There I’d spent many hours with Dad where we had done fieldwork. In the house I had learned the basic work ethics of housework from my mother.
Could I now leave all this for the man I loved? Had ten months been a sufficient time? Had we learned enough about each other to take us through the thorns and roses of married life? These thoughts rushed through my tired brain. Yet I felt confident God had led us this far and with Him we could have a happy home filled with love. My musings were brought to a swift halt when the slender form of cousin Ruth appeared in the barn doorway.
“Oh, so this is where you’re hiding,” she teased. “I should have known.”
I gave Ruth a warm smile. How I had treasured the two weeks Ruth and Grandma Yoder had spent with us. They hailed from Minnesota and had come to assist with the wedding preparations. And help they did!
Grandma had been a stabilizing effect, especially for Mom. Grandma was old and wrinkled but still very agile and the matriarch of the family. I shared Grandma with 70 other cousins, some of whom she had delivered herself.
Grandma seemed to have so much wisdom. She had served as a midwife and delivered many babies, making many friends with her caring and well-liked personality.
Years ago Grandma had taken me upstairs in her house and opened a chest. She had fondly shown me the wedding garments she and Grandpa had worn so many years ago. Now Grandma was a widow and in the dusk of her life. She and Grandpa had seen some troubling times, but her life showed a thankful heart and she still spoke fondly of Grandpa.
If God so willed and we lived that long, would Harvey and I age as gracefully and sweetly as Grandma had? I hoped so.
“What about straightening up the basement while I make sure all the clothes are ready?” I now suggested to Ruth. “By then it’ll be suppertime and with more company coming tonight, I’m about ready to quit for the evening.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Ruth replied.
And so we spent the evening with pleasant company, and the following days up to my wedding passed swiftly, filled with all the last-minute details. People came and went, prepared food, and wrote all the lists for the cooks, table waiters, and helpers. They brought in and set up benches and chairs by the neighbors’ big shed where the services were to be held.
And then it was Thursday morning! I awoke with the alarm clock’s ring at four o’clock. My younger sister Esther and I were sleeping on a hide-a-bed type couch in the living room. I had washed my hair the evening before and let it hang loose to dry overnight, so I quickly put up my hair, donned my covering, and looked after some things that I wanted to have ready and out on Harvey’s buggy to take along “home” that evening.
Home! Everything was happening so fast my emotions couldn’t keep up.
After a quick breakfast and a devotional and prayer, everyone scattered to their various duties. The company took charge and washed the dishes. The house was given a last go-over while Mom and I looked after other matters. I went out to the haymow and turned on all the oven knobs and carefully slid in the casseroles. I knew that soon the cook helpers would arrive and take over.
By the time Harvey arrived, the sun had risen and held the promise of a beautiful day. We greeted each other with a “Good morning.” His parting words for the evening before had been, “I’ll see you tomorrow on our wedding day, Lord willing.” The Lord had allowed the day to arrive, and we smiled into each other’s eyes.
I hurried upstairs to my room to change into my wedding garments. Gently I slipped into my blue dress. After I had carefully pinned everything together I donned my new white covering and lastly my black shoes and socks. Harvey came in after I was dressed to change his shirt to match my dress. Few words were exchanged, but then it wasn’t needful as our hearts felt full.
Before we went downstairs, Harvey suggested we kneel and have a prayer before the services. I gladly complied.
Afterward I grabbed my coat and bonnet and followed Harvey downstairs, where our four witnesses, Wayne, Anna, Joseph, and Esther, waited. I bade Mom a final goodbye and we were off. Two by two, we walked the half mile to where the services would be held. When we arrived, a bench on the front deck long enough to hold all of us was set up, and we sat there to watch the guests arrive.
“You don’t have much time to back out now,” Harvey teased.
Anna had to stifle a laugh. “Are you afraid she will?”
“No,” Harvey answered at once, and I gave him a sweet smile.
Time passed swiftly and we soon found ourselves seated in the “Abrote”—the upstairs room where the 16 ministers who attended the wedding each took a turn giving us a short speech and then wished us a blessed and happy marriage.
We then rejoined the congregation and the first sermon began. The minister followed the traditional pattern of expounding on the story of creation, followed by that of Adam and Eve, the first husband and wife. Stories were also told of Noah and his sons and how they took to themselves wives of the children of God, and of Isaac and Rebekah, and of Jacob and Laban and Jacob’s two wives. Also Solomon and his many wives were mentioned and the story of the misfortune this brought upon him and the kingdom of Israel. All these were important points to help guide and lead us into a godly marriage.
Soon Bishop Alvin took his turn to preach and eventually he closed the Bible and a hush fell over the assembly.
“Harvey and Grace,” the bishop addressed us, “if you still feel like this is God’s will, you may now come forward.”
After a slight pause, we walked up to the bishop and he began the sacred questions.
We solemnly promised before God and many witnesses to love, cherish, and care for each other in joys and sorrows, health and sickness, all the days of our life until only death doth us part.
Bishop Alvin took both of our right hands and placed them together in marriage.
“You are no longer two but one flesh, husband and wife. You may now take your seats,” Alvin concluded.
Now I’m Grace Yoder, no longer a Keim, I thought to myself as we took our seats. It all seemed so profound, so mysterious, but so wonderful.
When the services were over, Harvey’s brother Henry had the horse and a small wagon ready. There were three hay bales for seating. The rig waited to usher the bridal party back down the road where the noon meal was being prepared by the appointed cooks and table waiters.
Everyone was soon ushered into the haymow and seated. After a short prayer the cooks dished out bowls of steaming scalloped potatoes, platters of meatloaf garnished with parsley, and dishes of golden, buttery corn. The table waiters quickly took these to their assigned tables lined with waiting guests. Attractively arranged salads were set out in bowls. Each table also had butter and jam and a dinner roll placed by each plate. The meal was rounded out by apple pie, vanilla ice cream, and coffee.
When everyone had their fill, the table waiters swiftly cleaned the tables and a period of singing followed. The songs were ones we had chosen, and included a song Harvey had written himself. This was followed by a short devotional given by my Uncle James.
Before they left for their homes, many of the guests come up to the “eck,” greeted us with a handshake, and wished us God’s blessings on our marriage.
Nickel Mines Tragedy
Benuel M. Fisher
This is my comfort in my affliction: for thy word hath quickened me (Psalm 119:50).
THE RURAL VILLAGE OF NICKEL MINES, PENNSYLVANIA, IS A QUIET community of farms and friendly people, both Amish and English. Many Amish farmers in Nickel Mines till the land and work in the fields. They wave to passersby on the road, whether it be one of their own horse-drawn buggies or the well-known feed, cattle, or milk truck drivers.
On this exceptionally nice Monday morning, Amish schoolchildren walked the rural roads through the crisp air on their way to the West Nickel Mine’s Amish School. The boys wore homemade shirts and trousers and had on straw hats. The girls were clad in dresses of blue, green, or light brown, with a traditional black apron pinned on. They all toted plastic lunch boxes and chatted merrily as they walked along.
At the schoolhouse, the teacher, Emma Zook, greeted their smiling faces with a “Good morning.” The children then left their lunch pails inside and joined the others on the playground for the few remaining minutes before school began.
At 8:00, Emma pulled the long rope that operated the bell on top of the schoolhouse. Everyone was soon at their desk and listening as Emma read a passage from the Bible. They then stood beside their desks and recited the Lord’s Prayer. This had been the formal routine of their parents and their grandparents before them, many of whom had once attended public schools where such things were now forbidden.
When everyone had said, “Amen,” they lifted their bowed heads and marched single file up to the front of the schoolhouse. There they lined up at the blackboard for the morning hymns. Each child knew his place. The tallest in the back row, the middle-sized next, and the first and second graders in front. They began with “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder,” followed by “Hold to God’s Unchanging Hand,” and then, finally, “Amazing Grace.” The sound filled the schoolhouse as everyone lifted their voices to honor God. When they finished, each child filed back down the aisle to their seats.
There were 31 pupils that morning, in grades one to eight. The five eager and bright-eyed first-graders recited their basic sounds before the first recess. Emma’s mother and her two daughters-in-law, Bertha and Annie, had come to visit and stayed through the 15-minute recess at 9:15. After the bell rang again, all the students took their seats and opened their books to study. Shortly afterward, they heard the sound of a vehicle coming slowly down the road, the gravel crunching as a pickup truck backed up to the schoolhouse door.
In walked Mr. Roberts, the local milk truck driver who hauled raw milk from the Amish farms. The children all knew him as a rather shy and not-that-friendly man. Emma went to greet him, and Mr. Roberts asked if anyone had seen a tool he had lost on the road. No one had, but several of the boys promised to help him search during their noon lunch period. They felt no fear for this man who lived a few miles down the road in Georgetown.
Mr. Roberts returned to his truck and Emma continued her lesson. She was interrupted when Mr. Roberts reappeared, this time waving a pistol in his right hand.
“Everyone up to the front of the room,” he ordered in a stern voice. “Lie down on the floor, facedown.”
Of course they all obeyed, but no one could figure this out. Why would Mr. Roberts act this way?
“Lie down and do as I say and nobody will get hurt,” Mr. Roberts ordered again.
Teacher Emma and her three relatives feared what might come next. Moments later, as Mr. Roberts pulled down the window curtains, the four women were able to escape. There was no telephone nearby, so Emma ran across the fields to call 911 at a neighbor’s farmhouse.
In the meanwhile, back at the schoolhouse, Mr. Roberts nailed sheets of plywood over the windows. He also began to tie the girls’ feet together so they couldn’t escape. He finally noticed the absence of Emma and her three relatives and became quite furious. “Someone better go after them, or you will have great trouble,” he said, waving his pistol around again. Then he asked all the boys to leave.
When the boys were gone he snapped at little Susie. “Lift up your foot.”
“What’s he going to do to us?” a little second grader asked in Pennsylvania Dutch.
“Everyone pray real earnestly. God will hear us,” an eighth grader admonished.
“What are you girls whispering about?” Mr. Roberts asked.
“We’re praying,” came the answer.
“Why don’t you pray for me?” he said. “I can’t pray. I don’t believe in God anymore.”
Soon after this, he heard vehicles pull up and stop outside. Mr. Roberts also received a phone call from his wife. But despite her pleas, he told her, “I’ve got to do this.”
He ended the call, and the order came from the police standing outside, “Open up and come out!”
The girls hoped Mr. Roberts would obey, but he threatened them instead with his gun.
One of the older girls spoke up. “If you’re going to shoot someone, shoot me, but let the little ones live.”
But it was to no avail.
Mr. Roberts began to shoot all of the girls at close range. When the police outside heard the shots and the screams of the girls, they broke down the door. But it was too late. They found Mr. Roberts lying on the floor, some ten feet from the line of bloody and limp girls. He had shot himself in the face.
Rescue workers rushed in and began their work. Several of the girls had been shot in the head, while others had suffered wounds in the back, legs, and thighs. One burly policeman was overcome and had to leave the scene. Once outside, he leaned over the school fence and wept.
Helicopters were brought in and the wounded girls were life-flighted to area hospitals. Several were conscious during the whole ordeal. Two sisters, Lena and Mary Miller, who were in critical condition, were separated, one flown to Philadelphia Hospital while the other was sent to Hershey Medical Center. No one on-site made the connection in the rush to give aid. The parents of all the victims began to arrive, and loving volunteer drivers escorted the families to the hospitals.
The parents of the Miller sisters made their way to Philadelphia to find their one daughter there, but she had already passed on into eternity. They waited for 30 minutes for information on where their other daughter had been taken. By the time they were told, that second daughter had also died.
Back at the schoolhouse, the news media had arrived, but the police kept them away out of respect for the grieving families. None of the Amish wanted their pictures flashed all over the world. Could their milkman have done such a thing? But Teacher Emma insisted. The shooter had been no one else.
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nbsp; Mr. Roberts’s body was taken to the morgue while parents waited at the hospitals for further news on their daughters. Three more had died for a total of five dead. The Amish community gathered in the homes of those affected and began to make funeral arrangements. Grave-diggers were assigned for the five graves. One would be a double grave for the Miller sisters. Many, many tears were shed. No tragedy had ever touched the hearts of the community like this.
The Amish expressed great sympathy also for Mrs. Roberts and her small children. Several of them traveled to her home and cried with her. She knew her husband had been having some depression problems, Mrs. Roberts told them, but this was beyond anything she could have imagined. She wept on the Amish women’s shoulders and expressed her heartfelt regret. It was made clear to Mrs. Roberts that no one blamed her for her husband’s actions. The tragedy would be left in the hands of God.
Before dark the shooting was on the news everywhere. Thousands who watched on TV claimed that Mr. Roberts must have been a man of the devil. And no doubt he did a devilish act, but the Amish decided to let God be the judge in that matter. They remembered how an evil spirit sent from God had entered King Saul’s heart in the Old Testament, which drove him to seek the life of young David, the anointed of the Lord.
In the days that followed, many people from all denominations shared their sympathy with the bereaved families. Three funerals were held in one day and two the next. The news media stood along the road with their huge cameras set up like clusters of trees in a forest, and the police kept them all at bay the best they could.
In order to express their sincere sympathy, the local police force had mounted police on horseback to escort the first funeral procession. The procession of buggies was two miles long. Mrs. Roberts watched them pass her home and wept uncontrollably.
After the five bodies were buried, Mr. Roberts’s funeral was held the following day. Dozens of Amish people attended and shared their deepest condolences. Many tears were also shed that day.
English neighbors attended the funerals of the Amish girls but were unable to understand the sermon, since it was preached in Pennsylvania Dutch. The scriptures in which Jesus spoke of loving our enemies and blessing those who curse us were read in English.
A View from the Buggy Page 15
