A Killing in Amish Country: Sex, Betrayal, and a Cold-blooded Murder Page 3

  The two sisters didn’t have contact on Monday. But on Tuesday morning, June 2, Fannie set out in a buggy with the children. They were headed to the Weaver house to spend the day. They stopped at a bulk food store to buy some items for lunch. That’s when they saw an ambulance rush by, siren blaring. Fannie had a bad feeling.

  “As I turned into the driveway, a neighbor lady stopped me and said that they had found Barbara dead in her bed that morning and that they thought someone had shot her,” Fannie said. “And my first thought was, ‘Where are the children? Where is Eli?’”

  She pulled the buggy into the barn on a nearby farm and a man took her horse. She learned that the children had been taken to a neighbor’s house and she went to join them. She did not enter the Weaver house to see her sister’s body.

  Later that day, and for weeks to come, investigators questioned Fannie about the Weaver marriage. She told them that Eli had been unfaithful more than once and that Barbara thought he was having another affair.

  “She was a dear, sweet sister with a strong faith in God. Her life was not easy, but she made the best of her situation,” she said. “He was never willing to go for counseling and lived a very fast-paced life with his shop, hunting, and fishing. He is not a man at peace with God.”

  Fannie also told detectives that Eli may not have been physically abusive to her sister beyond shoving and grabbing—although he could be rough during sex—but he was verbally abusive. “All of his problems were her fault. And I know he wanted her to do sexual things that were against her beliefs.”

  The morning of June 2 was filled with confusion and chaos. As detectives and the coroner arrived, Fannie tried to protect the Weaver children and her own.

  Within a day of the murder, she told detectives that she thought Eli had killed her sister. There were the affairs. There was his use of a cell phone, sometimes in secret, sometimes not. Fannie mentioned his friendship with a neighbor who sometimes worked in his store. She thought it was unusual that the woman, without her husband, had gone fishing with Eli and some other men. And there was another woman they needed to know about, Eli’s driver, a woman named Barb Raber.

  There were letters, Fannie told detectives. Barbara Weaver had seen a counselor and had corresponded with him after she had moved away from Millersburg. She also kept a diary. Her own words might hold clues to her murder.

  4

  The Letters

  I asked him why he feels so bitter towards me. “I don’t know.”

  —BARBARA WEAVER, ON HER STRUGGLE TO IMPROVE HER MARRIAGE

  Barbara Weaver’s life was unraveling and she knew it. Every second of her day was consumed with the grief she felt about her marriage. Eli had hurt her deeply before. He’d left her. He’d gone to live in the world outside of the community. Whenever Eli vanished from her life, Barbara knew what he was doing. He was doing things with other women. When he’d come back, he’d beg for forgiveness. He’d tell her that he’d never hurt her again. And then, just as he’d always done before, he would betray her and he’d chide, cajole, and even try to intimidate her into performing sex acts that she would never do.

  The list of Eli’s transgressions was a long and varied one. He told each of his lovers that she was the only one. A few believed him. Some he had sex with. Some, however, were merely fantasy lovers suited to sexually explicit texting and phone sex. A few only held hands or kissed. Barbara probably wasn’t aware of all of them, although she had found love letters written to him.

  Everyone in the community knew of Barbara’s heartache, but few could fathom the depths of her despair. While she wasn’t stoic, Barbara was private in her pain. She didn’t confide in many about the specifics of her husband’s swinging-door betrayals. It was embarrassing, ugly. She had children to think about, and no matter what their father tried to do to her—no matter how many tears she shed when she cried herself asleep without him—she respected his position and God’s law that called her to submit to him.

  Barbara loved to sit at her kitchen table early in the morning, pen in hand, lined notebook pages in front of her, after Eli had left for work and while the children were still asleep. She wrote to the person she hoped would help her understand her husband and save her marriage: Duane Troyer, her counselor at Hoffnung Heim, a Christian counseling practice with a focus on the Amish and Mennonite communities. Her marriage was not what she had hoped for or expected, she wrote. Her husband violated the most sacred beliefs of the Andy Weaver Amish.

  Eli was angry when he learned she was getting counseling, so, as a sign of good faith, she stopped. But she continued to write to her counselor and sometimes telephoned him from her parents’ house.

  Reaching out to a counselor had not been easy for Barbara. The Amish believe in modesty and humility and frown on talking about themselves. Twice Eli had left his wife and children to live among the English. Now, Barbara wrote, she thought he was straying again.

  She began each letter with the same salutation:

  Greetings in the name of our Lord.

  Although Eli had been forgiven by his community, Barbara knew he had not changed his ways.

  I feel sure (almost) that he is having an affair.

  She was referring to the time when her husband was caught having sex with one of his girlfriends in his store. He couldn’t talk or charm his way out of that. He had repented to the bishop and to Barbara. She wanted to believe he would change, but she never knew when Eli was telling the truth.

  Sometimes I already know the truth, other times I find out the truth later. I ask him why he feels so bitter towards me. “I don’t know.” I said I wished he would be honest with me. I’d like to know where he would like me to improve. It makes me feel better to try and tell him how I feel, but it’s so one-sided.

  When Eli left the second time for the English life he craved, he purchased a pickup, shaved off his beard, and began wearing English clothes. But a few months later, when Eli did what he always did—changed his mind—he went through the motions of repenting and returned to Barbara. She felt Eli used her.

  I feel like our intimate life is on hold and has been for so long that without counseling for us both how can I ever heal, knowing his past adultery? I feel sometimes like all he wants is “his relief”.

  Duane Troyer knew that one of the issues in Barbara and Eli’s marriage was Eli’s desire for a kind of intimacy his wife wasn’t comfortable with. Eli blamed her for his affairs because she didn’t fulfill his desires for oral sex and English women did.

  Barbara confided to the counselor:

  I know oral sex is wrong—yet if he asks me to kiss, etc. him there, that’s all wrong too? I’m embarrassed to ask, yet I need guidelines and I don’t know where to turn.

  For her part, Barbara longed for another kind of intimacy, one Eli withheld. She wanted the closeness of an embrace.

  Whenever there was the smallest of reasons, Eli would find a way to hurt his wife with hateful words. Everything was her fault. During one of their arguments about their marriage, Eli boasted that he could have fifty girlfriends if he wanted. While many men would deny their dalliances with other women, Eli threw them in Barbara’s face. At times he made her feel unworthy. Other times he made her feel lucky that she had him for herself. Whatever he could say or do to swing the results in his favor, Eli would do it.

  The counselor asked the troubled Amish wife if she was afraid of her husband. Had he threatened her?

  No, I don’t think so, she wrote back. But he hates me.

  She even described a conversation the two had shared about her death. She was hoping to shock Eli into being kinder to her.

  I told him leave. Once I die you won’t have to put up with me. He says “Once I do you can get another man.” I said “I don’t want another man!” I asked him, “If I’d die, would you actually cry?” He answered, “Oh yes.” I don’t believe he would because I’m so far from what he wants.

  Her friends and family said Barbara didn’t seem afraid of Eli.
She told one friend that she wasn’t afraid of Eli—only of his girlfriends.

  In the autumn of 2006, Barbara wrote in her journal that she had learned she was pregnant. It was only a couple of months since Eli had lived with an English woman. There’s no mention in Barbara’s letters of any happiness over expecting a fifth child. But Barbara wanted Eli to hold off before telling certain friends.

  He promised he would but then told them anyway.

  It was as if he was proud of having made his wife pregnant. The pregnancy was a gift from God. He never bragged about his other baby—a daughter he had with one of his lovers, the ultimate betrayal that Barbara knew nothing about.

  * * *

  OVER THE YEARS of their seesawing marital life, Barbara documented how her husband continued to come and go as he pleased. She kept a log of when Eli came home, how long he stayed, if he had supper with the family, and his excuses for leaving again—which ranged from taking his dogs to the vet, to hunting rabbits, to going to dog shows, to fishing, to the vague excuse of “meeting someone”.

  Monday—gone after supper awhile

  Tuesday—gone to 8:30. Dog to vet, a few hours’ drive.

  Wednesday—gone 8–8:30

  Thursday—gone to 10

  Saturday—gone on hunt overnight

  Sunday—not home till 4 p.m. Told me he’d be home by noon.

  Wednesday—left 3:30 a.m. Home from work. Goes rabbiting until 9, 9:30 p.m. Not home for supper.

  Thursday—home 4:30. Says “I’m meeting someone in Coshocton to get my new dog hauler for truck” and flies out door. Not home for supper.

  Friday—home 11 a.m. To bank. Lunch 11:45. Goes at 12:30 for Indiana. Takes 3 others along, his truck. Are gone 2 nights.

  She made other notes in a diary she hid in the house:

  Fri. eve. He is going to bulk [food store]. I ask if he’d take 2 oldest along, they need fresh air, outa house. Eli—“No, it’ll get dark.” I said, “They’d be okay about that.” Eli—“Well, do you have any idea how full the store’s gonna be?” And I said “Okay, they don’t need to go along.” Eli—“I can see you don’t agree with me! When was the last time you agreed! You don’t!” Slams door and leaves. Boys yell out from living room, “Is Dad mad?” I said, “Yes, I don’t know why he gets so mad. You shouldn’t.”

  In addition to writing about his emotional distance and forcing her into doing sexual things she didn’t want to do, Barbara also documented Eli’s financial withholding. She knew his store made money and didn’t understand why he wouldn’t provide for his family and made her beg.

  Another issue is … what is my place when we need money for groceries, etc.… he has the business in his name, therefore I cannot write out checks, and we have no personal checking.

  Barbara confided some things to her sister, Fannie, but she hoped the counselor, with more worldly experience than her sister, could help her.

  Could you please send me some answers? But send them to my sister’s address as Eli would be upset if it came here—as you know.

  Do I simply accept these issues, even as God plays no part in his life? Or rather means nothing to him?

  Barbara’s last letter for help was postmarked May 15. Duane Troyer wrote back, but he never heard from Barbara again.

  Time had run out.

  5

  Fishing

  This is now Friday and I need to send the boys to the store today, but Eli forgot to lay out money for me and he went to Lake Erie at 3:30 a.m. to fish walleye (has two more times booked for June).

  —BARBARA WEAVER, IN A LETTER TO HER COUNSELOR A FEW DAYS BEFORE HER MURDER

  It was time to go fishing for walleye on Lake Erie and that meant a very early start. At 3:15 a.m. on June 2, Steve Chupp pulled up in his Dodge Caravan at the pristine white house to pick up Eli Weaver. David Yoder, also in the van, went up to the house and knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  Yoder stood there confused for a moment.

  Where was Eli?

  Steve joined him and they moved around to the back of the house, knocking on several doors.

  No answer.

  No Eli.

  Steve made his way to the door off the back deck, which was close to Eli and Barbara’s bedroom. Finally, a light came on and what seemed like a very long time—five or ten minutes—later, Eli appeared. He offered some feeble excuse, so ineffectual that later no one could remember just why he’d kept them waiting. A moment later, they made a quick stop at his store, then continued down the road to pick up a couple more fishermen. Eli slid into the front seat, next to Steve.

  As Steve drove, he watched Eli out of the corner of his eye. Eli was very intent on his phone. Preoccupied, even. En route, the group stopped at a gas station in Wooster for snacks and beverages for the trip. After that, they went for breakfast at Vansons, a family-style restaurant on SR 20 in Monroeville.

  “That’s a lot of food you’ve ordered!” Steve said as two piled-up-high plates were set in front of Eli.

  But while he had ordered so much food, Eli barely ate. And he—and his cell phone—went into the men’s room a couple of times during the meal.

  “Did you notice how much Eli ordered?” Steve asked the others as they looked at his uneaten food.

  “He’s kind of acting strange, don’t you think?” one of the other men said.

  Not one of the group disagreed. He was acting strange.

  The long drive in the dark in Steve’s Dodge Caravan was mostly a quiet one. The group of Amish and Mennonite men en route to a morning of fishing on Lake Erie talked a little and slept on the way. In the front seat next to driver Steve, Eli Weaver pulled his jacket close to hide his cell phone.

  “What are you looking at, the radar?” Steve asked.

  Eli rolled his shoulder a little and grunted.

  Steve ignored his passenger’s indifference. They’d known each other for only a few months—they were thinking of doing some business together—but he had heard all about Eli’s questionable character. And the truth was, he was mostly making a joke when he asked if Eli was checking to see if the storm that had hit the area that morning would affect their fishing on the lake.

  In fact, Steve had encouraged Eli to get a cell phone. Steve ran an auction business, an extremely successful one, Steve Chupp Auctions. Eli was running a business, wasn’t he? He would need a phone. Eli admitted that he already had one, but that Steve couldn’t have the number unless he promised only to text.

  “No calls,” Eli said.

  As formerly Amish himself, now Mennonite, Steve understood. Phones were forbidden, and answering a text could be done quietly and in secret.

  Although Eli’s store was small, Steve thought he could get him involved in trade shows and the auction side of things.

  Eli could have done worse than to take the business advice of Steve Chupp. A handsome man by anyone’s standards, with thick, dark hair, he had shaved his beard when he left the Amish and began living as Mennonite. A graduate of the Reppert School of Auctioneering in Indiana—which offers the two-week equivalent of an MBA in auctioneering—Steve is a licensed auctioneer in five states, including Ohio. He auctions furniture, trees and shrubs, tools, farm equipment, real estate, and hundreds of other items. One of his most lucrative days was when he sold a whitetail deer for nearly half a million dollars. One of the smartest and most elusive of big game animals, whitetail deer are known for large racks, or antlers. Size matters. Although a good number of people in Amish Country think deer bred to have abnormally big racks are “freaks,” there is money to be made in artificial insemination.

  The men reached Lake Erie at about 6:00 a.m. and met up with Dan and Tami Murphy, the owners of Knot Lost Charters. The men had paid $100 each to go out with the Murphys on their thirty-foot charter.

  As they set out, Eli continued to call attention to himself in strange ways.

  At one point, Eli asked the others if they’d seen his tackle box.

  “You got it right
there in your hand!” one of them said and everyone laughed.

  They had fished for only a couple of hours when Steve’s phone rang. It was Firman Yoder. It was bad news. Firman needed to speak to Eli. Steve handed the phone to him.

  6

  The Knock

  One Sunday morning, Harley asked, “Dad, we didn’t pray yet.” Eli said, “We can later.” So I helped him pray.

  —BARBARA WEAVER, NOTING IN HER DIARY THAT ELI FREQUENTLY IGNORED HIS CHILDREN

  “My mom’s dead.” They were the first words Linda Yoder heard when she answered a knock at her door and opened it. It was Harley Weaver.

  “My mom’s dead.”

  Harley told Linda that his cousin Susie Troyer had gone into his parents’ bedroom. She couldn’t wake Barbara. She ran to get Harley, and he couldn’t wake his mother either. He could see blood on her nightie. He touched her leg but quickly withdrew his hand. Her leg was cold.

  As Harley stood at Linda’s door, she hurriedly put on her shoes and walked with him the short distance to the Weaver house. It appeared to be just a normal June day. A few clouds. Temperatures in the upper sixties. There would be a trace of rain later.

  It was anything but a typical day.

  Linda and Firman Yoder were the closest neighbors, geographically, to the Weaver house. Their home was one half of the building Eli’s shop was in. In other ways, the Yoders were not close to the Weavers at all. Eli embarrassed them. English women hung around his store, and the Yoders knew he neglected his wife and children. Firman was reluctant to admit he was friends with Eli.

  Linda sometimes worked for Eli in the store. She had worked the day before when he had left at 1:00 p.m. to go fishing. His friend “the taxi lady” had driven Eli, David Yoder, and Mark Weaver to Berlin Reservoir and back. Linda would be working again today because Steve had picked up Eli and some other men early to fish at Lake Erie.

  As Linda approached the house, she saw that some of the Weaver children were outside and some were in the kitchen. Linda entered the house through a door off the deck and walked down the hallway leading to the back of the first floor. The bedroom door was closed and she called out Barbara’s name. When there was no answer, she opened the door and stepped into the room. The first thing she noticed was that Barbara’s lips were blue. As she moved closer to the bed and said Barbara’s name again, she saw blood on the comforter. Linda pulled it back and saw Barbara’s bloody chest. She replaced the blanket and ran to a neighbor’s for help. She didn’t stop to knock but rushed inside, finding Katie Petersheim at her sewing machine.