MECHANICSVILLE -- The procession of black, horse-drawn buggies to the Stoltzfus farm began yesterday at first light.
The Amish of northern St. Mary's County came to comfort a brother and to try to come to grips with a rare explosion of violence within their pacifist society. What police believe was a murder-suicide at the Stoltzfus farm Thursday rocked this stable community.
"We hear about this kind of thing happening in the outside world," said an Amish farmer who, typical of a people who closely guard their privacy, declined to give his name. "But this time it happened in our own neighborhood. It's very shameful."
It was only the second time that an Amish had killed another Amish, said George R. Smith, an expert in Amish history. Mr. Smith, 88, is national editor of The Budget, a newspaper in Sugarcreek, Ohio, that circulates to Amish and Mennonites around the country.
The other homicide was last year in northwestern Pennsylvania, when an Amish man killed his Amish wife, he said. The man was found to be mentally ill.
Phyllis Pellman Good is an author, educator and co-director of the the People's Place, an Amish-Mennonite educational center in Intercourse, Pa. She said the slaying in St. Mary's County shocked her.
"Peace is taught [among the Amish] as a way of life," she said. "It's not only an ideal you subscribe to verbally. It permeates all of your entire life."
Motive unknown
So the question in the Maryland murder remains: Why?
"We know the when and how," said Cpl. Rick Barilone of the state police. "Now we're trying to figure out the why."
The when was Thursday morning. Police said they think Thomas J. Ballard, a 16-year-old Amish farm worker, killed Hannah Y. Stoltzfus, 28, and beat her three children, then killed himself.
The how was a 20-gauge shotgun. Mrs. Stoltzfus was shot once in the back from six to 10 inches away, Corporal Barilone said. Her skull had been fractured by a blunt object so far unidentified, he said.
Her husband, Jacob H. Stoltzfus Jr., 26, discovered her body in the kitchen when he came home for lunch. Thomas Ballard was found in the backyard, a gunshot wound to his head and the shotgun by his side, police said.
The Ballard youth had worked at the Stoltzfus farm for more than a year, living there during the week and returning to his parents' house nearby on weekends.
One of his teachers said yesterday that he frequently lashed out at students and challenged them to fight. He attended the one-room white schoolhouse from age 6 to 14, the end of formal schooling for the sect. Like the Amish farmer, the teacher spoke reluctantly and would not reveal her name.
A teacher for 10 years, she said behavior such as the Ballard youth's was "very unusual" at the Amish school, where discipline is usually impeccable. Teachers spoke to his parents about it, but the problem persisted, she said.
"I felt he still had the problem when he left," the teacher said. "I felt he did not get over it."
The Amish farmer, a neighbor of the Stoltzfuses, said young Ballard was notorious for his temper in school but that no one ever spoke about problems between the youth and the Stoltzfus family.
"And we all know each other very good," he said of the 125 Amish families in the area.
Members of the Ballard family declined to talk with a reporter from The Sun, but they spoke with police investigators.
"Even the family said he was known to have a temper," Corporal Barilone said. "But they never, ever believed he could do something like this."
The Ballards were not born Amish. Thomas Ballard's parents converted as adults. His father, Brad, quit the sect. Mrs. Ballard remained, and so did the three children. It is not clear at what age Thomas Ballard began his Amish upbringing.
"All the boy's bloodlines were from the outside world," the Amish farmer said. "If you're not raised by Amish blood, you have an awful hard time being Amish."
Two of the three Stoltzfus children had been beaten so badly that they were flown by MedEvac helicopters to Children's Hospital in Washington. The conditions of Amos, 3, and Omer, 2, were upgraded yesterday from critical to serious. The 8-month-old daughter, Rebecca, was also treated at the hospital for less severe injures. She was released yesterday.
Their father spent the day at the hospital, friends said. Corporal Barilone said investigators were there too, trying to interview the 3-year-old. He was in the kitchen with his mother and semiconscious at the time of the shooting, police said.
Help for family
In Mr. Stoltzfus' absence yesterday, Amish streamed to his house. By midmorning, a dozen buggies sat outside. Bearded men wearing black clothes and hats split wood in the back yard. Women with white veils on their heads washed windows.
The Stoltzfuses' nearest neighbor, Joe Williams, 67, who is not Amish, said such a reaction was typical.
"One of the Amish had a chimney fire about two years ago," Mr. Williams said. "The next day they were all over there, and that place was reroofed and repaired in a day.
"I suspect Jake [Stoltzfus] will have some help with the children and continue farming. These people have a way of getting over such things, and life goes on."
Mr. Williams described the Stoltzfuses as "hard-working, rural, farm people. No frills -- no electricity, no phone, no car. They're very private-type people
"They wouldn't harm anybody -- no way. What makes it so difficult to believe is they're a passive people."
Sam Burch, 71, the landlord who rented the 210-acre farm to the Stoltzfuses, has lived in St. Mary's County all his life. He said the Amish began moving there from Pennsylvania in 1939 and 1940 because land was cheaper.
"This is unprecedented, this kind of thing happening among their group," said Mr. Burch, who is not Amish.
The Amish farmer who lives near the Stoltzfuses choked back emotion as he talked about it.
"I know that I didn't sleep good last night," he said softly. "A lot of other people didn't either."