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 |