Death in Amish Country, A Jake Curtis / Vanessa Malone Mystery

By Tony Flye

Jake sitting in his office reading the paper as he usually does each morning, gets a call from a Marine Corps buddy, Gordon, a new member of the Old Order Amish Church. He called from the Lancaster County, Pennsylvania jail. He stands accused of murdering his fiancee's father. The two men fight in the barn after his fiancee's father slapped her. A gas fueled lantern is knocked over turning the barn into a blazing inferno. Gordon carries his future father-in-law from the burning barn, but he is dead when Gordon laid him on the ground. The autopsy reveals his future father-in-law was stabbed in the back several times.
A witness, his fiancee's brother Caleb, tells the police Gordon killed his father. Jake and Vanessa undertake to prove Gordon innocent and Jake calls on some of his other Marine Corps buddies, which he calls his platoon, for help while Vanessa takes on Gordon's legal defense. The police believe they have an airtight case. Failure to prove Gordon's innocence could mean a life sentence in a Pennsylvania prison for Gordon, but Jake and Vanessa see more holes in the police's case than in a colander.
While the Amish people have a great deal of respect for Gordon and believe in his innocence, Jake and Vanessa are stymied by the local Amish people's refusal to talk with the Englischers. The Amish call all non-Amish people Englischers. Gordon's friend, mentor and father figure, an elderly Amishman named Ephraim Glick, offers to smooth the way and the people now open up to Jake and Vanessa.
Under intense questioning, Caleb recants his accusations and the charges against Gordon are dropped, but the real killer is still unknown. Jake and Vanessa believe that until the real killer is brought to justice, a cloud of doubt will hang over Gordon's head forever. Jake and Vanessa proved Gordon innocent, now they have to remove the cloud hanging his head.
At first their course of action was to interview everyone they could to prove Gordon's innocence, now they have to reinterview everyone again to find the real killer. Their questions must be hitting close to someone's home as three Amish thugs attack Vanessa in the parking lot of a convenience store and put her in the hospital.
Armed with the names and descriptions of the thugs, the police make the arrests. Jake threatens to kill the thugs who hurt his wife until his platoon corporal, Lyons, convinces him to stay out of the fray so Jake can maintain his innocence when the police come knocking. Lyons and a few of the old platoon soon convince the thugs to mend their ways or bleed out on the cell floor.
Jake and Lyons' investigation runs into dead end after dead end. It looks as if whoever killed Gordon's father-in-law simply vanished in a puff of smoke. This case had Jake at his wits end. At dinner at Gordon's fiancee's mother's farmhouse, Jake admits he's stumped by this case and is ready to give up and go back to D.C.
The sounds of fight between a man and a woman erupt outside the farmhouse. The neurotic woman who fancies herself in love with Caleb's older brother, David, and fancies he's in love with her enter into a screaming match with him. The woman, as tempers flare and the argument intensifies, goes into a psychotic episode, yelling, screaming and cursing David, his father-in-law and anyone else who tries to intervene. In the midst of her tirade, she screams she's the one who stabbed Gordon's father-in-law.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Flye
• Release date: Sep 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310506628

Tony Flye

Tony Flye's third book in the Jake Curtis / Vanessa Malone Mystery series, DEATH IN DIVORCE is in the final stages of editing and should be available by Christmas Tony is also working on a collection of short stories tentatively titled STORIES OF HORROR AND MURDER

Book preview

Cover photo and cover art by Rocky M.

DEDICATION

For Susan, my inspiration

DEATH IN AMISH COUNTRY, A JAKE CURTIS / VANESSA MALONE MYSTERY

CHAPTER 1

JAKE

I've just been arrested for murder, were the first words that came through my office phone when I put the receiver to my ear. My friend and old marine Corps buddy Gordon Meade had just been arrested for killing an Amish man. My platoon PFC's call came from the Lancaster County, Pennsylvania Jail – collect.

I'm accused of killing Amos Stoltzfus . He's my fiancee's father. Sarge, I didn't do it. I'm being framed.

What would you like me to do?

"Sarge, I need you to come up to Lancaster County and prove I'm innocent.

He asked me, almost begged me, to drive up to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania and prove him innocent. I’ve never known Gordon Meade to tell me a lie.

My name is Jake Curtis, an inactive U. S. Marine. Marines never retire, they just go inactive. I served in Gulf War. I also spent two years as a D. C. police officer but quit because of all the regimentation. I opened my own private investigation agency in Washington D. C. I heard that after Gordon Meade left the Corps, he did some freelance work for that three lettered government agency who wouldn’t want such things being made public.

Vanessa Malone, my partner in my private investigation agency, my attorney and my wife stepped into my office from hers across the hall with her coffee mug in hand. She blew me an air kiss as she walked to the coffee pot and filled her cup.

My wife stands five feet five, has rust colored red hair, green eyes, a hundred fifteen pounds, a luscious full figure that turns men's heads when she walks past and her inbred Irish temper. She's smart, she graduated from Georgetown University law school.

I covered the mouthpiece and smiled at Vanessa. My friend Gordon Meade is on the line. He's calling from the Lancaster County jail, collect.

Pointing to the phone, Put him on the speaker, please.

Gordon, you mind if I put you on the speaker? I think your future lawyer wants to listen in.

That's fine.

Vanessa asked Gordon several questions. We'll be in Lancaster by dinner.

Gordon's attitude improved since the beginning of this call. His sense of humor returned. "I'll apologize in advance for not being a better host but my liberty is sort of restricted.

Vanessa and I went home, threw some clothes in a suitcase. She threw her girly things; makeup, hair dryer and such in another suitcase and we headed to Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

Lancaster County is a two hour drive from D. C. Once past the Baltimore metropolitan area the traffic moved freely. The scenery north of Baltimore was mostly rolling farm lands. The blue sky and the warm late summer sun lent a lazy vacation atmosphere to our serious drive.

The law firm of Barrows and Rose, the third largest law firm in the D. C. metro area, terminated Vanessa's employment as an associate just a week after promising her a full partnership. However the two senior partners thought so highly of Vanessa's courtroom ability, they wanted her to handle the cases for their clients they didn't want to be seen handling. Vanessa decided as the only partner in her new law firm, she would bill Barrows and Rose the full partner's fee she knew B and R billed their clients.

I got a call this morning from Randy Barrows. You remember the case he sent me a few months back? Vanessa said.

The one where their client's twenty-two year old daughter wrote some promissory notes for fifteen grand to a couple of lowlife gamblers who threatened the daughter's health and safety unless the notes were were paid, and paid promptly?

That's the one. You and Ben Lyons had a heart to heart talk with the lowlifes showing them that hurting the young lady in question would not be in their best interest. Ben Lyons is my former platoon corporal from the First Gulf War.

I remember. We told them these gambling debts were illegal and therefore unenforceable and could not be collected in a court of law. I didn't know whether they were legal or not but I didn't think they knew either.

They're not.

That's what I thought. We reminded them if they threatened or assaulted our client or the twenty-two year old girl we'd be back and kick their asses. I think they got the message because they voluntarily gave us the daughter's signed notes for half the two grand we were authorized to pay. I gave them a word of advise: don't take anymore of her bets. They said they would relay the advise to their boss.

Vanessa frowned. The client appreciated the savings, but he sure as hell didn't say keep the change.

That first fee was just enough to rent the office across the hall from mine on Connecticut Avenue, redecorate and hire a receptionist slash paralegal.

The office had been available for about nine months now after the former tenants, a pair of lady interior designers, decided gun shots in front of their office was not conducive to selling their designs to the affluent dowagers of the city. It turned out I was forced to kill a hood who barged into my office and took several shots at me. He bled out on my new rug.

Vanessa smiled. Lucky me.

The balance of the fee went to pick up the dinner tab at Timothy's Pub for us, Lyons and Marilyn. I remember that night well. We had good time later at home.

Vanessa gave me a sexy look. I remember that night too.

What did Randy want today? Don't tell me they took more of the girl's bets.

Same girl, different lowlifes.

And Randy wants us to have a talk with them?

For a private dick, you're a smart man.

I love it when you build me up.

If I built you up any more, I'd need a ladder to kiss you.

I love you too.

Ditto.

I pulled out my cellphone and punched Lyon’s speed dial number. Corporal, do you remember the little talk we had a few months ago with a couple of gamblers. He did and he asked me if the girl was at it again.

Same problem, different gamblers. I gave him the details. Suppose we meet at the office tomorrow at ten? A pause. Alright, I'll see you tomorrow."

Vanessa turned and looked at me. How are you going to manage being in two places at the same time tomorrow?"

I smiled and patted Vanessa's knee. I don't know. But I managed.

CHAPTER 2

GORDON

My former platoon sergeant Jake Curtis arrived at the county jail on King Street at our dinner time. The Sarge and a woman I assumed to be his wife and my new lawyer, sat in the lawyer's visiting area.

I stumbled into the interview room wearing hand cuffs and ankle manacles with a chain running between my handcuffs and ankle manacles. I wore the standard issue orange jumpsuit with Lancaster County DOC stenciled across the back and white flip-flops. I hate flip-flops

Please remove the manacles, The Sarge said to the closest guard who escorted me into the room.

Are you sure? He's accused of murder you know, The guard said.

The woman with the Sarge spoke up, It'll be fine. Please leave us alone.

The guard nodded and removed the cuffs and manacles. At the door the second guard tuned back. We'll be right outside if you need us. The sarge nodded.

The Sarge and I shook hands and then pulled each other into a hug that only buddies who eat, sleep, fight and sometimes bleed along side of each other experience. He introduced the woman to me as Vanessa his wife and an attorney.

The Sarge looked me up and down. You look like crap. Did you get any sleep last night? The dark circles around your eyes makes you look like a raccoon.

The first word our of your mouth is 'you look like crap,' thanks. And who could sleep in jail accused of murder?

He hugged me again. Don't be depressed. The Marines are here to save your sorry ass. Vanessa laughed, I laughed. The Sarge hugged me again.

I sat down on the uncomfortable steel chair. Vanessa smiled at me. I had to bully my way past the jailer demanding to see you as I just found out about your incarceration two hours ago. Gordon, would you like me to represent you?

Yes. Vanessa pulled a memo of agreement for representation from her briefcase and slid it across the steel table to me along with her pen. I signed it and slid the paper and the pen back across the table.

Vanessa took a fresh legal pad from her brief case. Tell us what happened to you since leaving the Corps, The Sarge said.

"When I left the Corps, I'd had enough fighting. I wanted peace and quiet and tranquility. I spent as many weekends up here as I could. I thought Lancaster County would be a place where I'd like to live. I came up to Lancaster and as the expression goes, I fell in love with the place.

"The three lettered government agency located in Langley, Virginia approached me about doing some work for them

"The CIA? Vanessa asked. The look on her face told me she took my silence as a yes.

The idea of working for the spooks intrigued me. I did some overseas work for the Company alone in the field. And as I piled successes they asked me to take out a minor foreign politician.

Vanessa stares at me. Take out?

Kill.

Did you kill him? Vanessa asked.

Yes, I killed him. The room became silent for a full minute. As much as I tried to prevent it, a tear ran down my cheek.

It wasn't like in the Gulf where the other guy was shooting at me. In combat, it's either kill or be killed. This was different. This guy expected to go home to his wife and kids that night. I took him out from a block away. I watched his head explode. A reddish gray mist surrounded him. I puked right where I knelt. I told Ephraim Glick about it late one night. He took me to see Bishop King. Bishop King told me God forgave me. The problem is I haven't forgiven myself. You both are the only civilians except Ephraim and the Bishop I ever told about this sanction. I wished to God I never took that shot. I became quiet again, another tear rolled down my cheek.

My voice choked up. I quit the Company and moved here. My voice cleared. Long story short, I met a beautiful young Amish woman, Rebecca Yoder, a widow after being married only one day, working at her father's roadside produce stand. Her hair is the color of wheat in the field at harvest time. Her eyes as blue as the sky on a sunny Summer's day. And a smile, such a beautiful smile. When she smiles her eyes sparkle. We started talking about produce, I said. He closed his eyes and smiled. "I asked her out but she turned me down saying she couldn’t associate with an Englischer. That’s what the Amish call the non-Amish people.

And it's her father you're accused of killing? Vanessa asked.

Yes. Vanessa made a note.

Vanessa stopped writing on her pad. Who is this Ephraim Glick you mentioned?

"I met him on one of my first visits up here. He's Amish. Everyone in Intercourse, Pennsylvania who knows Ephraim calls him by both names like Michelangelo so it became natural for me to do likewise. His wife died many years ago giving birth to their first child, a boy. The baby died a day later. He never remarried. He said he grieved for years. He sold me a plot of his farmland up against the highway on which I built my house. His only caveat was that the farmable soil dug from the excavation be piled up on the farm and sodded over.

Through our evening talks I decided to take the necessary lessons and join the Amish Order. After I'd been here a couple of years Ephraim Glick and I sat late one night at the kitchen table unwinding after a particularly long back breaking day working in the fields. He told me he that night considered me the son he never had.

"Things began looking up for Rebecca and me after I started taking the two year preparations classes for joining the church. She became friendlier. As the lessons went on we spent more time alone together.

"Ephraim amazed the entire Amish community by selling me his farm. I knocked down my new house, filled in the excavation and covered the ground with the piled up sod covered dirt returning the plot to farmland.

Maybe that's why he wanted the dirt piled up all along. Maybe he knew something at the time you didn't, The Sarge said.

"Maybe so, but anyway I moved into the farmhouse with Ephraim.

Rebecca's girl friends were infatuated with me and happy to see Rebecca returning to her normal happy self after the death of her first husband, Jakob. Rebecca married Jakob Yoder one day and became his widow the next. He died in a traffic accident with a big Buick Electra driven by an impatient Englischer. The driver came up behind Levi Lapp's buggy, her husband's best friend, who followed Jakob carrying some of Jakob's things to Rebecca's parents' farm where the newlywed couple were going to live for the time being. I looked at up The Sarge. They were riding in convoy with Jakob running point. The sarge nodded. He understood.

The Buick came right up on Levi's tail, brakes screeching, horn blaring. The Buick shot past Levi's buggy accelerating rapidly. The Buick driver must not have seen Jakob's buggy ahead and quickly pulled in front of Levi to avoid an oncoming car. The Buick smashed into Jakob's buggy killing Jakob and the horse instantly. I found out later after the Buick driver was sentenced to seven years in prison, Rebecca forgave him. Like I said, I met a beautiful woman.

Vanessa made a few notes on her legal pad. "Her friends considered us a couple. I fell in love with Rebecca and I know she loves me.

Just before completing the two year indoctrination course, four guys dressed in black suits boldly drove up our driveway.

The CIA? I nodded.

"The Company said they needed me. It seems an American ambassador was being held captive by Afghan insurgents and all diplomatic efforts failed. The Afghans are not firm believers in diplomatic immunity. The Company wanted me to infiltrate Afghanistan, locate the ambassador wherever he was and extract him. Sounded simple.

Yeah, right, The Sarge said. He knew better.

I looked at the Sarge. I told them I was no longer employed by the three letter agency.

CIA? Vanessa asked.

I nodded and continued. I said 'thanks, but no thanks.' They said, 'name your price.' I didn't want to do it so I gave them an outlandishly high price. Twenty-five million dollars cash, no documents plus expenses and any medical bills. I thought it would scare them off. The agent who appeared to be in charge pulled a sat phone from his jacket pocket, punched in one number as he stepped away from us.

Sat phone? Vanessa asked.

A satellite telephone.

Oh, Vanessa said.

I laughed. Vanessa, you haven't had too much exposure to our spy agency, have you?

It shows, huh?

The agent in charge snapped his phone closed and walked back to us. 'The Company agreed. Let's go.' "

"We headed for the car and Ephraim said he would let Rebecca know. They told me it would only take a week or so. The 'or so' turned out to be five months.

Vanessa leaned forward. Did you get the Ambassador out?

I got him out but before I could get myself out I was captured. The insurgents threatened to cut off my head but they settled for imprisonment and torture. They beat the shit out of me with their riding crops, fists, ax handles and anything else they could lay their hands on. Pardon my choice of words.

I've heard worse, Vanessa said.

"I was starved. They broke my leg and ignored it. It mended naturally but improperly. If they thought I was CIA they would have cut off my head no questions asked.

When I got out of the Company car five months later Ephraim almost didn't recognize me. I lost almost sixty pounds. He stared at me, wondering. I came away with a permanent limp and a receipt for twenty-five million dollars direct deposited onto my bank account. When he finally did recognize me he wrapped his arms around me and called me his Prodigal Son. Unfortunately I had to start the two year indoctrination for the church all over again.

Tell us how you happened to be arrested for murdering this Amos Stoltzfus? Rebecca's father right? Who is he? Vanessa asked.

Amos Stoltzfus hated me and he hated the fact that Rebecca was beginnng to fall in love with me.

Why did he hate you?

"He thought I was unworthy to be with Rebecca because I wasn't born of Amish parents. He called me all sorts of things I've never heard from the lips of an Amishman before. Vile things. He did everything he could to prevent me from becoming Amish.

On the day I took baptism and became a member in the church, I asked Rebecca to marry me. She said yes. Now she won't talk to me. She won't even let me tell her I didn't kill her father.

Did you kill her father? Vanessa asked.

No I didn't.

Vanessa sat up in the chair. "Tell us what happened the night Amos Stoltzfus died.

The door opened and one of the guards stuck his head in the room. I'm sorry but if the prisoner doesn't eat his dinner now, he won't eat until breakfast tomorrow morning.

Don't do anything stupid while you're in here, Jake said.

Gordon, Your preliminary hearing is scheduled for the morning the day after tomorrow. I'll be there and you'll be there. I'll try to get you out on bail, Vanessa said.

What are you going to do now? Gordon asked.

The guard spoke more firmly this time. It's time to go.

We're going to talk to people. We'll start out with the Lancaster County police detective in charge of the case and see if we can get a copy of their report along with a copy of the autopsy report, Vanessa said.

Start with Ephraim Glick, Gordon said.

We will after we talk with the police, Vanessa said.

Both guards came back into the room carrying my chains. As The Sarge and Vanessa stood to leave, Vanessa and I shook hands and Jake gave me another hug. Thanks Sarge, I whispered in his ear. The guards replaced the manacles around my wrists and ankles and led me back to my cell.

CHAPTER 3

JAKE

We drove the short distance from the jail to the county police headquarters and were ushered into the office of Detective Lieutenant Jonathan Miller. He seemed rather young to be a police lieutenant. He was six feet two inches tall, dark hair and clean shaven but with the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow. Her wore an off the rack gray suit and looked uncomfortable wearing it.

After introductions Jonathan Miller's eyes widened. He waived his index finger at me. You're the two who solved that eighty year old murder in Mossville last spring?

Actually it was two murders, I said.

We had some help, Vanessa said.

Tom Forsythe told me all about it at a police workshop in July, Jonathan said. Tom Forsythe was the police lieutenant in Mossville, Pennsylvania where Vanessa found a skeleton in what was at one time a basement speakeasy in the Primrose Hotel. The skeleton had a bullet hole in the center of its skull put there by Mossville police detective Tom Forsythe's grandfather, a hitman for the mob.

You both impressed the hell out of him. But he was kinda quiet when he told me the story, Jonathan said. Vanessa looked down and I just shrugged. It wasn't our job to tell him Forsythe's relationship with the murderer.

Vanessa opened her briefcase and took out her notebook and flipped the sheets over to a fresh page. We're here representing our client, Gordon Meade. He says he's innocent.

They all say they're innocent when they get arrested.

Gordon Meade was a Marine PFC who fought under me in the First Gulf War.

You were in the Corps? Jonathan said. Semper Fi.

Semper Fi.

My father retired a full bird colonel from the Marines. Vanessa's pride showing on her face.

I was in the first Gulf War, Jonathan said.

I don't think we ever ran into each other there, I said. After some quick calculations we realized we were in country at different times.

How can I help you? Jonathan asked.

We'd like a copy of your police report and the autopsy report of Amos Stoltzfus' death, Vanessa said.

Jonathan picked up the phone on his desk, punched in a number. Janie, can you come in here please? A pause while he listened to Janie on the other end of the line. Thanks. The office door opened and a petite five foot one inch woman in her mid twenties with a short blond hair wearing a tight fitting apple green sweater, a forest green skirt six inches above her knees and her blue eyes behind gold wire rimmed glasses on her turned up nose stepped into Miller's office.

Janie, would you take the Gordon Meade file and make a copy of everything in it for me please? He handed her the file. Thanks,. She turned and left the office. Turning to Vanessa and me, It'll take a few minutes.

Jonathan, would you have any idea of why Gordon Meade would murder Amos Stoltzfus? I asked.

"Word around the Amish community is that Amos Stoltzfus had it in for your friend.

What do you mean, 'had it in for?' I asked.

Jonathan Miller took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Your friend had the bad manners to fall in love with Amos Stoltzfus' daughter and propose marriage.

Vanessa made a note on her legal pad. How so?

Amos believed that only persons born into the Amish church could join the church.

And marry an Amish woman? Vanessa asked, finishing the statement

Yes.

Gordon told us it was about his asking Amos' daughter to marry him, her saying yes and Amos' reaction to it. I've known Gordon for years. He's a good man, I said.

Jonathan Miller took in another deep breath and let it out slowly. I've known Amos Stoltzfus for years. You see, I grew up Amish, A surprised look crossed my face.

Amos Stoltzfus can be a mean and spiteful man but he's dedicated to the Amish church. He always defended the church from what he considered impurities.

Impurities? Vanessa asked.

Impurities, such as Englischers, non Amish, joining the church and marrying into Amish families. Part of Amos' problems stem from the fact that Rebecca was once married and widowed. In Amish culture being a widowed daughter's not the same as being a spinster daughter. Once married, an Amish woman is no longer under her father's cover but under her husband's cover even if that marriage last only one day. Even though she's now living in her father's house she is not under his control but she is her own woman.

How well do you know the Amish in this area? I asked.

You mean this church district? Jonathan asked.

I guess, I said.

I know quite a few but they have shunned me for leaving the church, Jonathan said.

Do you know Ephraim Glick? I asked.

Yes. He's a good man and the only Amish person who'll defy the shun and talk to me when he sees me, Jonathan said.

Can you give us directions to his farm? I asked.

Before he could answer, Janie came into his office carrying a file folder with the copy of the police report. He thumbed through it as if looking for some contraband. He noted directions on the file folder to Ephraim Glick's farm then handed the folder to Vanessa.

Jake, Vanessa, when you talk to the Amish remember what you see is their way of life. It's what they believe in. If you show them the respect they're entitled to, it will go a long way to getting the information you're looking for.

We shook Jonathan Miller's hand. Thanks for your help and the words of wisdom.

CHAPTER 4

While I drove to Gordon and Ephraim Glick's farm Vanessa read the police report to me. It appears that Gordon and Amos Stoltzfus had a fist fight that started in the yard and ended up in Amos' barn. A fire started in the barn during the fight. There were no witnesses to the fight but Amos' young son, Caleb, saw Gordon carry the unconscious Amos from the burning barn. Amos was dead when Gordon laid him on the ground. The coroner said Amos Stoltzfus died of three stab wounds to the back, one of which nicked a rib as it passed between them, cut through the side of the left lung and pierced his heart killing him instantly.

Turning back to the police report Vanessa searched for a notation about the murder weapon. There was no mention of a weapon found at the crime scene or on Gordon Meade when he was arrested but remember that by the time the police arrived, the barn was an inferno.

The murderer must've taken it with him, I said.

Vanessa flipped the pages of the file back and forth. There is no mention of how the fire in the barn started.

See if you can get a copy of the Fire Marshal's report tomorrow, I said.

Vanessa continued reading. Caleb ran to a non-Amish neighbor to use their phone and called the police. They arrested Gordon half an hour later basically on Caleb Stoltzfus' word. It appears Caleb Stoltzfus is the prosecution’s main and only witness.

I think we need to talk with Caleb Stoltzfus.

Vanessa nodded. I think so too.

She spent the rest of the ride to Ephraim Glick and Gordon's farm quiet, watching the bucolic fields and beautiful farmhouses go by. It must be beautiful here in the spring when the crops first break through the soil; when the brown of the earth takes on a greenish tint of the new life. Or in the late summer just before the harvest when the fields are covered with the amber waves of grain and the tall deep green cornstalks and the earth brought forth its bounty.

And the fragrant aroma of the manure used for fertilizer permeates the air, I said, tongue in cheek.

We pulled into Ephraim Glick's drive and saw an elderly bearded Amish farmer tending to a pair of heavy draft horses in the corral next to the well maintained white painted barn. The equally maintained white farmhouse stood a hundred feet west of the barn. The house featured many gables along the roof line and two lean-to additions. Each gable had a window centered in its facade. Forest green shingles covered the roof which contrasted with the stark white of the house in the brilliant sunlight. A porch with white balustrades and a green railing to match the roof surrounded the house. The porch roof was covered with the same shingles as the roof of the house. The porch decking painted battleship gray.

Just inside the barn stood a farm wagon with it's steel tires. The front of the long wooden tongue rested on the ground as if the horses had just been unhitched. The back of the wagon was filled with a load of fresh milled lumber and several boxes of what we found out later were nails and other building hardware.

We walked up to the elderly farmer.Mr. Glick?

Ya, he answered in his German accented English. I introduced ourselves and explained that Gordon Meade asked us to come up to Lancaster to help him out.

Please call me Ephraim. He led us toward the kitchen. Please, come inside. Let us talk. Before entering he scrapped the mud from his brown work brogans on a forged steel scraper bolted to the stoop. With slight sideways kick of the toe, he sent the accumulated dirt into the nearby flowerbed.

Ephraim Glick pointed to the chairs