The Mausoleum

The Ashleyville Cemetery was the resting place for citizens who had died as early as 1795 and as late as 2020. Most of the tombstones were modest, and in recent years small plaques in the ground had become more popular than large tombstones or obelisks. No one these days put up a mausoleum, but a few dotted the landscape of the old cemetery.

Phineas Coulter was on a walking tour of the United States. That was the best way of putting it. The truth was that he had no home. Not much had worked out in his life, whether his family, his loves, his cars, or his jobs. So he decided to walk west from his most recent residence in western Pennsylvania and had made it all the way to Ohio, which was not very far at all. In his backpack he had a change of clothes and as much money as he could find. It was summer, so he might be able to do odd jobs if he needed to add to his cache.

Phineas had reached the Ashleyville Cemetery and walked inside. Cemeteries fascinated him. He could speak to the dead, and they wouldn't talk back to him, threaten him, call him names, or dismiss him with a scowl. He liked reading the inscriptions on the tombstones: the names, the dates, the occasional sayings. He sat down on a stone bench in the middle of the grounds, and took out a sandwich and bottle of water from his backpack.

It was certainly peaceful here among the dead who had rested in the cemetery for over two hundred years or for only two weeks. All ages, from the young to the very old. When he finished eating, he looked around. His eyes drifted toward a small hill and a stone mausoleum. Had the deceased asked and paid for such a grandiose monument, or had guilt-ridden family members built it in order to prevent the deceased from coming back to haunt them? Phineas decided to walk up to the mausoleum. It was already starting to get dark.

The mausoleum was big and old. Phineas approached it and looked at the name in the dying light: Coulter. That was his name. Was it possible to get inside? He had to be there. He had to spend the night there, or where else would he go?

The mausoleum had a metal door. Maybe the lock was so old that it didn't work anymore. He tried it, he jiggled it, he pushed and pulled, and then it opened. Phineas Coulter walked inside. There was the coffin against the right wall. He took out his flashlight from his back pocket. A small metal plaque identified the remains: Carlton Coulter.

He almost laughed, since he had expected to see his own first name. No, that would have been too spooky, like something in a horror story. And in that horror story the live Phineas Coulter would be killed by the dead Phineas Coulter, or something. He wondered if Carlton could be a relative of his. Why not? Coulter wasn't such an unusual name, but it wasn't that common either. He decided it was time to sleep. The floor was cold, but he had a small blanket in his backpack and his clothes would help keep him warm. Would he run out of air while sleeping in a closed mausoleum? He decided to prop his backpack against the slightly open door. That would give him enough air and perhaps discourage animals as well. Maybe all the animals in the cemetery would be asleep. Except for an occasional owl, he decided.

The next day Phineas Coulter woke from his night at the mausoleum and said, "See you later!" to the dead Carlton Coulter. A coffee shop near the village green looked welcoming. Despite his growing beard, he didn't think he looked quite like the derelict he'd become. He entered, ordered some good, strong coffee, juice, and a pastry, and sat down to read the free newspaper provided by the cafe. Ah, small-town life, where the big news had to do with a zoning dispute or a missing kitten. Yes, the national news was there as well, but it didn't inspire or entertain Phineas the way the local news did.

He enjoyed looking out the window onto the village green. The town seemed pleasant, friendly, his kind of place. Of course, if he were to stay in Ashleyville, he would need a job and another place to stay, besides the mausoleum. He decided that his next move was to go to the library, only a block away, according to the barista. He wondered whether anyone in Ashleyville knew that term and then scolded himself for being a snob.

He smoothed down his messy hair as he entered the Ashleyville Library, on a side street near the village green. A quaint, old redbrick building, it had what he wanted: computers, books, and personnel who looked alert. Of course, he didn't have a library card, and he didn't know the correct address of the mausoleum (his residence), but he was reasonably sure that anyone who walked in the door could provide information. Phineas Coulter approached a librarian who looked unoccupied. Her nametag said Sara.

"Hi. I wonder if you can help me. I'm from western Pennsylvania, but I was wandering around the cemetery and saw a mausoleum with the name Carlton Coulter on it. That's my name, well just the last name. Is there any way I can find out if I'm related to Mr. Coulter?"

"Well, I know that he was a prominent citizen in Ashleyville well over a hundred years ago. And he has a descendant, an elderly woman who lives in Ashleyville. She's quite a recluse. Charlotte Coulter."

"I wonder if we're related. Can you give me her address?"

"No, that would violate her privacy. However, here's a phone book." Sara gave him a wink.

Phineas smiled at her and opened the phone book. There she was, Charlotte Coulter, with a phone number and an address.

Phineas looked at the librarian. "Would it violate anyone's privacy if you told me where to find Maple Street?"

"Just turn left when you leave the library. Then turn left on the next street. You'll find it. I'm sure that Charlotte Coulter is home, but I'm not so sure she'll answer the door."

Phineas tried to look casual and debonair as he exited the public library, but he felt excited and scared at the same time. Would this old woman be mean, nice, a recluse, a crazy person? He hoped he looked reasonably presentable, in spite of his growing beard.

There it was, a house built in 1860, according to the plaque on the door. He rang the bell. A dog barked. Nothing happened. He rang again. The dog barked again. Then he heard slow footsteps. The door opened ever so slightly. A small woman with white hair looked him over. "Are you selling something? I don't need anything."

She started to shut the door and Phineas almost yelled. "Please. My name is Phineas Coulter. I was wondering if we could be related."

Charlotte Coulter opened the door. "Well, you look too bedraggled to be one of my relatives." She started to close the door.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't shave this morning. I slept in the Coulter mausoleum."

"You did what?" She opened the door a little wider. "Do you sleep in mausoleums often?"

"No. Not too many people do. May I tell you my story?"

She hesitated. "Well, I suppose we could sit outside here on the porch. With my dog Chester. I'll just get his leash."

Within a minute she was back with a little dog, seemingly a mixed variety, whose leash she tied to the stairway's railing. "All right. Let's sit down. You intrigue me, young man, even if you look disheveled."

"Thank you. I appreciate it. Well, my name is Phineas Coulter. I decided to go on a walking trip. I walked over from western Pennsylvania. There was nothing to keep me there."

"Why not?"

"I lost my job. I was a welder. My family lives on the other side of the state. So, like all those pioneers used to do, I decided to go west."

"You're not married?"

"No. Almost got married once, but it didn't work out."

"That happened to me as well, but I don't want to talk about it. Why would you sleep in a mausoleum, and how did you get in?"

"I don't have a lot of money with me. Thought I could do odd jobs on my way."

"On your way to where?"

"Good question. I guess I don't really know. Anyway, I like wandering in cemeteries and looking at tombstones. When I saw the mausoleum up on the little hill, I went there and saw the name Coulter. Somehow I thought I was meant to be there. It wasn't hard to open the door, it was so old and rusty."

"And did you commune with Carlton Coulter?"

"A bit. I told him about myself. He seemed to accept me as I am, warts and all." Phineas laughed. "Do you think Carlton and I could be related? Or maybe Carlton and you and I? Is he one of your relatives?"

"Ah, yes. My great-grandfather. I met him when I was a child. He was rather gruff. He had a son named Phineas who moved to eastern Pennsylvania, somewhere near Philadelphia, I think."

"I had a grandfather named Phineas. I remember meeting him."

"Hmm. Well, then we had the same great-grandfather. I think that makes sense. We're going to have to sort this out. I don't have any relatives to speak of at this point. I lost touch all those years ago."

"The librarian here was helping me. Maybe we can go over to the library to figure out how we are related."

"If we are related."

"OK, if and how. But somehow I think we're connected."

"Are you going to sleep in the mausoleum again tonight?"

"Yes. That was my plan. I left my backpack there."

"I'm sure Carlton is watching over it. He always was a stickler for details. But I think you could stay with me tonight, if you like. As long as you promise to shave in the morning. Do you have the necessary equipment?"

"Yes, yes I do. What I didn't have this morning was a source of water."

"All right, then. Go get your stuff, and try not to get arrested when you go back to the mausoleum. The Ashleyville police don't have a good deal to do. Sleepy little town."

"I'll be careful."

"And don't forget I have a ferocious watch dog. Right, Chester?"

Chester lifted his head and wagged his tail.

Phineas laughed. "Right."

By Anita G. Gorman

From: United States

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