Tucker’s Grove (2 page)

One of the townspeople had used a heated iron spike to burn le
t
ters
on a plank.
WELCOME
TO COMPROMISE, ILLINOIS.
The
population tally had been scratched out and rewritten several times,
but it looked as if folk no longer kept track. The townspeople watched
the wagon approach down the dirt path.

The flat blandness of unending grassland and the
patchwork quilt of tilled fields
swept out to where the land met the sky. On the horizon,
gray clouds began getting up their nerve to become thunderheads.

“
Don
’
t see no church here,”
Clancy said, “
not one with a steeple
anyway.”

“
Town
’
s too small,”
Mr. De
akin answered.

Clancy set his mouth. “
Tucker
’
s Grove might be small, but the
very first thing Jerome
’
s building will be his church.”

Mr. Deakin saw a structure attached to the side of the general
store
—
a gathering place and a
saloon. Some townspeople wa
n
de
red out to watch the strangers
’
arrival,
lounging against the boardwalk rails. A gaunt man with bushy eye
brows and thinning steel-gray hair stepped out from the general store
like an official emissary, then he wrinkled his nose when he
saw the coffins in t
he wagon bed. The other people covered their noses and moved
upwind.

Without a word of greeting, the storekeeper wiped his hands on his
stained white apron and said, “
Who
’
s in the coffins?”

“
My beloved parents,”
Clancy said.

“
Sorry to hear that,”
the stor
ekeeper said. “
Not common to see
someone hauling bodies cross country in the summer heat. I reckon
the first thing you
’
ll want is some salt to fill them boxes. It
’
ll cut down the rot.”

Mr. Deakin felt his mouth go dry, not wanting to admit that
they couldn
’
t afford to pay for such an extravagant quantity of salt, but
Clancy interrupted
, “
We
’
d prefer a place to bury these coffins for the night. If you have a graveyard,
perhaps? I
’
m sure after our long journey”—
he patted the dirt-stained
tops of the coffins
—“
they would prefer a peaceful night
’
s rest. The
ground is hallowed, ain
’
t it?”

The storekeeper scowled. “
We got a graveyard over by the stand
of trees there, but no church yet. A Presbyterian circuit rider comes
along every week or so, not necessarily on Su
ndays. He
’
s due back
anytime now, if you
’
d like to wait and hold some kind of se
r
vice.”

Mr. Deakin didn
’
t know what to say. The entire situation seemed
unreal. He tried to cut off his companion
’
s crazy talk, but Clancy
Tucker wouldn
’
t be interrupted.
“
Pres
byterian? I
’
m a good Metho
d
ist, and my parents were good
Methodists. My brother Jerome is even a Methodist minister, self-
ordained.”

“
Clancy
—”
Mr. Deakin began.

Clancy sighed. “
Well, it
’
s only for the night, after all.”
He looked
at Mr. Deakin and lowered
his voice. “
Hallowed ground. They won
’
t
try to come back up, so we don
’
t need to dig so deep.”

The storekeeper put his hands behind his apron. “
Dig up the
graves after you plant the coffins? If you want to bury them in our
graveyard, that
’
s your business,
but we won
’
t be wanting you to
disturb what
’
s been reverently put to rest.”

Mr. Deakin refrained from pointing out that these particular co
f
fins had been buried and dug up a number of times already.

“
You wouldn
’
t be wanting me to break a sacred oath either
, would you?”
Clancy turned his bulging eyes toward the man; he
didn
’
t blink for a long time. “
I swore to my parents, on their deat
h
beds, that I would bring them with me when I moved to Wisconsin.
And I
’
m not leaving them here after all this way.”

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Clancy produced a coin and
tossed it to the storekeeper, who refused to come closer to the wagons because of the stench. “
Are you trying to buy my agreement?”
the
storekeeper asked.

“
No. It
’
s for the horses. We
’
ll need some o
ats.”

The graveyard of Compromise was small, but dozens of wooden
crosses protruded like scarecrows. The townspeople did not offer to
help Mr. Deakin and Clancy dig, but a few of them watched.

Mr. Deakin pulled the wagon to an empty spot, careful not to
let the horses tread on the other graves. As the two of them fell to
work with their shovels, Clancy kept looking at a row of crosses that marked the graves of an entire family felled by diphtheria, according to
the scrawled words.

“
My parents died from sc
arlet fever,”
Clancy said. “
Jerome caught it first, and he was so sick we thought he
’
d never get up
again. He kept rolling around, sweating, raving, and w
hen the fever broke, his eyes had a
whole different sparkle to them, and he talked about how God had
s
howed him a vision of our promised land. Jerome knew he was
supposed to found a town in Wisconsin.
He kept talking about it until we got fired up by his enthusiasm. Our li
t
tle brother Walter is off with the army in Dakota Territory, but if he ever comes ho
me, he can find us. Jerome wouldn
’
t wait.
He wanted to pack up everything we had and strike off
—
but then
Ma and Dad caught the fever themselves, probably from tending
Jerome so close.”

Mr. Deakin pressed his lips together and kept digging in the soft
earth
. He didn
’
t want to wallow in his own loss, and he didn
’
t want
to wallow in Clancy Tucker
’
s either.

“
When they were both sweating with fever, they saw
Jerome
’
s vision, too. They wanted to come so bad, and they were terrified we would leave
them behind. So
I promised I would bring them along, no matter
what.
”

Clancy didn
’
t even pause for breath as he continued. “
I could see how fidgety Jerome was, because he wanted to leave right
away, with the vision still bright inside him. Ma and Dad were getting worse an
d worse. They certainly couldn
’
t stand a wagon ride, and it didn
’
t look like they had much
time left.

“
One day, after Jerome had been sitting with them for a long
time, he came out of their room. His face was frightful with so much
grief. He said that thei
r souls had flown off to Heaven.”
Clancy
’
s eyes
glowed.
“
He left the day afterward, going alone to scout things out, while
I took care of details until I could bring the family. Jerome
and his wife are waiting for us there now.”

Clancy had a smear of mud a
long one cheek, and his
eyes looked as if they wanted to spill over with tears, but they didn
’
t
dare. “
So you see why it
’
s so important to me. My parents have
to be there with us. They have their part to play, even if it
’
s just to
be the first two in the T
ucker
’
s Grove cemetery.”

Mr. Deakin said nothing; Clancy didn
’
t seem to want him to.

The sun rose out of a pool of molten orange. Mr. Deakin
dut
i
fully went back to Clancy Tucker, who had slept up against a
wa
g
on wheel. Mr. Deakin
’
s head throbbed after the
night in the saloon, but he had not gotten
himself so drunk that he forgot his obligations, bizarre
though they might be.

As the dawn brightened, he and Clancy set to work on the dewy grass with their shovels,
digging out the loosen
ed earth they had piled into graves only the
night before.

Mr. Deakin looked toward town, sensing rather than hearing the
group of people coming toward them. Clancy didn
’
t notice, but Mr.
Deakin halted, propped the shovel into the dirt where it rested agai
nst
the coffin lid. Clancy unearthed the top of the second coffin, and
then stopped as the group approached. He went over to stand by the
wagon.

The people carried sticks and farm implements, marching along
with their faces screwed up and squinting as they
stared into the
rising sun. They swaggered as if they had just been talked into a fit
of righteous anger.

At the front of the group strode a tall man dressed in a black
frock coat and a stiff-brimmed black hat. Mr. Deakin realized that
this must be the Pr
esbyterian circuit rider, just in time to stir up
trouble.

“
We come to take action against two
desecrators of the dead
,”
the circuit
rider said.
“
Grave robbers
will roast in Hell.”

“
Amen!”
the people answered.

The preacher had a deep-throated voice, as if
every word he
uttered held too much import to be spoken in a normal voice.
He stepped close, and the sunlight shone full on his face. His weat
h
ered features were stretched over a frame of bone.

The bushy-browed storekeeper stood beside him. “
We ain
’
t le
t
ti
ng you dig up graves in our town.”

Mr. Deakin made no move with his shovel,
feeling cold as he looked at the group. He had already lost everything he had, and he didn
’
t intend to get lynched over Clancy Tucker
’
s craziness.

Clancy stood beside the wagon, ho
lding Mr. Deakin
’
s shotgun in his hands and pointing it toward the mob. “
This here gun is
loaded with bird-shot. It
’
s bound to hit most everybody with flying
lead pellets. Might even
kill
someone. Whoever wants to keep me
from my own parents, just take a s
tep forward. I
’
ve got my finger
right on the trigger.”
He paused for a moment. “
Mr. Deakin,
would you kindly finish the last bit of digging?”