not voice their opinion. Instead, they assured Mrs. Kreutz that they were doing everything possible to find Manda.
“The police are trying to locate Mr. and Mrs. Hoelt, the people we think Manda is working for,” Bess added.
Nancy brought the girl’s mother up-to-date on all that had happened, ending with the question, “The man on the street who spoke to Manda’s cousin Melinda, said, ‘Get to the schnitz!’ Have you any idea what he meant?”
When Mrs. Kreutz said no, Nancy asked whether the woman had ever heard of a storehouse for dried apples in the neighborhood. At this remark Mrs. Kreutz turned pale. Grasping Nancy’s hand, she said, “Manda asked me that very question!”
“I believe that’s where she has gone,” Nancy said. “Where is the storehouse?”
Sadly the Amish woman admitted that she did not know. She had never heard of such a place.
“If Manda was trying to find it,” said Nancy, “where would she go to get information about it?”
Mrs. Kreutz replied that there was one very old man in the neighborhood who might be able to help. “He knows about everything that took place long ago,” she said. “I have never heard of any new storehouses, so this place must have been used years ago.”
“Who is this man and where does he live?” Nancy asked eagerly.
“He’s Groeszdawdi Esch,” Mrs. Kreutz answered. “He lives in one end of a three-generation house.”
Bess wanted to know what this was, and Mrs. Kreutz explained that in Amish country, families rarely separate. Sometimes a man will build a house on part of his property for a son about to be married. “Other parents,” she said, “build a wing onto the main house, and the father and mother move into it when one of the sons marries.”
“And where does the third house come in?” Bess asked.
Mrs. Kreutz said it was hard to explain this in English. Anyway, there were three houses attached, each smaller than the one beside it. In the smallest house lived the grandfather, in the center building was the father, and in the largest house was the grandson and his family.
“Groeszdawdi Esch lives in the smallest house,” she said. Pointing in a northwesterly direction, she added, “If you could fly like a crow, you would hit on it.”
“I’m sure we can find it,” Nancy said. “And now we had better go before your husband returns.”
Mrs. Kreutz said yes. He had gone to a cow sale to sell the ugly bull that had attacked him, but he probably would be home any minute. The girls hurried outside, climbed into the car, and drove off.
They found the Esch farm with little trouble. As they reached the barn they were surprised to see a dozen Amish carriages assembled. “There must be a party going on,” Nancy said.
At that moment a young boy carrying a bucket of apple parings dashed out of a small stone building. He dumped the contents of the pail into the pigsty.
“I’ll bet this is an apple schnitzing,” Bess remarked.
Realizing that Groeszdawdi Esch and everyone else on the farm would be in the kettle house, Nancy and Bess got out of the car and went directly there.
“Doesn’t it smell heavenly!” said Bess as she sniffed the spicy aroma coming from the building.
Nancy and Bess stepped inside and watched the busy scene with fascination. Seated on chairs and apple crates were several men and women, old and young. Each one held a metal, box-shaped apple parer on his lap. It worked with a quick turn of the handle and rapidly took the skin off the apple. Next, the fruit was cored and put into large kettles, which were lifted into a warm oven. Here the moisture would be baked out.
Several minutes passed before the girls were noticed. Then a young woman left her work and came over to ask if she could be of assistance to them. Nancy stated that she had come to talk to Groeszdawdi Esch.
“I will get him,” the woman offered.
Presently an elderly man with snow-white hair and beard approached them. He had kindly blue
“The police are trying to locate Mr. and Mrs. Hoelt, the people we think Manda is working for,” Bess added.
Nancy brought the girl’s mother up-to-date on all that had happened, ending with the question, “The man on the street who spoke to Manda’s cousin Melinda, said, ‘Get to the schnitz!’ Have you any idea what he meant?”
When Mrs. Kreutz said no, Nancy asked whether the woman had ever heard of a storehouse for dried apples in the neighborhood. At this remark Mrs. Kreutz turned pale. Grasping Nancy’s hand, she said, “Manda asked me that very question!”
“I believe that’s where she has gone,” Nancy said. “Where is the storehouse?”
Sadly the Amish woman admitted that she did not know. She had never heard of such a place.
“If Manda was trying to find it,” said Nancy, “where would she go to get information about it?”
Mrs. Kreutz replied that there was one very old man in the neighborhood who might be able to help. “He knows about everything that took place long ago,” she said. “I have never heard of any new storehouses, so this place must have been used years ago.”
“Who is this man and where does he live?” Nancy asked eagerly.
“He’s Groeszdawdi Esch,” Mrs. Kreutz answered. “He lives in one end of a three-generation house.”
Bess wanted to know what this was, and Mrs. Kreutz explained that in Amish country, families rarely separate. Sometimes a man will build a house on part of his property for a son about to be married. “Other parents,” she said, “build a wing onto the main house, and the father and mother move into it when one of the sons marries.”
“And where does the third house come in?” Bess asked.
Mrs. Kreutz said it was hard to explain this in English. Anyway, there were three houses attached, each smaller than the one beside it. In the smallest house lived the grandfather, in the center building was the father, and in the largest house was the grandson and his family.
“Groeszdawdi Esch lives in the smallest house,” she said. Pointing in a northwesterly direction, she added, “If you could fly like a crow, you would hit on it.”
“I’m sure we can find it,” Nancy said. “And now we had better go before your husband returns.”
Mrs. Kreutz said yes. He had gone to a cow sale to sell the ugly bull that had attacked him, but he probably would be home any minute. The girls hurried outside, climbed into the car, and drove off.
They found the Esch farm with little trouble. As they reached the barn they were surprised to see a dozen Amish carriages assembled. “There must be a party going on,” Nancy said.
At that moment a young boy carrying a bucket of apple parings dashed out of a small stone building. He dumped the contents of the pail into the pigsty.
“I’ll bet this is an apple schnitzing,” Bess remarked.
Realizing that Groeszdawdi Esch and everyone else on the farm would be in the kettle house, Nancy and Bess got out of the car and went directly there.
“Doesn’t it smell heavenly!” said Bess as she sniffed the spicy aroma coming from the building.
Nancy and Bess stepped inside and watched the busy scene with fascination. Seated on chairs and apple crates were several men and women, old and young. Each one held a metal, box-shaped apple parer on his lap. It worked with a quick turn of the handle and rapidly took the skin off the apple. Next, the fruit was cored and put into large kettles, which were lifted into a warm oven. Here the moisture would be baked out.
Several minutes passed before the girls were noticed. Then a young woman left her work and came over to ask if she could be of assistance to them. Nancy stated that she had come to talk to Groeszdawdi Esch.
“I will get him,” the woman offered.
Presently an elderly man with snow-white hair and beard approached them. He had kindly blue
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