Pandemic: The Fairy Grave

I studied the books on the shelf, making sure they were in order. Someone had been helping themselves, which made me happy---That was what they were there for. Since the mayor had declared a state of emergency in Lock Haven and the library had been closed, I'd been stopping by occasionally to check on our backup library outside. I figured I wasn't technically working if I didn't enter the library.
I got on my bike and rode to the grocery store. I had a black jacket that I'd geared up with all the usual adventure equipment, plus first aid, hand sanitizer, soap, and some alcohol wipes. The perfect accessory for a deadly quarantine.
The store had been raked over---It was ridiculous. Paper products were gone. Fresh vegetables were nonexistent; I got lucky enough to score the last onion. Canned vegetables were about half picked over. For some reason, there was plenty of spam.
"Thank you for that article about the 1918 flu epidemic," a woman said to me from the recommended six feet away. This is the new normal. "It's good to make people feel better about this situation."
"I'm trying, believe me."
"I miss the library. E-books just aren't the same."
"I do have books available on the shelves out back," I told her. "There's a wide variety. You can help yourself."
"Oh, that would be nice," she said. "I'll stop there after dinner."
"Stay safe."
"You, too."

When Tif arrived at the house in her wheelchair, Paul and I were out in the front yard. I was drinking a Labbatt while he rolled around on his roller skates, and we were practicing with a blowgun. This is a good combination.
Tif observed us for a minute. "Because everyone has a blowgun lying around the house someplace," she said.
"Had this for years," I said. "We spent some time indoors, practicing with the dummy darts. Paul's quite fascinated with it." I took a breath and shot a long dart into a beer can I had propped up on a lawnchair.
"I want to," Paul said. I loaded the blowgun up with a hunting dart and handed it to him. He blew, and didn't quite hit the can, but came close.
"Can I try?" Tif asked.
I loaded the blowgun with a short dart, and handed it to her. Her first shot went a little wide, but not too bad.
"That's actually sort of fun," she admitted.
"Try another," I said. "I've been teaching Paul one survival tactic a day at least. Hey Paul. How do we signal for help in Morse Code?"
"SOS," Paul said immediately. "Dot dot dot, line line line, dot dot dot."
"Very good. And what makes a good firestarter?"
"Milk cartons."
Tif glanced at me. "Milk cartons? Really?"
"They light right up, but they tend to be waxed, which makes the waterproof. I always carry some cut strips of milk carton in my firestarter kits."
"You been teaching him this stuff daily?"
"If we're gonna have an epidemic, might as well enjoy it."

My daughters sat at the table talking as I cooked dinner. Tif glanced at the pan. "This gonna be something you shot with the blowgun?"
"No, it's pork. Grocery store's still open."
"You think eventually it won't be?" asked Biz.
"I doubt it'll come to that," I said,"But it's best to be prepared. You never know how long this could go on, or how bad it could get. I have some food stocked up, but if we go into a full-scale quarantine, I want to be prepared."
"What exactly does that entail?"
"I can catch squirrels and rabbits in the backyard. The blowgun is fun, but I'd probably set deadfall traps---Let a trap do all the waiting. Collect rainwater, make a solar still. Find edible plants."
"Part of you is actually enjoying this," said Tif.
I shook my head. "I'm not, no. I hope it never comes to that. But if it does, I've been learning how to do this stuff my whole life. Once you're in an emergency, it's too late to learn how to deal with the emergency."
"You always say that."
"I always mean it."
"Well...."
"So, after dinner, you guys want to go on a little adventure?" I asked.
"Yes," Biz said immediately.
"Yeah," Tif said at the same time.
I hadn't expected it to be quite that easy. "There's an old Shoemaker story, published in 1912. I wrote a column about it for your mother's birthday last year. It's about fairies from Germany."
"We've been hiding out from the coronavirus all week," said Tif. "I'm not gonna be too picky about what we end up doing."
"In the story, there was a girl named Lotte Rudeshili," I said. "In Germany. Got engaged to a Wilhelm Schwartz. She discovered fairies in the forest and they made her their queen---It's a Henry Shoemaker story. When her parents announced they were moving the America, Clinton County specifically, Lotte and Wilhelm smuggled the fairies over. Shoemaker is real specific about punching air holes in the sack and bribing customs agents."
Tif laughed. I continued,"They lived in the forest, and when she died, the fairies would dance around her grave at night. I have reason to believe this was in the Swissdale Cemetery. When I wrote the article, your mother wanted to go look for the grave sometime. Now's as good a time as any."
"Are we going to blowgun the fairies?" Tif asked.
"No, we're going to let the fairies do their thing."
"Can't imagine we'll encounter too many other people in a cemetery," said Tif.
"No," I agreed. "I figure the Swissdale Cemetery isn't likely to be attracting hordes of people."

My wife parked the Prius under the old tree. I tried to maintain my dignity as I got out of it. Indiana Jones never rode places in a Prius. I was wearing my urban camouflage zombie shirt.
The Swissdale Cemetery is on the outskirts of Swissdale, which means it's basically nestled into farmland in Dunnstable Township. My family got out of the car and Paul began running around.
"We're looking for an old stone, before 1912," I said. "Shoemaker's story was published by then, and she had already died. Initials probably LR or LS; he liked to change the names but often kept the initials. And a German name."
Spreading out, we began looking around. Paul pointed at several gravestones, calling out,"Daddy! I found it!"
"What were those initials?" Biz asked me.
"LR or LS. Probably; I'm not a hundred percent on that. And a German name."
"This one has a sheep on it," said Michelle.
"Usually means a child," I said.
She looked at the gravestone. "Yeah. It is."
I stood next to her and looked at it. "One year old. Died in 1918, which probably means the Spanish Flu epidemic. That's a cheerful thought right now."
Tif and Paul roamed around the eastern end of the cemetery, while Biz, Michelle, and I walked across toward the west. Biz said,"These two look like little cairns."
"There's a couple of those in Highland, too," I said.
Paul let out a little shriek and ran back toward the car. A moment later, Tif called over,"He says he saw a scary hand attacking him."
"We're going to quit letting him watch those YouTube videos," Michelle said.
We reached the path, and I looked over the stones from that point on. "Far enough. These are all modern stones. They obviously started the cemetery on that end and worked their way over this way. Let's turn around."
We turned and walked back, not finding anything. I got to the car, where Paul was coloring a rainbow in the back seat. Leaning over the door, I said,"What's up, little man?"
"There was a scary hand in the cemetery. You want to see?'
"Okay. Show me."
Holding my hand, he led me over to the area between the two gravestones that resembled cairns. Biz followed along. Paul pointed. "There."
There was a work glove lying on the ground where someone had dropped it. I said,"Little man, that's just a glove. See?" I kicked it.
"It scared me. I thought it was going to get me."
"We're in The Stand, not Carrie. Come on, let's go back to the car."

"What are you doing, Daddy?"
In my office, I gestured toward the computer screen. "Since we couldn't find the grave we wanted earlier, I thought I'd check online. I hate doing that, but sometimes you can discover some things."
"You want to wrestle?"
"Soon as I'm done here."
I found Swissdale Cemetery on Findagrave. I ran a search for someone with the initials LR or LS who had died pre-1912, and came up with a few possibilities. And then I spotted Lena Schwendimann Weise, died in 1908.
"Check it out, Pipper. Look. This may be the fairy grave. She died at the right time, and in the story, her married name was Lotte Schwartz. In German, that means black. Her real name was Lena Weise. In German, Weiss means white. I found her."
"Want to wrestle now?"
"Yeah, little man. Let's go wrestle."