Solitude Death, An Amish Country Murder

71 Pages·2016·0.2 MB·English

by  McKee Sandy

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 use 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 never
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.
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.