In 1984, Warren and Doris Sadler purchased Level Fields in Lancaster to achieve their goal of operating a true country inn. The mansion was built in 1857 with its Great Rooms on either side of a spacious hall that was embellished by a Shenandoah Valley walnut hunt board that dated to 1820. To the right, was a formal parlor with leather sofas and hospitable Labrador retrievers, the fur of which matched the color of the leather.
Years earlier, a previous owner had moved the kitchen from an exterior building into the rear parlor. There Doris worked her magic in producing noteworthy meals that encouraged guests to savor each bite.
To the left of the hall was the spacious dining room, which was dominated by a magnificent antique corner cupboard. In that august setting the dinners were served by Cris Tapscott, who in her own right was an unforgettable part of the dining experience.
Cris was born in Berlin, Germany, in the first year of the Second World War, and she arrived to this country as a teenager. In her time at The Inn at Level Fields, Cris came to know the patrons as her personal friends by taking on more duties than most servers would do.
After passing out the menus, when she returned to take the patrons’ orders, Cris viewed her responsibility to be guiding them through the selections; perhaps the better choice of wording would be to say, “directing” them through the listings.
In that regard, she was not timid or bashful. If guests were speaking among themselves, vacillating about which entrée to order, Cris would interject and say, “Take the salmon; you will like it.” To another, she might prescribe a different selection, always confident that the guests would be pleased.
After my first meal there, I came to realize that Cris was right in calling the shots, and from then on, I would follow her advice. For the regulars, she came to know likes and dislikes, which she articulated very clearly. Knowing of my allergy to chocolate, when time for dessert came, she would say to me, “You cannot have the first item on the menu; it is chocolate. I’ll bring you something else.”
Newcomers initially might have been put off by her forthright manner, but the regulars found it amusing and helpful. Cris spoke perfect English, but with a distinct German accent, which in a restaurant setting, gave her an air of assertiveness, all of which she directed towards giving her patrons the best service possible. She saw her recommendations as being expressed for the customers’ benefit, and if anyone rejected her advice, she would say, “All right, I’ll get it” and hasten off to the kitchen.
Cris’ service was impeccable, well worthy of the setting, and eating at Level Fields was a more engaging experience due to her presence. Doris and Warren would come into the dining room to circulate among the tables asking if the guests were pleased with their meals. The answers always were in the affirmative, thanks in part to Cris’ manner of direction.
Cris had two sons, Danny, an amateur genealogist, who was a prodigious researcher, aside from his regular job, and Mike, a generous young man, always willing to pitch in to any situation to do his part. Danny developed cancer early in life, and genealogy was his lifeline after he no longer could work. He died in 2003, and three years later at the site of a bad traffic accident on Route 3 north of Lancaster Courthouse on a foggy morning, Mike got out of his truck to offer help when he was hit by an oncoming vehicle and killed.
As the years mounted, the Sadlers decided to sell Level Fields and move to Williamsburg, where they both died a month apart in 2007. Cris was part of their legacy to the people of the Northern Neck who might otherwise never have known her. Cris was the epitome of Old World tradition, self-confident in a helpful way, eager to make others enjoy their time together, and ever watchful for everything to be correct. Last week, she died at the age of 85, a truly unforgettable come-here from a faraway land, who in her unique way happily amplified the experience of living in the Northern Neck.
Crista Ida Charlotte WeiShaupt Tapscott, February 6, 1940–August 22, 2025. R.I.P.
