NON-FICTION • 31
BY KELLY SANDEL
T
he sight of an old graveyard lures me in. Ancient graveyard cedars shade the irregular rows of limestone tombstone, and the grass ripples in a faint breeze. The rusty iron gate creaks slowly on its hinge. A lone bird chirps in the trees; even it is reverent of the resting silence. Down the chip-andseal road is the little country church, brick with a steeple. In the gravel parking lot is an ancient, sprawling oak. How many years ago did the meandering crack in the bricking appear? Shortly after they built it? How did they pay for the bell in the steeple? Those people in the graveyard. What was life like all those years ago?
John Madden, 1809-1871. The road is named Madden— was the road named for this fellow? Was he an original settler? Mary Peterson, age 15. “For Me to Live is Christ.” Sounds like a religious girl. How did she die? Did a diphtheria epidemic sweep through? Did she drown? Her schoolmates must have been heartbroken. Charles Lee, died November 12, 1867, aged 65 yrs, 5 mos, 14 days. Wife, Lavinia Harper. Wife, Laura Starr. Wife, Hepzibah Peabody. Goodness, he had a lot of wives. And they all died, too? Matthew Cotton, born January 21, 1846. Death
