In the summer after Nancy's death, these same neighbors and friends, "at Mr. Young's request, came together and exhumed the remains of Nancy, and had her body burned while all the members of the family gathered around and inhaled the smoke from the burning remains, feeling confident, no doubt, that it would restore them to health and prevent any more of them falling a prey to that dread disease, consumption. But it would seem that it was no benefit to them," as five more children passed away. On my first visit to this cemetery, in a steady spring drizzle nearly twenty years ago, my companions and I examined each gravestone, reading aloud from the inscriptions, noting the dates of death. The rain continued to fall, but somewhere in the white pines that embraced the Youngs' neglected last home, a lone cardinal was singing. The melancholy of reading about consumption wiping out entire families does not approach the impact of standing amid the tumbled down headstones of young adults who perished before their parents, too soon. My fellow legend trippers appeared to be nervous, frightened, and thrilled. I was immensely saddened.

Text © Dr. Michael Bell