So he went outside with his shotgun. He was seventy-two years old, and his vision and hearing weren't what they used to be. He stood on his porch and peered into the darkness. If he heard a tree branch crack, a frog croak, ice break on the pond, or an owl hoot, he pointed his gun and fired.
"Trespassers, burglars and robbers repulsed," he announced tiredly, and then he went back to bed.
Since his wife died of pneumonia, Gracie had lived alone. He was tottering on senility. He still functioned and took care of his farm, working every day whether it rained or snowed. He had three milking cows left, having sold more than two dozen after his wife died. There were chickens, a rooster, one remaining horse, two cats and an old brown dog named Odif. His farm was spread out a distance, with pastures on both sides of the road that bore his name. He attended church in South Cortland.
Before the experimental fish station was built and named Tunison, part of his pasture ran along Beaver Brook. Most of those hemlock trees and pines, located brookside today, were planted after 1930. Much of Gracie's land was rough and tumble, with hardwoods, wetlands, and rock-laden pasture lands. He planted corn, and cut hay three times a year. He didn't do all this work alone.
He had a hired man, Abel Olmstead, who was in his fifties, average height, lean, strong and healthy. On a good day he could do the work of two men. But he was mentally handicapped. He seemed to have a slow brain and he spoke oddly. He seldom looked directly into the eyes of people who spoke to him. He was shy, quiet and reclusive. He didn't socialize much with the neighbors, but kept to himself.
In summer, he slept in a small hut along Beaver Brook. In winter, he slept in Gracie's barn with the cows. Gracie's neighbors frequently referred to him as "the simple one" or "the hermit," but whenever he was within hailing distance they said, "Good day, Abel" or "Hello, Abel."
Early on, he endeared himself to all the neighbors when he rescued a drowning six-year old Lenora Lefler who fell through the ice over shallow Gracie Pond. Abel had crawled along the ice but fell through himself, and half-walking, half-swimming, he pulled her back to shore safely.
"A twenty-two year old angel by the name of Abel just showed up at our farm looking for work, something to eat, and a place to sleep," explained Mrs. Gracie to her pastor before she died. "I put in a good word for him to my husband. He's been working for us ever since."
Mrs. Gracie recognized Abel's handicap, felt sorry for him, and convinced her husband to take him in. Abel was a dedicated farm worker. He was born and raised near Montrose, Pennsylvania. He never graduated from grade school. He left home and travelled and worked across central New York and northern Pennsylvania. He rode cars on the Lehigh R.R. and walked to where he wanted to go. He never owned a horse of his own.
From the start, Abel's relationship with Gracie was informal. Although Abel did most of the work around the farm, Gracie often pitched in. If Gracie wasn't satisfied with some detail or another, he never used harsh words with Abel. And Abel never talked back or disagreed, even when Gracie was overly demanding.
Abel fed all of the animals except the cats; Gracie fed them. Not surprisingly, the animals were sweet on Abel, especially the horse. He never put a metal bit in that horse's mouth. He used a bridle with a leather bit. If it broke, he replaced it. Gracie never complained about the cost.
The wild animals Abel befriended near his hut were also sweet on him. He fed butternuts and beechnuts to a pair of squirrels who nested in a tree near his hut.They would come up to him and eat from his hand. He called them Joseph and Mary. He gave bread crumbs to the chickadees, sparrows and finches. He dropped corn in the woods along deer trails.
His hut was essentially sleeping quarters for one man. Floor space measured about ten feet by five feet.There was no room for a chair in the hut, so he placed a home-made chair outside the door. A food container improvised from an old book case stood against one wall. His bed was made of a log frame on the ground, with straw under a thin mattress, and a blanket on top. He had a fire pit a few feet away from the hut. He improvised another pit as an outdoor toilet. He got his drinking and cooking water from Beaver Brook.
Farm chores took up much of his time. Milking had to be done at 5 A.M. It was easier and quicker now that only three cows were left. He and Gracie used to milk a cow apiece while the third cow complained of neglect. In good time, Abel would milk that cow too.
There was a predictable routine to farm work. Every now and then there was a bump in the routine--a flood that took down bridges after heavy rains, roads thick with mud and impassable in places, a wind storm that knocked down trees, a sickness or death in a neighbor's family, or the death of a farm animal. In a sense, these things were predictable too.
Some time after Mrs. Gracie died, Abel began to hear the angel Gabriel calling him during the night. He had visions of the angel flying over the farm and beckoning to him. Abel knew the Lord's prayer and he knew some hymns, so when he heard the angel calling, he would sing or recite with religious fervor. He did this whether he was sleeping in the hut or in the barn.
One summer night, Abel ventured out from his hut and followed the flying image of Gabriel through the trees and meadows. He walked and then ran up the hill to Gracie Road, and made his way toward the farm house. He stopped in a clearing about two hundred yards away from the house. Under the dim moonlight, he saw Gracie come out of the house with a shotgun. It was 2 A.M.
Gracie fired once into the darkness, said the usual "trespassers, burglars and robbers repulsed," and then he went back to bed.
Abel felt the bullet exactly when he heard the shot. It hit him in the chest and knocked him down. He got up. He didn't think he was hurt too much, but he was bleeding. Instead of walking directly to the house, he turned and walked slowly back across the road and down the hill to his hut. In the darkness, he couldn't see the blood as much as he could feel it. He placed his right hand over the wound. He had trouble breathing and he was in pain by the time he got to his hut, and then he fell into his bed.
He lay there on his back. He turned and found a cotton shirt in the darkness and he pressed it against his chest. He said the Lord's prayer several times and then he started to sing hymns. After a few minutes he stopped. He heard chattering outside, and he recognized the squirrels Joseph and Mary. The squirrels entered his hut and sat quietly next to his bed. It was as if they were trying to console him. He knew they were there but he couldn't see them. He was bleeding to death.
At 5 A.M. Old Man Gracie was in the barn at the milking station. Where was Abel? he wanted to know. He milked one cow, then started on another. But he was wondering about Abel. While the third cow sought his attention, he stopped milking, wiped his hands on a rag, and went outside.
The sun was coming up. Gracie looked around in every direction. He called out. "Abel? Abel? Do you hear me, Abel?"
Silence. This worried and perplexed him. He knew he had the forgets, but he hadn't lost his mind completely. Abel was always on time. He walked toward the road, and then down the hill to Beaver Brook. When he saw the open door of the hut, he suspected something was not right. He saw two chattering squirrels race out the door, climb up a tree and disappear in the uppermost leaves. Seconds later, he was inside the hut and looking down at his hired man. Abel's clothes and the bed were soaked in drying blood. He reached down and touched him.
Abel opened his eyes and smiled when he recognized Gracie. "You shot me," he said weakly. Then his eyes closed and he died.
"Oh, my God!" Gracie exclaimed.
Gracie's old eyes filled with tears. On his knees now, he prayed and cried for several hours. He thought about killing himself but changed his mind. Finally, exhausted, he got up and pondered what to do next.
He tried to dissuade himself that he had shot Abel. "It was an accident. It wasn't my fault," he repeated to himself. He considered reporting it to the sheriff, or discussing it with trusted neighbors. But his profound guilt and emotions distorted all sensible actions. He walked in circles around the hut for more than an hour before he reached a decision.
It was noontime. A distraught Gracie climbed the hill and returned to the house. He got a shovel from the barn.
He returned to the hut and buried Abel Ohmstead nearby in the woods. He covered the spot carefully with leaves and brush. Then he returned to the hut and burned it to the ground. He left full of remorse.
The neighbors were the first to notice that Abel was missing. When they asked about Abel, Gracie told them that "Abel just up and left and didn't leave a word about where he was going." The neighbors appeared satisfied. They also noted that Gracie looked much older and very tired; perhaps he was on his last legs. Time marched on. Nobody ever came looking for Abel Ohmstead.
Before he died, Gracie told his pastor the entire story, and made him promise not to tell a single soul. But the pastor told his wife, and she then wrote a revealing letter to her sister. That letter was a major source of material for this story.
Below are recent photographs showing the foundation of the hut (second photo), and a collection of cow's bones (first and third photo) found about 30 meters from the hut's foundation.
Click on images to enlarge, or use Tools to enlarge page. If you decide to investigate this location, waterproof shoes or boots are recommended. Staff members at Lime Hollow Center are familiar with the location.
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