'WE'LL NEVER BE THE SAME'

NICKEL MINES, Pa. - It is so quiet here now, a year after the massacre.

The one-room stucco schoolhouse that became instantly recognized around the world is gone, replaced by a lonely field of grass and a half-dozen grazing horses.

Gone, too, are the dozens of satellite trucks, pushy cameramen and nosy reporters who seemingly dropped from the sky on this tiny town a year ago today, when a local milkman went mad and executed five Amish schoolgirls, seriously wounded five others, and then turned the gun on himself.

On the surface, there's nothing to indicate that a massive tragedy occurred here - no armed guards or metal detectors at the schools, no shiny public memorials or extra cops on the narrow two-lane roads - but the healing is far from complete.

Of the five girls who were wounded by killer Charles Carl Roberts IV and survived, four of them - Sarah Ann Stoltzfus, Rachel Ann Stoltzfus, Barbie Fisher and Esther King - were able to return to school just a few months after the shooting.

The fifth girl, Rosanna King, 7, was left wheelchair-bound from a gunshot wound to the head. Doctors initially said she wouldn't survive her injuries, but she is now able to laugh and sometimes move her limbs, according to Amish community members, who say her progress is nothing short of a miracle.

Family members say several of the 15 male students who escaped the West Nickel Mines Amish School moments before the bloodshed began are in counseling because of torturous feelings of regret and survivor's guilt.

Roberts' family, including his widow, Marie, and their three children, were all embraced by the Amish community, whose forgiveness and grace became almost as notable as the tragedy itself.

But Marie Roberts surprised Amish and non-Amish folks when she moved from the modular home she shared with her husband to another spot in Lancaster County, and then married an insurance salesman who had brought blankets to her home after the tragedy, according to several reports.

The worldwide outpouring of sympathy that followed the schoolhouse slayings has made the recovery process a little easier for the families who suffered losses that day.

An accountability committee was formed to handle donations, which totaled more than $4.3 million. Officials say about a third of the funds have been used to pay for reconstructive surgery, physical and emotional therapy, and other needs. The remaining funds likely will be put in a trust fund for ongoing expenses.

But no matter how much time may pass or how far the surviving victims and their families might progress, no one will ever be able to forget the day Charlie Roberts brought horror and pain to their peaceful world, leaving it forever altered.

'A bad dream'

After hugging his two oldest kids at a bus stop last Oct. 2, and then leaving four rambling notes inside his house, Roberts headed to the West Nickel Mines Amish School, tormented by inner demons and armed for a final battle.

According to the notes that he left behind, Roberts believed that the death of his infant daughter Elise almost a decade ago was God's way of punishing him for molesting two female relatives earlier in his life, said State Police Commissioner Jeffrey Miller.

Roberts also said in his notes that he had started fantasizing about molesting minors again, Miller said.

He stormed the Amish schoolhouse, armed with a weapons cache that included a shotgun, rifle, handgun, 600 rounds of ammunition, sexual lubricant and wooden boards.

When the state police quickly showed up shortly before 11 a.m., Roberts fired away - starting with Marian Fisher, 13, who reportedly had told him, "Shoot me first," in an attempt to save other girls - and then turned the gun on himself.

"It appears that he had a great deal of hatred towards God," Miller said last week. "But truthfully, we'll never be completely certain as to what he was thinking."

Miller said some of his troopers are in counseling because of what they saw and heard that day, noting that one trooper cradled a young girl as she died.

"Obviously, you see a lot of bad things in this job, but never anything like this. It was on another level," he said.

Mary Miller, who lived across the street from the Roberts family, said: "It was like a bad dream. Even now, every time I hear a helicopter, it brings that day back.

"Now I'm always afraid that there will be some sort of copycat because of all the attention Charlie received."

Residents believe that Marie Roberts might have moved in an attempt to distance herself from the terrible memories.

"She probably just wanted a fresh start, but there's really no getting away from it," said Tom Erb, 57, the Roberts' former next-door neighbor.

"It surprised me that she moved on so quickly. She could have stayed here. We didn't blame her."

Healing and grace

The Nickel Mines school was torn down just 10 days after the shooting in an effort to help families move forward, and to ward off tourists, who started arriving in droves and taking photos.

Students, including the surviving girls, now attend the New Hope School, another one-room schoolhouse that was built in the aftermath of the shootings.

It is set off the road, not far from the old building, and surrounded by a small chain-link fence. Children giggled as they left the building last week, blue and red lunch pails in hand. To mark the tragic anniversary, the school will be closed today.

"There was some discussion about putting a phone in there or adding extra security, but our leaders don't want to compromise our principles for one incident," said Daniel Esh, whose three grandnephews escaped the carnage. "Frankly, I'm glad we're not."

Much has been made of the Amish people's willingness to forgive Roberts and even lend financial support to the family he left behind.

Donald Kraybill, a senior fellow at Elizabethtown College, coauthored "Amish Grace: How Forgiveness Transcended Tragedy," a book that details the reaction of many of the victims' families.

"The big question in their mind is, 'Why did God allow this to happen?' " Kraybill said. "For some Amish people, one of the good things that came out of this tragedy is that it inspired others to forgive as well."

Esh, 57, looked out from his wood shop last week at miles and miles of golden farm fields and cocked his head thoughtfully.

"We'll never be the same, not when you go through a tragedy this big," he said. "You have to find a new normal, and have faith that you can continue to cope." *