“She was just like her mother, sour and rancorous.”
Parishioners swarmed old Westfall Cemetery, clearing weeds and dead floral arrangements in observance of Decoration Day. Elders, in white, Sunday-best shirts, sleeves rolled up past their elbows, uprighted toppled stones.
The urn, split in half, memorialized the final resting places of mother and daughter, Gertrude and Inez Whitney. Gertie, a widow, and Inez, a spinster, infamous town curmudgeons, died within weeks of each other. Residents believe their spirits haunt the graveyard.
None of the godly churchgoers wanted to touch the broken pot, still afraid of incurring the vengeful women’s wrath.