There was something to be said for old tombstones. Sally ran her hand across the face of one dated in 1842 as she admired its carvings. They were always well built. If you compared today's markers to those of that time period you'd find that today's tombstones were dull and useless. These markers depicted nothing about the individual laying six feet under the ground. They simply gave a name and date, nothing more. They were like houses processed in a sort of factory. All pretty much the same just different colors and sizes with locations and markings to boot.
She glanced around the old cemetery as she regained her footing. This graveyard and Old Catholic Church dated well beyond the 18th century. That was why she'd placed it on her travel plans for today.
It was advertised as being one of the first Catholic Churches in Ohio. The building showed its age in missing roof tiles and aging sidewalks. The bricks and cement walls had missing pieces. These had never been repaired, just cleaned over. The work completed on the building it didn't seem to matter, age was aggressing rapidly. New areas were appearing every few feet. Soon it would need repaired or torn down. The congregation had a decision to make in the near future.
The stained glass windows still sparkled in the noonday sun and the brick walls, which climbed two stories in height, seemed to be proud to still be alive today.
The yard had always been well maintained. An abundance of flowers were planted in every available space around the building and on the surrounding property. In the background a lawn mower purred and other gardeners tended to the plants. She smiled and moved on. She hadn't come to the church for the scenery. She'd come to the church to look at the gravestones.
Gravestones had always been an interesting delight for her and she often spend several hours a week going to graveyards in the surrounding areas to inspect the stones. Slowly she began to walk easily escaping into yesterday. Where women wore long gowns and talked with accents no longer present today, where horses and buggies were preferred over cars and motorbikes. Girls were girls and boys were boys neither ever looked like the other.
As she approached a large over bearing stone she noticed it was for someone who came to the America's from Ireland. The word Ireland along with a picture of its homeland had been imprinted on this stone which made it appear classy, almost royalty. Softly she rubbed the stone with her fingers, dusting off the fading letters near the bottom that gave the buried person life. Even that didn't help. The words were still too difficult to read.
She frowned. Maybe she'd return again tomorrow and etch it off. It would be interesting to find out why they had been buried here. Researching the names was another activity that took up some of her time. It was something she enjoyed doing when she had days off from work. She was often amazed at what she'd find.
Just to her left she spied another interesting stone. It was large, square and its surface was completed in black stone. Now that was different. She moved closer squatting so that she could read the writing.
Susan Courty Aged 25 years 3 months and 4 days
May God mend your troubled ways!
Now that was odd. What did they mean, troubled ways? She'd never seen a stone quite like this one before. Its surface seemed to glow. She looked closer at the heading. Did she hear voices? That wasn't possible? Old stones were just old stones. They gave the looker a glimpse into the past. Each stone had a history. They contained memories of past times. Nothing more then that, right? She continued to try to convince herself as she bent forward.
What was that; sound? How could that be, images? They seemed to be moving inside the stone just out of focus. Like an old black and white movie playing. Once again, it moved before her eyes. "How could that be possible?" She asked herself.
She moved back, away from the stone. "I've been to busy," she tried to assure herself, "I'm just over tired and imagining things."
"Tired..." she mumbled.
But the sounds she'd heard before only grew stronger. Wagon wheels traveling down a dirt road echo all around her. Voices strong and growing louder seemed to surround her. Still she couldn't understand them. Had she become hearing impaired as well?
