Looking for the Grave of Luther Laughton
by Douglas Young
part 1
At 10 o’clock on a warm August morning, an old but immaculate big blue Buick slowly pulled up and parked by the front gate of the largest section in Serenity Springs Cemetery, Azalea Falls’ oldest, biggest burial ground. Heavy-set, 82-year old Averilla Finney and her almost as heavy-set, 80-year old sister, Zabel, slowly emerged from the car, surveyed the sprawling array of graves stretching over the hill above, and sighed.
Averilla’s forehead was shielded from the sun by a floppy straw hat covering her jet-white hair. She wore an old orange dress and carried a bouquet of artificial red and yellow flowers. Zabel’s mostly white hair was covered by an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. She wore a faded yellow dress.
“Jumping Jehosaphat, Averilla. It’s liable to take us all day to find that grave, and it’s already 80 degrees and getting hotter by the minute. We could be here till dark and still miss it,” Zabel complained.
Averilla defended herself: “Well, it ain’t our fault the sexton wasn’t in his office to take us right to it.”
“And that’s all the more reason why we oughta just come back when he is,” an already exasperated Zabel replied. “And it’s Saturday, Averilla. So that man ain’t gon’ be here till Monday anyway.”
“But you know I’m fixing to leave town this afternoon, and no telling when I’ll be back. Now, Zabel, you was with me the last time we visited sweet ol’ Luna Laughton before her daughter took her up north to live with her family. And the last thing that dear ol’ Christian lady said to us, with tears in her eyes, was to beg us to look after her baby boy Luther’s grave if he died before she did. And dog if he didn’t, too.
“She knew he was all messed up with drink and drugs and was just a tragedy a-waiting to happen. And that poor boy ain’t got no close kin left in these parts, and here it is almost a year since he died and we still ain’t even visited him. I feel just terrible ’bout this ’cause we gave Luna our word, and Lord knows what kinda shape Luther’s plot’s liable to be in.”
“You mean you gave your word,” Zabel noted in a lower voice looking uphill.
“Well, sister,” Averilla said pointing at her. “Now you were there, too, and you sho’ didn’t say nothing otherwise. And I say it’s a real sin and a shame when folks don’t keep their word, and how sad that poor Luther likely ain’t got nobody to check on his grave and visit him.”
“Yeah,” Zabel said, shaking her head surveying the multi-acred, hilly cemetery with thousands of graves. “And maybe Mr. Luther should have thought of that when he was a-doing all that drinking and drugging.”
“Well,” Averilla sighed, “he led a hard life and it sho’ caught up with him.”
“All right,” Zabel conceded. “I know better than anyone when your mind’s made up. So come on. Let’s start looking. It’s only getting hotter. But if we ain’t found that grave by lunchtime, I’m going home, and I’ll walk if I have to. For goodness’ sake, Averilla, you’ve been retired for years. I don’t see why you can’t come back on a weekday when the sexton’s here and he can just take us right to it. Whatever. Suit yourself.” She waved her hand.
“Well,” Averilla observed, “at least we know Luther ain’t buried with the Hebrews or in the colored quarters or the Confederate section. So that’s narrowing things down something considerable.”
“Oh, yeah. I reckon that leaves us only ’bout eighty percent of the cemetery.” Zabel shook her head.
The two old maids entered the gate and began reading the names on every tombstone. There was no consistency of gravestone architecture, and old and recent graves were often side by side, especially in family plots. Though admiring all the pretty purple, pink, and white azaleas, as well as the bright red bougainvilleas creeping over several family mausoleums, the Finney sisters most relished the mighty magnolia trees providing some coveted shade as they slowly walked uphill.
“Lord, with this incline, I sho’ wish I’d thought to bring my cane,” Averilla said, looking up at all the graves ahead.
“Well, I’m happy to come back when you’ve got it,” Zabel stated hopefully.
“No, I’ll manage, seeing as how we’re already here,” Averilla said softly.
“Well, would you look at kind old Mr. Fodis Franklin buried right between both his wives.” Zabel chuckled as she stood in the Franklin family plot. “He sure was a sweetheart. I used to love to go in that man’s store, growing up, ’cause he always gave us a piece of candy. You remember him?”
“I sho’ do.” Averilla nodded. “His was the only store in Azalea Falls with Bit-O-Honeys, too. But, I declare, being planted right smack in the middle of your first and second wife. I just don’t rightly know what to make of that. Good Lord, they look just like a mess of Mormons.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks, sister. Momma said they was Lutherans, and it wasn’t like Mr. Fodis left the first Mrs. Franklin for the second. Flora Franklin died after being eat up with cancer for years, and then he married Miss Aubrie a few years after that. And, look, all three of ’em are right here, smack dab in the middle of the family plot. So, see, it clearly don’t bother their own kin none.”
“Well, I still say it don’t look proper,” Averilla pronounced pensively.
“Now come on, we ain’t got time to be figuring on that a spell.” Zabel sighed looking at how little ground they had covered and how much more was still ahead, and all uphill.
They continued carefully inspecting the names on each tombstone. Making the search harder was that there was no Laughton family plot, nor a separate section reserved for more recent burials.
At the sight of a flower vase turned over or anything out of place, Averilla carefully put it back in order. She was also intrigued by all the information on the gravestones and often paused to try to make connections between the various residents and recall whether she knew them or their descendants.
“Now please don’t be slowing us down by fixing up each plot, Averilla.” Her sister looked at her with her hands on her hips. “Dog if we ain’t gon’ be here all day and half the night at this pace. Just what do you think the sexton and all his staff do here anyway, and are paid to do?”
“Well, I do hate to see anyone’s final resting spot in such disorder. I declare, Zabel, I sho’ hope you have a better attitude ’bout tending my grave. I don’t rightly know but that maybe I oughta just go ahead and pay extra for the perpetual care option.”
“Oh, good Lord, sister,” Zabel replied. “You know good and well I’ll check on you regular. I do hope you know the difference between taking care of your closest kin’s grave and some stranger’s. Besides, you probably gon’ outlive me anyway.”
“Well, if that’s the Lord’s will, I’ll be sure to look after your plot and visit you regular.”
“Well, what a powerful comfort, dear. And now that we’ve settled that, can we please speed up?” Zabel pointed to the heavens. “Look. The clouds are parting. So it’s gon’ get even hotter.”
They continued slowly walking uphill, with Zabel always ahead and periodically looking back in frustration at Averilla’s far slower pace. Just when she felt sorry for her sweating sibling, she recalled all their local young great nieces and nephews who could have been asked to put the plastic flowers on Luther’s grave.
“Well, bless my soul. Would you look who’s here?” Averilla suddenly smiled and clapped her hands. “It’s Floppy Flanagan. I haven’t seen her since our 60th class reunion.”
“Won’t be seeing Miss Floppy at any more of ’em,” Zabel observed.
“And would you just look at this mess?” Averilla shook her head at all the flower vases lying on their sides in the Flanagan family plot and slowly bent down to fix each.
“Now they’s Flanagans all over Azalea Falls,” Averilla stated. “You’d think at least one of ’em woulda bothered to check on their kin here. I’m right disappointed with Floppy’s folks.”
“Well, that’s for Floppy’s people to worry about. It’s already almost 10:30, sister,” Zabel lamented. “I never had much use for ol’ Thunder Thighs anyway. I was nothing but nice to her, but she wouldn’t give me the time of day. Thought she was something special being a cheerleader in high school and all. Yeah, she stood out, all right, ’cause ol’ Thunder Thighs was the fattest one on the whole squad. I always figured her momma — Miss Florina — being on the school board is what got her on the squad. Miss Floppy sure couldn’t do all that acrobatic stuff the others did.” Zabel laughed.
“Well, she just needs our prayers,” Averilla noted.
“I b’lieve it’s a little late for that,” Zabel replied. “Oh, look, Averilla. Here’s Dr. Hank Lewis. Now if he wasn’t the finest doctor Azalea Falls ever had.”
“Or all of Evander Law County.” Averilla smiled.
“Amen to that, sister.” Zabel stopped to look at her long-time favorite doctor’s tombstone. “And what a fine-looking man, too. Had him that silver mane a-going. Mmm. Yes, sir, he was one mighty looksome fellow, a real 200-proof, industrial-strength man too.”
“I knowed you always sure was sweet on him.” Averilla grinned as her sister started fanning herself with her cap.
“What was it that killed Doc Lewis, Averilla?”
“Oh, sweetie, I can’t recall. He had long since retired and was old as the hills. I reckon just age and mileage.”
“Yeah, that’ll eventually get even the best of ’em.” Zabel sighed. “Good Lord, it says here he’s been gone twenty-two years now. Well, I sure have been to a whole mess of new doctors since then too. ’Course, I reckon if it wasn’t for doctors’ appointments, I ’spect I wouldn’t have no social life nohow.”
Zabel frowned, looking uphill again and realizing how far they still had to go. After they moved up some more and stopped to rest a spell in the shade of a big magnolia, Averilla suddenly smiled. “Well, looky who’s resting right beside us. If it ain’t none other than Scilla Nicks,” she exclaimed.
“Now talk about good-looking,” chimed in Zabel. “My money’s on Miss Scilla being the best-looking blonde ever to come out of Evander Law County.”
“Yes, ma’am, and the pipes on that little lady. Gracious alive, she could sing louder than anyone in the whole First Baptist Church or Arnold Elzey High School,” Averilla announced.
“And a songwriter and a poetess to boot,” Zabel added. “Oh, look. Here’s a poem of hers on her headstone.... Huh. It don’t rhyme. Well. But she sure was always good to me.”
“And just as sweet as she could be to everybody. She sho’ never let her looks go to her head,” Averilla stated.
“Remember all that pretty singing at her funeral, both hymns and even some tunes she wrote?” Zabel asked.
“I sure do. That was the most fun funeral.” Averilla beamed.
By 11 a.m. the Finney sisters reached the middle of the cemetery’s main section and stopped at the Finney family plot. They both removed leaves and any other debris as they carefully inspected their relatives’ graves and were relieved to find each one in good shape.
“Wooh, I sure do wish we had us a fine big magnolia or oak standing over us to spare us some shade,” Averilla announced.
“Sister, while we’re here, I want to bring up something I shared with Thad at the last family reunion. Come here and let me show you.” Zabel looked very serious as Averilla walked to her.
Copyright © 2024 by Douglas Young
