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Authors: Margaret Maron
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enough political connections to make it easy for the local judges to recuse themselves and let someone outside the district hear the case and make what was bound to be an unpopular decision on one side or the other.
At stake were two plots in Cedar Grove Cemetery. Their Mitchell grandfather had bought a ten-grave plot a hundred years or so earlier, close to an eight-grave plot where his own grandparents, parents, and siblings rested. Edward Mitchell was buried there alongside his wife, as were his two sons and their wives, parents of Wade and Caleb. That left two empty grave sites and each grandson wanted them for himself and his own wife.
There were other newer cemeteries around the edges of New Bern, but except for an older one at Christ Church, I soon learned from the opening arguments that Cedar Grove was the oldest and most prestigious. It became the town’s principal burying place during a devastating yellow fever epidemic in 1798 that took close to a thousand lives, a tenth of the population back then. The last family-size plot was sold several years ago for more than a thousand dollars.
A friend of mine from Brooklyn tells me that in New York, the coffins can be stacked one on top of the other, three or four deep, and that each stack can be considered empty twenty years after the space was last opened. “But you don’t want to look too closely at that pile of dirt under the blanket when they dig a new grave,” he says. “That may be your great-grandmother’s thighbone. It’s the only way you can bury seventy-five relatives in a ten-by-twelve plot.” He once showed me a picture of his great-grandfather’s marble funeral marker, a weeping angel atop two graduated blocks of marble. So many names and dates have been engraved on those stones over the last hundred years that they look like pages from a telephone directory.
Unfortunately, nothing like that could happen in New Bern.
As the only child of the oldest Mitchell son, Wade Mitchell claimed both spaces by right of primogeniture. Caleb Mitchell’s attorney snorted derisively at that.
“Their grandfather’s will specifically left his entire estate to be divided equally between his two sons and that estate included the deed to this cemetery plot.”
I was shown a copy of the will and of the original deed, which remained in their grandfather’s name.
“You never asked your fathers to change the deed to reflect their dual ownership?”
“When you’re young, you don’t think about where your body’s going to go,” said Caleb.
“I just took it for granted,” his cousin said.
“What’s the current value of these two remaining plots?” I asked.
“That’s hard to say for something this historic,” said one of the attorneys and the other chimed in. “Assuming a willing seller and a willing buyer, it might be in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars.”
“Each?”
They nodded.
Two thousand dollars for a piece of dirt that probably measured no more than six-by-eight feet?
I addressed the two cousins directly. “Would either of you gentlemen consider selling to the other?”
“Absolutely not!” exclaimed Wade.
“Never!” said Caleb. “The first Mitchell was buried there in 1801. There’s not enough money in New Bern for me to sell my birthright.”
Wade bristled at that. “It’s my birthright, too.”
“What about cremation?” I asked.
They frowned at me.
“If you and your wives were to be cremated, each grave could hold two urns.”
I should have known that solution wasn’t going to fly either.
They wrangled on and on, dredging up family history to back their reasons, and airing old and irrelevant grievances. Sometimes it’s best to let the combatants get it all out of their systems, but I was beginning to feel like Solomon with that baby claimed by two different women, only I didn’t have a sword. Looking at it as a problem in logic, I did have fair and equitable options. I could award each of them a plot. I
At stake were two plots in Cedar Grove Cemetery. Their Mitchell grandfather had bought a ten-grave plot a hundred years or so earlier, close to an eight-grave plot where his own grandparents, parents, and siblings rested. Edward Mitchell was buried there alongside his wife, as were his two sons and their wives, parents of Wade and Caleb. That left two empty grave sites and each grandson wanted them for himself and his own wife.
There were other newer cemeteries around the edges of New Bern, but except for an older one at Christ Church, I soon learned from the opening arguments that Cedar Grove was the oldest and most prestigious. It became the town’s principal burying place during a devastating yellow fever epidemic in 1798 that took close to a thousand lives, a tenth of the population back then. The last family-size plot was sold several years ago for more than a thousand dollars.
A friend of mine from Brooklyn tells me that in New York, the coffins can be stacked one on top of the other, three or four deep, and that each stack can be considered empty twenty years after the space was last opened. “But you don’t want to look too closely at that pile of dirt under the blanket when they dig a new grave,” he says. “That may be your great-grandmother’s thighbone. It’s the only way you can bury seventy-five relatives in a ten-by-twelve plot.” He once showed me a picture of his great-grandfather’s marble funeral marker, a weeping angel atop two graduated blocks of marble. So many names and dates have been engraved on those stones over the last hundred years that they look like pages from a telephone directory.
Unfortunately, nothing like that could happen in New Bern.
As the only child of the oldest Mitchell son, Wade Mitchell claimed both spaces by right of primogeniture. Caleb Mitchell’s attorney snorted derisively at that.
“Their grandfather’s will specifically left his entire estate to be divided equally between his two sons and that estate included the deed to this cemetery plot.”
I was shown a copy of the will and of the original deed, which remained in their grandfather’s name.
“You never asked your fathers to change the deed to reflect their dual ownership?”
“When you’re young, you don’t think about where your body’s going to go,” said Caleb.
“I just took it for granted,” his cousin said.
“What’s the current value of these two remaining plots?” I asked.
“That’s hard to say for something this historic,” said one of the attorneys and the other chimed in. “Assuming a willing seller and a willing buyer, it might be in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars.”
“Each?”
They nodded.
Two thousand dollars for a piece of dirt that probably measured no more than six-by-eight feet?
I addressed the two cousins directly. “Would either of you gentlemen consider selling to the other?”
“Absolutely not!” exclaimed Wade.
“Never!” said Caleb. “The first Mitchell was buried there in 1801. There’s not enough money in New Bern for me to sell my birthright.”
Wade bristled at that. “It’s my birthright, too.”
“What about cremation?” I asked.
They frowned at me.
“If you and your wives were to be cremated, each grave could hold two urns.”
I should have known that solution wasn’t going to fly either.
They wrangled on and on, dredging up family history to back their reasons, and airing old and irrelevant grievances. Sometimes it’s best to let the combatants get it all out of their systems, but I was beginning to feel like Solomon with that baby claimed by two different women, only I didn’t have a sword. Looking at it as a problem in logic, I did have fair and equitable options. I could award each of them a plot. I
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