Easter was a few Sundays away, and David and Anna Kixmiller Moore were moving back to their hometown of Mapleton, Indiana. David and Anna hadn't lived there in almost forty years, since leaving to attend out-of-state colleges.

As they drove along the county road, they were transported back in time. They passed fields that now lay barren, and David remembered the farmer and his wife who had tilled that land. David spotted their faded red tractor parked by the barn. He thought of their son, Eddie, who used to bully him in second grade.

As they rounded Harper's Corner, David and Anna saw Clarence and Clara Harrison's restaurant, The Hen House. In its day, it was the hot spot in the community, the place to go and be seen. Their motel adjacent to the restaurant had been known as the "love motel" because while the rates were per day, the rooms were mostly used by the hour.

Now, however, a large, shabbily painted and heavily weathered sign: CLOSED — dangled by one big rusty hook in the middle of the parking lot. Seeing these once-thriving businesses now closed and dilapidated added to David's heavy spirit.

As they continued down County Road 1700W, Anna said to her husband, "Are you sure we ought to be moving back home? Everything from my youth is starting to come back. What do you think?" Anna's voice trailed off to a whisper.

David stared at the road as if at any moment it was going to take him over a cliff. He gripped the steering wheel as if it might jump out of his hands. At first he pretended not to hear her and pressed down on the accelerator.

* * *

They sat in silence. David stared at the road, and Anna suddenly found her sterling-silver bracelet very interesting as she examined every link, gemstone, and charm. Anna had not realized that returning to their hometown would be so hard. Uncertainty and fear gripped her heart and spirit. David's face reflected his doubt about their decision to move back to Mapleton.

The quietness seemed to make the voices in Anna's head grow louder and louder, and the memories grew increasingly vivid. She reached over and turned on the radio, hoping the voices of Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, and Blossom Dearie would soothe her troubled spirit.

* * *

When a commercial blared from the radio in stark contrast to Tony Bennett's mellow voice, David was yanked back to the present. His palms were sweaty and his neck was frozen. He rubbed it as he tried to move his head.

David kept going over the question Anna had asked: "Are you sure we ought to be moving back home?" He thought of several ways to answer her, yet none seemed right. Internal voices and pictures were competing for his attention. Should we be going back home? David knew very well what Anna's psychiatrist had emphatically told him, so he said, "Yes. Yes. We must return home."

A traffic signal ahead, one of a handful in Mapleton, was turning from green to yellow, so David eased off the accelerator. The Chevy Tahoe slowed. David looked to his left, and there it was: the cemetery.

It had glorious names for the different sections: Little Lambs Cemetery, Eternal Hope Resting Place, Memorial Park, and Peaceful Acres. David didn't know how well the names reflected the quality of rest those buried there were experiencing, but most residents took pride in the names and sections of the cemetery where one day they would be buried. They wanted all who viewed their graves to know they had had money, status, and power. They were somebody, after all, whether they were living or dead. Some families erected private mausoleums with glass doors and windows guarded with iron bars, while others had large gravestones with angels or eagles on the top. They all stood like jagged teeth against the horizon.

The traffic light changed to green, and David drove past a sign that read Mapleton City Limit: Population 21,703. David thought, That's the same population Mapleton was when Anna and I left here almost forty years ago. He saw from the style of the sign and the dullness of the paint that it had never been updated. He wondered what the actual population was.

A smile crossed David's face. I wonder if an unchanged population is any indication of an unchanged thought process ... or unchanged morals and ethics of these people.

His smile broadened as he remembered that citizens of nearby towns referred to Mapleton as "Peyton Place," from the novel that told of unsavory scandals and vile skeletons hidden in the closets of small towns. Sure haven't thought of that in years. I wonder what they based the nickname on — rumor, speculation, or fact?

David once again tightly gripped the steering wheel because the name Peyton Place chilled his spirit. The low-fuel light with its accompanying chime came on. He glanced at the fuel gauge and noticed it was just below one-quarter.

"There used to be a gas station down the road. Remember? It was called Pleasin' Pete's, and its motto was, 'We give you full-service and more!' Let's fill up there."

He soon saw the sign for the gas station in the distance, but it was unlit. The entire place was deserted and eerie. Ivy crawled up the walls, and the pumps had been removed.

Anna remembered where two bright red gas pumps decorated with chrome decals on the sides and glass flames on top had once stood. They had been like soldiers ready to obey the customer's order of, "Fill her up, please," with either regular or ethyl.

Once again voices and pictures passed through Anna's mind. She'd had concerns about returning home, but she always dismissed them, thinking, We'll never go back there. We'll never move back to Mapleton.

But now they were sitting in the Tahoe with Frank Sinatra singing "Born Free" at the very gas station where the chrome-decorated gas pumps with the glass flames on top had once stood. Dare she look at the door? The door! Her heart pounded harder and harder as memories played in her head. She felt trapped by her memories and the emotions they invoked. "'Born Free,'" Anna mumbled. "A nice idea, but it hasn't happened in my lifetime."

Anna's mumbling brought David back from wondering how long the station had been closed. The rusted metal sign read Regular 99.9.

He turned to Anna. "Well, if we can't get any gas, maybe we can get some food. Let's drive into town and get a couple of tenderloin sandwiches and some french fries at BJ's. Okay?"

Anna nodded. Her stomach was churning — not from hunger but from the emotions trigged by the revolting memories the gas station had aroused. The last thing she wanted was food. However, going to BJ's would get her away from the station and maybe away from some of her wretched and imprisoning memories.

Her stomach churned even more as she said, "Yes, BJ's will be fine." And then she wondered, Will I continue to be haunted by memories? Will my psychiatrist's suggestion to move back heal my troubled mind and spirit?

As they drove from the closed gas station to BJ's, Anna's thoughts took her back to their school days in Mapleton.

Anna was a year older than her husband David. She had known him all her life. They had attended the same high school and were both members of Christ Community Church (CCC). Then again, a town of 21,703 people wasn't that big. You ran into the same people over and over — at the Piggly Wiggly, Woolworth's, Osco Drug, and Pleasin' Pete's gas station.

David Moore was tall and had a shock of...