conversation between me and Mom
from up here? “No. I really
don't.”
“Everyone should know their family
history. It’s important information. The problem is, no one thinks
to ask until the old folks are dead. Then it's too late,” Henie
said, putting her finger on the window pane as if she was trying to
touch the white fluffy cloud drifting by.
“Sit still,” Karen told her. “I'll
come back and check on you. Just relax and get your energy
back.”
Before she left, Karen took another
look out the window. That old cemetery behind the field was always
part of Henie's window scene. That place must be connected to her
sadness for some reason.
Chapter 8
While Henie was recharging her
battery, Karen got in the car and drove down the gravel road to the
end of the bean field adjoining the pasture. She wanted a better
look at the cemetery. Maybe she would find out some answers. What
kind she didn't know.
A rough, rutted lane ran along the
field fence. The farmer drove a tractor and machinery to his fields
when the lane was muddy. Karen had a tight grip on the steering
wheel, driving in ruts that were rough and bouncy.
The lane ended at the cemetery with
a row of evergreens on the north border. The entry had a wrought
iron arch over the metal gate. The arch's attached letters and
numbers spelled Crane Cemetery and established in 1859. So this
cemetery was the Crane family burial place.
Karen got out and walked in the
calf high grass between the tilted limestones. The words on most of
the oldest ones were barely readable. Near the back corner, she
found the two stones she was searching for. She pulled the tall
dead grass away to read Henrietta Crane and the other stone read
Clell Crane. Henrietta died in 1959 at 80 years old. Clell had died
ten years previous at 70 years old.
The next stone in line was a shiny,
black, double one with the names Mary and Samuel Crane. The dates
were more recent. Karen just barely remembered that set of
grandparents, her mother's parents, living on the farm.
Karen needed to talk to her mother
again. She took her cell phone out of her pocket and poked the
numbers. “Mom, I’m working on a family tree. What was your mother
and father’s name?”
“Mary and Samuel
Crane.”
Karen asked, “Where did they
live?”
“They moved to Crayville when they
retired from the farm. If you want to get dates, go just north of
the farm to the family cemetery. The lane is in between two
fields.”
“I'm standing in the cemetery
right now. I could see it from upstairs. Who all owned the
land?”
“My father’s parents, Henrietta
and Clell Crane, at first. They built that big farm house. I loved
going out in the summer to visit them when I was a kid. He died a
few years before Grandma did, and my parents moved on the farm
after that to take care of Grandma until she died. You have bought
yourself a century farm house since you're a
descendant.”
Karen's mind swirled with all sorts
of ridiculous ideas. How creepy was this situation with Henie
getting? She talked to Clell Crane in that picture as if he was her
husband. She said she liked sleeping in the death basket since she
was used to it. Had some apparitional part of Henie been stored in
the attic since 1959?
After supper, Karen went back to
work, but all she could think about was Henie in a conversation
with a picture. She shut the computer off, unable to concentrate.
As the monitor went black, she scolded herself she was never going
to get her book finished if she kept this up.
She found Henie in the living room.
She was sitting in the ugly green chair that went with the couch.
Her chin rested on her chest just like any other old person in the
middle of an after supper nap.
“Henie, what you
doing?”
The robot opened her eyes and made
a face like she hated to be bothered. “Just waiting until bedtime.
If your next question was do I have all my work done. The answer is
yes.”
Karen plopped down on the couch and
felt the
from up here? “No. I really
don't.”
“Everyone should know their family
history. It’s important information. The problem is, no one thinks
to ask until the old folks are dead. Then it's too late,” Henie
said, putting her finger on the window pane as if she was trying to
touch the white fluffy cloud drifting by.
“Sit still,” Karen told her. “I'll
come back and check on you. Just relax and get your energy
back.”
Before she left, Karen took another
look out the window. That old cemetery behind the field was always
part of Henie's window scene. That place must be connected to her
sadness for some reason.
Chapter 8
While Henie was recharging her
battery, Karen got in the car and drove down the gravel road to the
end of the bean field adjoining the pasture. She wanted a better
look at the cemetery. Maybe she would find out some answers. What
kind she didn't know.
A rough, rutted lane ran along the
field fence. The farmer drove a tractor and machinery to his fields
when the lane was muddy. Karen had a tight grip on the steering
wheel, driving in ruts that were rough and bouncy.
The lane ended at the cemetery with
a row of evergreens on the north border. The entry had a wrought
iron arch over the metal gate. The arch's attached letters and
numbers spelled Crane Cemetery and established in 1859. So this
cemetery was the Crane family burial place.
Karen got out and walked in the
calf high grass between the tilted limestones. The words on most of
the oldest ones were barely readable. Near the back corner, she
found the two stones she was searching for. She pulled the tall
dead grass away to read Henrietta Crane and the other stone read
Clell Crane. Henrietta died in 1959 at 80 years old. Clell had died
ten years previous at 70 years old.
The next stone in line was a shiny,
black, double one with the names Mary and Samuel Crane. The dates
were more recent. Karen just barely remembered that set of
grandparents, her mother's parents, living on the farm.
Karen needed to talk to her mother
again. She took her cell phone out of her pocket and poked the
numbers. “Mom, I’m working on a family tree. What was your mother
and father’s name?”
“Mary and Samuel
Crane.”
Karen asked, “Where did they
live?”
“They moved to Crayville when they
retired from the farm. If you want to get dates, go just north of
the farm to the family cemetery. The lane is in between two
fields.”
“I'm standing in the cemetery
right now. I could see it from upstairs. Who all owned the
land?”
“My father’s parents, Henrietta
and Clell Crane, at first. They built that big farm house. I loved
going out in the summer to visit them when I was a kid. He died a
few years before Grandma did, and my parents moved on the farm
after that to take care of Grandma until she died. You have bought
yourself a century farm house since you're a
descendant.”
Karen's mind swirled with all sorts
of ridiculous ideas. How creepy was this situation with Henie
getting? She talked to Clell Crane in that picture as if he was her
husband. She said she liked sleeping in the death basket since she
was used to it. Had some apparitional part of Henie been stored in
the attic since 1959?
After supper, Karen went back to
work, but all she could think about was Henie in a conversation
with a picture. She shut the computer off, unable to concentrate.
As the monitor went black, she scolded herself she was never going
to get her book finished if she kept this up.
She found Henie in the living room.
She was sitting in the ugly green chair that went with the couch.
Her chin rested on her chest just like any other old person in the
middle of an after supper nap.
“Henie, what you
doing?”
The robot opened her eyes and made
a face like she hated to be bothered. “Just waiting until bedtime.
If your next question was do I have all my work done. The answer is
yes.”
Karen plopped down on the couch and
felt the
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