Eric Wright saw the year first: 1946.
He gasped and steadied himself with a deep breath before calling out to Janet O’Hare and her husband, Scott, their eyes fixated on the frozen ground of the Southampton Cemetery — searching, wishing, hoping.
“There’s one here!” Mr. Wright shouted, the O’Hares racing over. “I can’t read the name yet.”
The cemetery superintendent plunged his hands into the grass, pulling tuft after tuft from the cold soil, unearthing a long lost cast iron plate. Rinsing it off with water as Mr. Wright dug with a shovel, Ms. O’Hare stepped back, speechless, and looked at the name: Barbara J. Nothnagle.
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