On a warm early-autumn morning, not quite so clear as the memorably bright morning of Oct. 2, 2006, Nickel Mines was quiet today.

Horse-drawn buggies clip-clopped through town. Nearby farmers harvested field corn. Roadside stands sold plump pumpkins and gourds.

On the outside, life in Nickel Mines seemed almost serene.

It must have been much the same a year ago before Charles Carl Roberts IV invaded the West Nickel Mines School, killed five young girls and changed this community forever.

No commemorations were planned.

New Hope School, which replaced the old school, remained closed for a second day. Parents of school children stayed home or visited friends.

The non-Amish residents of Nickel Mines sprinkled their lawns with "no trespassing" signs.

They weren't necessary. Although the community had braced for another media onslaught, it didn't arrive.

As of mid-morning, three television crews were set up, filming unobtrusively, in Nickel Mines and nearby Georgetown.

Stephanie Abrams, a reporter with KYW in Philadelphia, stood outside the former auction house in Nickel Mines, with Amish farmland as a backdrop, while her cameraman filmed the evening news.

"We're going to take some shots here and then move on," she told a New Era reporter. "We know the Amish don't want to be disturbed."

The Amish families of children who were in the schoolhouse a year ago gathered for a picnic Monday at the home of one of the parents.

Neighbors, state troopers, emergency workers and officials from Virginia Tech still mourning their own horrific mass killing attended. Adults sang hymns. The school children played baseball.

But today was a day for individual and family reflection and prayer. Families of girls who died last October were exchanging "memory cards" containing personal information and poetry about the deceased.

A year ago, Roberts, a 32-year-old father of three from Georgetown, walked through the old school's open door and shot and killed five girls and severely wounded five others before killing himself as state police rushed in.

Roberts' apparent motivation — distress over the death of an infant daughter in 1997 — seems as puzzling today as it did a year ago.

Almost overshadowing the shootings, the forgiveness the Amish immediately extended to Roberts and his family transfixed a world more accustomed to vengeful responses.

In the wake of massive media interest immediately after Oct. 2, the Amish feared that writers and filmmakers would sensationalize the story. That has not happened.

Three books, all by Mennonite authors, have recounted the day's events and explored the forgiveness message with respect.

Today there are few outward signs of the tragedy in Nickel Mines.

The site of the old school, which the Amish destroyed shortly after the shootings, is indistinguishable from pastureland surrounding it.

The soft drink machine at the auction house, where Roberts stood staring down White Oak Road at the school and waiting to attack, has been removed.

Five small, identical tombstones mark the graves of the schoolgirls at the rear of an Amish cemetery south of Georgetown

Roberts' grave, beside his infant daughter in a Georgetown cemetery, remains unmarked.

CONTACT US: jbrubaker@LNPnews.com or 291-8781