Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1890-05-29
New Series, Vol. 80, No 22

the tears dropped on the wreath she
was making for Jack. o, the bitterness
of repentance which comes too lateI
Memorial day dawned beautiful and
bright, and the people of Windymere
came slowly and tearfully to the quiet
cemetery, to hold the impressive serv-
ices of the day and strew flowers on the
graves of dear friends gone to rest.
The gray-haired minister had
been Jacks chaplain-offered prayer
after the sweet, low memorial song, and
then some of Jacks old comrades, with
barred heads, lay flowers on the graves
of those with whom they had soldiered.
After that girls in white decorated the
remaining graves followed by those who
had friends beneath the low, green
mounds.
| But Elaine Russell was not with them;
no. Away from gaze of the curious, in
the corner of the cemetery, stood love-
ly marble shaft, and its surroundings
were carefully and artistically kept.
By this stone Miss Russell was kneeling;
her lips moved and prayer went up to
Him who hath promised to dry the
mourner's tears.
Then she wreathed the flowers about
the stone and, with gentle earess, touch
ed the opening rosebuds framing in the
inscription.
''In memory of jack" it read; that
was all.
1t was enough, for Elaine knew the
rest as she leaned her head against the
cold marble and shut her eyes.
A man in an old army coat spoke to
the chaplain: "Over there III the corner,
did you say? l shall find her there?"
And when he came that way she
heard his step on the tufted sward and
opened her eyes in startled way.
"Beg pardon, ma'am," he said, kindly,
drawing near; "but I've letter as was
given to me to give to you. I'd a. sent
it by mail, ma'am, but he wanted it de-
livered by hand. I've come from Ala
bama, ma'am; tramped it all the way;
been sick good deal, but I'm here at
last
Elaine held out her hand for the worn,
soiled envelope and murmured THANK |
you" with white lips.
Then he lifted his cap and was gone. |
What could it be? Well, she wouldn't |
read it there. The sight of the uniform
had given her such Start-it had made |
her nervous. And the people were pass
ing out, now, so she wouldn't read it un-
til she went home.
"rm dreadfully tired" she said, as she
went upstairs. "If I'm not down to
dinner don't call me. 1 believe 1 shall
lie down awhile"
The dinner hour passed and there was
no stir in Miss Russelrs room. "She is
they said; "we'l not disturb
her." So Elaine was not called.
But at eventide they found her rest
ing peacefully with her head on the pill
low, and worn paper clasped tightly in
her cold fingers.
Gently disengaging it, they read
Elaine, dearest one, am dying. l will
soon cross the tide-not of Stone River,
but of death-and be mustered out
When you read this you will have for
given me; will have found your love for
me as true and warm as of yore. My
soul tells me this, Elaine. Meet me in
Heaven, dearest, where love abideS and
differences never come. L will look for
you. Goodbye until then. Your own
Jack"
There was smile on her face when
they found her. Doubtless she recOg-
nized her soldier lover as the bright, far
off forever dawned upon her, and the
delight of the ecstatic meeting reflected
itself on her dead face.
A few of the memorial blossoms still
ay on the table. They put them in her
cold hands and on her breast; then they
aid her down to rest in the sweet, Sc
,luded spot by the marble, with its me-
mortal wreaths still about it.
And now Ned and Nell Beckwith,
grown older and wiser, come on Memori-
II Day and wreathe beautiful roses and
lilies around the stone.
The inscription reads little different
low: "In memory of Jack and Elaine"
And the young lips quiver over the
words and the young eyes fill with tears.
or they know why Aunt Elaine ''re-
nembered so well on Memorial Day.