CHAPTER 63

I was taken aback as we walked in the small graveyard, my mind still reeling. I had never been in a place this old before. When we had entered, a large sign had read “The Burying Point, 1637.” I marveled at the fact that people had been coming here for almost 400 years.

More than that, I marveled that there were a few tourists wandering the cemetery right now. I had assumed we would have been the only ones here. But after all, this was Salem. And this cemetery was an attraction. People seemed to come here and treat it as a museum. In fact, I noticed that there was an actual museum adjacent to the burial plots. It didn’t feel right to me. I felt that this place should have been more sacred.

The cemetery was small and intimate, the size of someone’s backyard. A cobblestone path twisted and turned its way throughout the place, and as I strolled, I marveled at how old the tombstones were, at their strange fonts, worn away with age. It was English, but it was so old, and so quaint, it alm