Franny opened the gate and went into the graveyard. “Aunt Hannah’s here now,” she reported, “or somebody new is.” There was an apparently new grave near the fence on the far side.

“I suppose I should arrange for a stone to be put up,” Jack said. “I probably should’ve done it before this.”

The engravings on some of the stones had worn away, but most were still legible. The oldest stone was on the grave of Thankful Caine, who had been born in 1775 and died in 1825. Near Thankful were the graves of her husband, Hosiah, and her infant children, Charity and Bountiful.

“They must have come here from the East,” I said. “Those are New England given names.”

“They did,” Jack said. “The Caines along with some other families moved west from Cape Cod around the turn of the nineteenth century.”

“There must have been Indians here then, Dad,” said Franny.

“There were. In fact, I remember a stone here for one of Hosiah’s sons who was killed by Indians.”

We looked for it among the graves of Thomas, William, Patience and Rebecca. There were many graves of children, piti­ful evidence that only the most hardy could survive the diseases and perils of early America.

In a corner was the stone of Brigadier General Duffin Hadley Caine who had been born in 1825 and died in 1890. The inscription also revealed that he had been commander of the Second Ohio Cavalry Brigade from June 5, 1863 to October 26, 1863.

“That date in 1863 must have been when he was captured,” Jack observed. “It’s strange, but I don’t remember the placement of some of these stones. That’s Ada, the General’s wife, next to Aunt Hannah. Now where’s my grandfather’s grave?”

We finally found it, almost hidden by weeds, beside the grave of his wife, Martha. They had both died in the 1930s and theirs were the most recent stones in the plot.

“My father never lived here and my mother didn’t want him buried here,” Jack said. “My grandfather left here as a boy and didn’t return until he was shipped back in a coffin.”

“Why did Aunt Hannah live here then, if nobody else wanted to?” Franny asked.

“Maybe she didn’t have anywhere else to go. Or maybe she found a secret charm in the place, as we will too.”

“I doubt that I’ll ever find it,” I said. I was ready to head for the nearest telephone to make reservations on the next flight back to New York.

“Let’s stay here tonight anyway,” Jack said.

“Here?”

“Sure. Where else?”

“If anywhere, I suppose a motel. There must be something around Cainesville or Ashland.”

“But why? We have a perfectly good place here with plenty of room.”

“What about food?”

“We can go to a restaurant—or, better yet, get some steaks in Cainesville and bring them back here.”

“What about towels, soap, bed linen?”