August 1886 - Changes

"Amen". Over sixty attendees moved slowly from the hot mid-afternoon sun of August 1886. The deep brown loam was fragrant over the new grave. Encircled by green grass it appeared as a scar on nature. A mature mound beside the new one looked in place, not raw like the new one.

Lou's arms rested protectively over her sons' shoulders, Jim on the right and Joe on her left. Jim's sobs were deep, his face red and wet, his nine-year-old body heaved to restore his steady breath. Joe's mouth was tight, his eyes fixed on the ground before them. He looked like he dared anything to be in their path.

Alex walked beside them. Tears were drying on his stricken face. His ordinary talkativeness and good cheer was absent. Grief and loss occupied him this day. Turning from his feelings he said philosophically, "End of an era, Sister. The descendent of the pirate and Sherwood Forest outlaw is gone. Mighty sad . . . " His words trailed off and he hugged the three as they walked.

Solon, Reverend Hawkins, the Methodist, and Brother Scott, the Campbellite, stood for a time at the fresh grave. Solon looked at each in turn and shook their hands.

He said, "Much obliged. Mr. Fields didn't give y'all much slack about religion that's for certain. Today with your kind words you've shown me Jesus summons all sorts for his work." He didn't smile with his backsided compliment but his tone and eyes relayed his appreciation and regard.