A new chapter begins for Amish

NICKEL MINES, Pa. - In a dreamlike setting yesterday morning, with gray silos silhouetted in the milky fog and fields sparkling with dew, the Amish children who survived October's massacre were escorted by their fathers and state police to the first day of classes in their new school.

At 7:30 a.m., four of the students, three boys in straw hats and a girl in a black bonnet, toting plastic lunch pails in red, blue and green, seemed to appear out of nowhere, following their father like ducklings as he led them in muddy boots across a farm. The only sounds were the soft rush of an occasional car on the road, the rhythmic pounding of a hammer as a man planted the last of a crop of wooden "No Trespassing" signs on a field across from the school, and the castanet clicks of camera shutters.

Yesterday marked six months to the day when Charles Carl Roberts IV, a local milk-truck driver, calmly entered the Nickel Mines one-room schoolhouse, where he bound and shot 10 girls before killing himself.

Five of the girls survived, although the most seriously injured remains at home, where she requires help for all her basic needs. The original school was razed a week after the tragedy. In the last few months, the four girls, and all the boys, whom Roberts told to leave before he barricaded the doors, have attended class in the garage of one of the families' homes.

The new school was built on property donated by the family of Marian Fisher, one of the girls who was killed, said one man who worked on the structure. Like many Amish, whose belief in humility bars bringing any attention to oneself, he asked that his name be withheld. Construction began in January, he said, and the final touches were finished on Saturday.

Normally, the process goes more quickly, with the whole community arriving at once to do the work. But because so many companies offered their services, the work was accomplished in phases to accommodate the donors' schedules.

"It's a bittersweet day, I think," said Herman Bontrager, spokesman for the nine-member Nickel Mines Accountability Committee, a group of community leaders appointed by the Amish to administer the school victims' fund. "It's a day where there's the excitement of a brand-new place, finally a real school. It's also a stark reminder of what happened, and who's not there." To help correct the gender imbalance, two girls were transferred from another school.

The Amish community chose the name New Hope Amish School as a symbol of the future, he said. "It's a symbol they're hanging onto, to help focus on the future and not only the past. But the past is keenly in front of them every day, when they wake up without their daughters or with their injured daughters."

Over the last six months, he said, the community has continued to support the families. "Some of the pain gets pretty intense," he said. Though it varies among families and individuals, "they all understand they have a lot to work through yet."

So much has changed for this community, although in many ways it remains soothingly the same.

It would be unfair to say the Nickel Mines families were ever of the belief that their simple ways, relatively rural isolation, and profound faith made them immune to trouble. Still, when Roberts struck, whatever comfort they took believing they were shielded from the afflictions of the outside world was shattered.

Leaning on a shovel, a pen clipped to the pocket of his hand-sewn shirt, one of the other members of the Nickel Mines Accountability Committee said, "We were throwing around ideas about electrical devices for the new school. Some kind of alarm system. But they all just kind of decided we're going to do as we did before. Rely on God's protection for safety."

The new school doesn't have a phone. But it was built closer than the old one was to homes that do. And sensors were installed to alert teachers and students when visitors arrive.

Yesterday, state troopers parked their cars at the entrance to the farm road leading to the new school and remained throughout the day, greeting Amish men with warm handshakes and talking to the boys on scooters who came by to steal curious looks at the news media. At the mere approach of a reporter, the troopers advanced their cars and issued stern warnings that the street was a private drive and off limits.

Before the killings, there had been little interaction with the police, the man with the shovel said. "But now, the children all know the cops' names." He described a meeting held several weeks after the shootings.

"One trooper didn't want to go. His dad said, 'If you don't, you're a coward.' " The trooper showed up and joined his coworkers. They were seated in chairs on a stage at the front of the room with the families in the audience, the committee member said.

"Nobody really wanted to open up, so the police came down off the stage, walked to the families and knelt down in front of them." Unembarrassed, brushing a tear from his eye, he said, "After that, they talked for two hours."

Emotionally, community members say, there are ups and downs. For those who saw the worst - one man arrived to see a little girl's face blown off - the scars will never heal completely.

The man who lost two daughters, Lena Zook Miller, 7, and Mary Liz Miller, 8, told a friend the other day that he had recently had one of his roughest weeks since the shootings, so rough he had difficulty finding the strength to go into the fields to work.

"I couldn't believe the world was making such a do about forgiveness," the man with the shovel said, referring to the praise the Amish received for reaching out to Roberts' widow. "We always do that. It wasn't Mrs. Roberts' fault this happened." At the committee meeting a few weeks ago the man said, "they announced that she's getting married. To her cousin's ex-husband, I think." He hesitated. "I guess that means he was divorced. Is that right?" At times, it is hard for many of the bereaved families not to question why their children were taken from them.

"But," he said, "by harboring bitterness, you will sell part of your soul to the devil."