fire. Over there just beyond the curve of the road was the infant son of Wild West showman Buffalo Bill Cody. Instead of going that way, Harrison turned down the road to take him deeper into the cemetery. He slowed down, unsure he'd recognize it, sure he must have passed it already. Then—just as he was about to give up—he spotted it. ROBERT DELANO ADAMS. EULALIA MEINYK.
He left the bike by the road.
What am I doing here?
he asked himself. Surely he hadn't expected the strange dark-haired woman to still be here.
He ran his fingers across the cool marble, tracing the outlines of the letters. ROBERT DELANO ADAMS. EULALIA MEINYK. SHE DIED FOR LOVE OF HIM. Two days later. Had she died of a broken heart? People used to do that, back then. What must he have been like for her to be unable to go on without him? Had she taken her own life? SHE DIED FOR LOVE OF HIM.
Without planning it, Harrison sat down next to the grave.
What am I doing here?
he asked himself again.
Just resting,
he answered himself.
As soon as I catch my breath, I'll be on my way.
But the next thing he knew, it was dark out, and Mr. Reisinger was shaking his shoulder.
"What?" he said. "What is it?"
"'
What is it?'
" the scoutmaster repeated. "It's nine o'clock at night, and your parents are frantic. The whole troop and half the neighborhood are out looking for you. What are you doing?"
"I must have fallen asleep," Harrison said. But he was still sitting up, and he'knew his eyes had been wide open, though he couldn't remember what he'd been looking at.
The groundskeeper who'd opened the gate for Mr. Reisinger told Harrison to keep out of the cemetery from now on; his parents told him to keep out of the cemetery; the police told him to keep out of the cemetery.
But his science teacher made him stay after school because his report wasn't done, and he didn't want to worry his parents by being late again, so he took the shortcut, anyway.
Everything's fine,
he told himself, ignoring the pounding of his heart and the damp feeling around the edge of his scalp. So why were his hands slippery on the handlebars?
He rode past die stone chapel and into the old section, where the trees were tall and the roads wound dizzyingly and the graves seemed scattered randomly in the most improbable places rather than being lined up in neat rows. He was aware that he was breathing with his mouth open, and still he couldn't get enough air. What was the matter with him?
He stopped pedaling, and the bike coasted to a stop. For several minutes he just sat there straddling his bike, staring straight ahead.
A woman and her dog jogged by, the dog's chain collar jangling.
Harrison finally turned his head and faced the double headstone. ROBERT DELANO ADAMS. MAY 17, 1892. EULALIA MEINYK. MAY 19, 1892. SHE DIED FOR LOVE OF HIM . Harrison closed his eyes, SHE DIED FOR LOVE OF HIM.
He left the bike and approached the gravesite. 1874–1892. Robert had been eighteen when he'd died. Of what? And how old had Eulalia been? SHE DIED FOR LOVE OF HIM . A hundred years ago today. Had they been engaged? Was that why they were buried together? If so, she was probably a little bit younger than Robert Maybe about Harrison's own age, since people back then married young.
Harrison had lived near the cemetery for as long as he could remember, but he'd never thought about dying before, about being dead.
He thought about it now.
He put his hand on the stone and tried to imagine what Robert and Eulalia had been like. It was they who had been here Sunday afternoon, he was sure of it He had seen pictures of people of the late 1800s skating on the Genesee River—the men in top hats, the women with fur muffs. He imagined Robert and Eulalia skating on the river. Had they come to the cemetery for Sunday picnics, the way the cemetery tour guides said Victorians used to do, sitting perhaps on that hill there, overlooking the pond? Harrison imagined them laughing together, their voices clear as angels'
He left the bike by the road.
What am I doing here?
he asked himself. Surely he hadn't expected the strange dark-haired woman to still be here.
He ran his fingers across the cool marble, tracing the outlines of the letters. ROBERT DELANO ADAMS. EULALIA MEINYK. SHE DIED FOR LOVE OF HIM. Two days later. Had she died of a broken heart? People used to do that, back then. What must he have been like for her to be unable to go on without him? Had she taken her own life? SHE DIED FOR LOVE OF HIM.
Without planning it, Harrison sat down next to the grave.
What am I doing here?
he asked himself again.
Just resting,
he answered himself.
As soon as I catch my breath, I'll be on my way.
But the next thing he knew, it was dark out, and Mr. Reisinger was shaking his shoulder.
"What?" he said. "What is it?"
"'
What is it?'
" the scoutmaster repeated. "It's nine o'clock at night, and your parents are frantic. The whole troop and half the neighborhood are out looking for you. What are you doing?"
"I must have fallen asleep," Harrison said. But he was still sitting up, and he'knew his eyes had been wide open, though he couldn't remember what he'd been looking at.
The groundskeeper who'd opened the gate for Mr. Reisinger told Harrison to keep out of the cemetery from now on; his parents told him to keep out of the cemetery; the police told him to keep out of the cemetery.
But his science teacher made him stay after school because his report wasn't done, and he didn't want to worry his parents by being late again, so he took the shortcut, anyway.
Everything's fine,
he told himself, ignoring the pounding of his heart and the damp feeling around the edge of his scalp. So why were his hands slippery on the handlebars?
He rode past die stone chapel and into the old section, where the trees were tall and the roads wound dizzyingly and the graves seemed scattered randomly in the most improbable places rather than being lined up in neat rows. He was aware that he was breathing with his mouth open, and still he couldn't get enough air. What was the matter with him?
He stopped pedaling, and the bike coasted to a stop. For several minutes he just sat there straddling his bike, staring straight ahead.
A woman and her dog jogged by, the dog's chain collar jangling.
Harrison finally turned his head and faced the double headstone. ROBERT DELANO ADAMS. MAY 17, 1892. EULALIA MEINYK. MAY 19, 1892. SHE DIED FOR LOVE OF HIM . Harrison closed his eyes, SHE DIED FOR LOVE OF HIM.
He left the bike and approached the gravesite. 1874–1892. Robert had been eighteen when he'd died. Of what? And how old had Eulalia been? SHE DIED FOR LOVE OF HIM . A hundred years ago today. Had they been engaged? Was that why they were buried together? If so, she was probably a little bit younger than Robert Maybe about Harrison's own age, since people back then married young.
Harrison had lived near the cemetery for as long as he could remember, but he'd never thought about dying before, about being dead.
He thought about it now.
He put his hand on the stone and tried to imagine what Robert and Eulalia had been like. It was they who had been here Sunday afternoon, he was sure of it He had seen pictures of people of the late 1800s skating on the Genesee River—the men in top hats, the women with fur muffs. He imagined Robert and Eulalia skating on the river. Had they come to the cemetery for Sunday picnics, the way the cemetery tour guides said Victorians used to do, sitting perhaps on that hill there, overlooking the pond? Harrison imagined them laughing together, their voices clear as angels'
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