Voices From The Grave

Voices

Grave from the

M

T THE TURN OF THE CENTURY (YOU KNOW THE ONE FROM 1999 TO 2000), PADUCAH LIFE Magazine asked Tracey Buchanan to share some of her clever, creative vignettes of interesting A characters who were laid to rest in Oak Grove Cemetery. She developed these as part of her partnership with the city’s seasonal tours of this quiet community of those gone before. We published a number of them so we thought it would be fun to “resurrect” a sample to provide context as we anxiously await the debut of her novel, Toward the Corner of Mercy and Peace.

A Young Girl Looks At Life From Across The Divide

Margaretha Better’s monument is inscribed with the words “Margaretha Stuck Denkmal.” Unless you’re familiar with German, you may not know that Denkmal means “monument.” As you read the inscription, you learn that her maiden name was Stuck and her married name was Retter.

For the love and friendship Of his early deceased wife, Margaretha Retter, maiden name, Stuck, this monument is dedicated by her grieving husband and children. She was born in Siebeldingen, Germany on July 6, 1819 And passed away after a short sickness in January 1845. Soft and Peaceful in the Lord Rest her ashes.

As part of a strong German community here, Margaretha Stuck Retter was once a part of Paducah life. She once breathed deeply the heavy, humid air of western Kentucky and dug her fingers into the same land we walk upon today. Here’s a voice from the grave at Oak Grove Cemetery. . . perhaps it might have sounded something like this.

Margaretha:

I was 25 when I became suddenly ill and died. I don’t remember much about my sickness. A doctor was sent for, but he never made it to our place. I suppose it could have been any number of diseases—but I believe the doctor concluded influenza. I do remember that I knew the end had come. You think of many things when you know you’re dying. Maybe everyone returns to her memories of childhood. My thoughts wandered back to Diebeldingen, a tiny village in Sudliche Weinstraffe district, in Rhineland-Palatinate, western Germany, to a time when I was pappa’s keine prinzessin, I think you would say, “Daddy’s little princess.” Papa was a farmer and he wanted land of his own to grow his crops. He had attended a reading club at our

church and had heard our pastor read from John Fenimore Cooper’s translated version of the Leatherstocking tales and from Herr Gottfried Duden’s writings about America. Herr Duden had lived on a farm in Missouri for three years, and he wrote that in America you had meat on your table every night—so much meat that you couldn’t possibly eat it all. He wrote about how beautiful America was and about how many opportunities there were. How could Vater resist this New Eden for his family? He heard there was land at a good price in Kentucky and so we set out for this strange sounding place. We soon found out that Herr Duden had only told us part of the story. He was right about the beauty. Kentucky was thick with trees and rivers that teemed with life. But the reality of our lives was in harsh contrast to that beauty. Papa soon began to call Herr Duden “duden der Lugenhund,” which means “Duden the lying dog.” As I grew up, my mama taught me to cook. Oh, the Hase im Topf I made! It was my best dish—a divine brew of rabbit that I always served with my sauerteig (sourdough bread). I was proud of my cooking and it showed. Luther, my darling husband, used to call me is dumpling. I think because I was rather round and soft, not thin and firm like so many of the girls you have today. I married Lutz Retter—Luther—when I was 18. I had loved him since I was 14 and he was 16. He was tall and blond and had beautiful blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The day we married I wore a dress my sister, Anna, had sewn me from a tablecloth Mama had brought from Germany. Anna had stitched doilies on it in a way that made it look fit for royalty. The Rev. Elisha Durbin married us. Rev. Durbin was a horseback-riding missionary who was considered the patriarch of the Catholic Church in western Kentucky. We heard he was going to be back in the area to check on the St. Jerome Church he had started in Fancy Farm in 1836, so we sent word to ask if he’d mind marrying us. When Luther and I wed, there were several German families here—the Luigs (John A. Luigs immigrated to the United States from Germany as a stowaway), the Neihoffs (their name meant “Dove of Peace”), the Poats, the Kaufmas, Griefs, Weitlaufs, Krimples, Feasts, Seitzes, Schmitts and more. I heard that after I died, Rev. Durbin kept on building churches all across western Kentucky. In fact, he started St. John the Evangelist Church in McCracken County and St. Francis de Sales Church in 1849. Just ten months after we married God began to bless us with children. By the time I was 24, I had given birth to six; one a year since I had married. Two of these, my second boy and third girl, died before I weaned them. Poor Luther was left with four babies. I hope he married again. He needed a wife and they needed a Mama. Don’t look so surprised. I dare say you’ll have the same kind of thoughts once you cross over to this side of eternity. It’s impossible to explain, but the best I can tell you is that you’re able to remember without sadness. You don’t know everything that happens on earth, but you do get to know the events that bring you peace. Does that make sense? Of course not. You’re still there. Anyway, my friends, though my life wasn’t long or impressive or particularly easy, it was good. I crossed a vast, turbulent ocean and traveled into a wilderness thick with stretching trees and gurgling rivers, wild flowers and wild

folks. I worked the dirt of the land until my hands bled and my back hurt. I loved the man I married. I bore his children and held them so close I could smell the freshness of heaven’s dew behind their ears. I laughed with friends. I tasted fresh bread. I lived my life.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The German population in Paducah was a strong presence. Margaretha’s family settled here in the 1820s. In 1848, three years after her death, a revolution in Germany sent many more immigrants to the US. The “48ers” tended to settle in the Midwest and were a strong anti-slavery group. Up until the 1910s, German was still spoken in local Lutheran and Catholic churches. German newspapers were printed for decades after that.