Looking for the Grave of Luther Laughton
by Douglas Young
Part 1appears in this issue.
conclusion
“Now you see, they’s just three more spaces left in the whole Finney plot: for you, me, and Thad. They’s one on each side of Momma and Daddy, and then that other one in the corner yonder. Now, sister, you see how they’s lots of room here on either side of Momma and Daddy. But look at this little iddy-biddy space in the corner. Averilla, in case I go before y’all, please promise me you won’t plant me in this little corner. Look how tiny this space is. You know how claustrophobic I am. If y’all squeeze me in here, I’ll never rest in peace, and I may just haunt y’all, too. Now I’m as serious as cancer ’bout this, sister.”
“All right. Quit your fretting. So that’s what you and Thad was a-jawing about so at the reunion. Well, that’s fine. You want to be put by Momma or Daddy?”
“Oh, it don’t make no difference. Either one’s fine with me. Big thanks, Sis.’ And Thad said he didn’t care none, neither. But if I ever get wind that I’m destined for that little corner, then I’m getting cremated.”
“No, you will not!” Averilla exclaimed.
“And why not?” Zabel looked at her with one hand on her hip.
“I don’t want none of our kin cremated.” Averilla waved her hands.
“What particle of difference does it make?” Zabel furrowed her brow and frowned.
“Well, when the Good Lord comes back to claim His people, I just don’t rightly see how He’s gon’ take back a bunch of ashes. Now I’ll just be frank with you, sister,” Averilla announced authoritatively as Zabel rolled her eyes and sighed.
They resumed the search, albeit at a slower pace amidst the rising heat and humidity. Each sister acknowledged what a swell job the grounds crew did cutting so much grass and maintaining all the many flowers, shrubs, and trees. They just wished there were a whole lot more trees.
By 11:30 Zabel’s patience was nearly exhausted. Drenched in sweat, she saw they had traversed most of the cemetery’s main section, but still had many more plots to explore.
“Gracious alive, Averilla, we gon’ soon be knocking on noon. Are you absolutely certain Luther was even buried here? Remember, neither of us was able to go to his funeral on account of Thad being in the hospital then. Now if it turns out Luther wasn’t even buried here, dog if I’m not gon’ scream.”
“Oh, don’t blow a bowel, Zabel. I know good and well Luther’s here ’cause Luna done wrote and told me so.”
“Well, maybe they put him in the Jew section,” Zabel suggested.
“The Laughtons ain’t no Hebrews. They’re Methodists, every one of them,” Averilla stated emphatically.
“Then maybe they ran out of room and dropped him in the colored section,” Zabel countered.
“And maybe somebody’s getting a little swimmy-headed in all this heat,” Averilla mused.
“Yeah, and maybe we gon’ both collapse if we don’t get out of this sun soon,” Zabel remarked. “I’m serious, Averilla, if we don’t kick it into fifth gear, they’re liable to find two old women laying out here, dead of heatstroke.”
Sweating, drained, and harboring serious doubts about ever finding the elusive grave of Luther Laughton, the two old ladies soldiered on as fast as they could, grateful they at least both thought to wear a hat, though Zabel wished her baseball cap was much wider. Near the top of the hill and the back of the cemetery, they came upon the largest, gaudiest gravestone of all.
“Well, would you just take a gander at that? If it ain’t none other than the most successful windbag in all of Evander Law County, the illustrious Lester Haggen, ‘the people’s lawyer.’” Zabel laughed. “That old scudder.”
“The most successful skirt-chaser in the county, too,” Averilla observed, catching her breath.
“You sure shared the gospel truth there, sister,” Zabel agreed.
“Though he married hisself five wives, I don’t see a one of ’em here with him,” her sister observed.
“Well, maybe that’s ’cause he was a-cheating on each one with the next,” recalled Zabel.
“Now I will say,” Averilla added. “That last Mrs. Haggen—”
“The one thirty years his junior,” Zabel noted.
“That’s the one. She was awful nice to me every time we met in a store or somewheres. I sure hate to think she was a-cheating with him while he was still hitched to Number Four.”
“Oh, I heard they was definitely doing the dirty, all right. In fact, I hear tell he ditched his fourth’un so sudden ’cause he thought his new love was pregnant.”
“Is that why he gave Number Four that great big multi-millionaire dollar settlement?”
“Uh, huh,” Zabel stated confidently. “To minimize the scandal, he gave her everything she asked for. The only catch was she had to sign one of them confidentiality forms and leave town.”
“To think that’s the richest man ever to come out of Azalea Falls.” Averilla shook her head.
“And the only man I ever knew to get rich drunk,” Zabel added in awe.
“Or win cases under the influence. Shoot, Mr. Lester was a far sight better lawyer drunk than the rest of ’em sober,” Averilla marveled. “Still, it was right sad him dying in that plane crash. I knowed it had to hurt his children and grandchildren something terrible to lose him that way, ’specially on account of them having had him so long. He was pushing 90 and still flying hisself when that private plane of his went down.”
“And I bet you a dollar to a donut he was flying under the influence, too,” Zabel speculated. “I always figured that car wreck he had was on account of his drinking, too. ’Course, after flying right into that mountain, I doubt they was able to piece near enough of him back together to tell what he’d been drinking.”
“Well, it’s just as well, ’specially for the poor family’s sake. Say, how’d you like to fly in an airplane someday, Zabel?”
“Averilla, I don’t get no higher than picking corn or lower than planting taters. And look where flying got Mr. Lester.”
“Well, you’re right about that,” Averilla agreed as she admired the attorney’s large and elaborate tombstone. “And he sure didn’t take any money or that fancy fine house with him, neither.”
“Amen.”
As they approached the big bushes bordering the back of the burial ground, Zabel looked at all the acres of graves they had carefully examined for the better part of two hours. She shook her head and then faced her sister.
“Averilla, what do you want to bet that boy’s grave is on the very last row? We shoulda knowed the fastest way to finding anything in a big batch is to start at the back of the stack.”
Stopping to get her breath, Averilla Finney looked up at her sister.
“Well, maybe he’s downhill somewheres, and we just plum missed him.”
“And if you think I’m just gon’ turn around and walk all over these graves again, shug, you’re the one’s who’s sho’ nuff ‘swimmy-headed’ indeed, ’cause as soon as we get to that last row, I’m heading straight to your car. And if you ain’t with me, I’ll just walk home or maybe hitchhike. Good Lord, it’s well-nigh noon, sister.”
With her hands on her hips, Averilla proceeded to wipe her sweaty forehead and fan herself with her floppy hat. She then started scrutinizing the names on the last rows of gravestones, knowing full well she would never hear the end of it if they could not find Luther’s.
“Lord, I sure could do with a great big glass of lemonade ’bout now,” Averilla exclaimed.
“And I could drink the whole pitcher,” Zabel replied. “It’s a miracle we ain’t both passed out from dehydration.”
To her right, Zabel saw a pair of large family plots, as well as a fairly fresh-looking little flat marker sandwiched between them. Walking to the grave sitting by itself, she dared hope their search might at last prove successful.
“Well, hallelujah! ‘Luther Abraham Laughton,’” Zabel read. “Thank you, sweet Jesus.”
“Oh, praise the Lord,” Averilla added. She quickly walked over to join her sister.
“And just two rows from the top, but we’ll sure take it. Oh, Lord have mercy, what a morning,” Zabel declared and wiped her brow. “Now come on, sister, let’s hurry up and place them flowers and head home for lunch. I’ve worked up a powerful appetite something fierce, and I bet you have, too.”
“Well, now just hold your horses,” answered Averilla as she slowly bent down to wipe some dirt off the small, smooth stone bearing only a name and dates. She then straightened up the grave’s empty flower vase and carefully inserted the little plastic red and yellow bouquet she had been carrying before Zabel helped her up.
“Bless his heart. It’s sure not much to show for a life, and just 36 years old.” Averilla stared at the headstone before looking up and taking in all their surroundings.
“All right. We’ve kept our word,” Zabel declared. “Now I don’t know what more we can do. So can we now finally please get back to the car and be sure and crank up that air conditioner?”
“Yes, but first we gon’ have prayer,” Averilla announced.
Zabel looked away and took a deep breath before turning back. “Fine, but, please, sister. Just not one of them long, soul-saving prayers you’re so fond of. I do b’leive it’s a tad late for brother Luther.”
Averilla bowed her head and closed her eyes. Zabel clasped her hands and did the same.
“Dear heavenly father,” the elder Finney began, “we come here to honor one of your children who has passed on. We thank thee for blessing him with such a fine Christian home and giving him good health and a first-class college education, too. Now we know Luther... had some troubles, Lord — like everybody — but he was a Christian, and we beseech thee, o Lord, to welcome him into thy loving arms. And, Lord, we also ask that thou please comfort all his kin, ’specially his dear momma, Miss Luna, since all of ’em have surely been grieving their loss something terrible. And we thank thee so much, Father, for leading us to Luther’s grave. In Christ’s name we pray. Amen.”
Neither Miss Finney said anything for a while, and for the first time that day they were enveloped by a breeze. First Averilla and then Zabel turned around to start walking downhill toward the car.
Soon Zabel looked at her older sister. “That was a real fine prayer, sister. Miss Luna would be right proud.... And Mr. Luther.”
“Thank you, darling. I just wish sweet Luna was able to visit her boy. I do so hope and pray he’s now with the Lord.”
They continued walking under the noon sun, and Zabel helped her sister step down from a granite-ringed family plot while dreading how sunburned her arms would be. At least they had fulfilled their promise and would never have to do this again, she assured herself.
Suddenly, Averilla stopped and looked up. Startled, Zabel turned to her.
“You know who else is up here?” Averilla asked excitedly. “Luna and Luther’s cousin Phineas Faircloth. As a matter of fact, Luna wrote that Cousin Phinney’s resting just a stone’s throw from Luther!”
Zabel stared at her sister for several seconds before taking a deep breath and turning to look nowhere. After a few more seconds, she turned back to Averilla.
“Now, sister,” she began slowly before pausing briefly, “you can go right to Mister Phinney’s grave, if you want. I’m sure that would be a mighty Christian thing to do. But if you do, I’m taking your car key right now, and I’m a-heading straight to that car where I’m gon’ turn that air conditioner full blast and head straight home. But I’ll be sure and call 911 to tell ’em where they can find your body.”
“Well,” Averilla said before briefly looking down and resuming her walk downhill, albeit at a faster pace, “I guess we can just remember to include Cousin Phinney in our prayers.”
“I guess we can,” Zabel agreed.
Copyright © 2024 by Douglas Young
