CERRO GORDO - Chances are good that Joseph Hyde is going to wind up gravely disappointed, but he's determined to keep digging.

The Cerro Gordo man believes he owes that much to the anonymous dearly departed person who is known to him only through fragments of his or her tombstone. Hyde, who has found 127 four-leaf clovers in the last two years, says he might just get lucky enough and discover the identity of the stone's owner and then be able to return it to the rightful grave.

Maybe.

"It's like I feel as if the person is bugging me to do something about their tombstone," says Hyde, 70. "But if I can't find out anything, I just don't know what I'm going to end up doing with it. I do feel I've got to try, though."

This earthy tale begins about three years ago, when a neighbor in a pre-Civil War house a couple of doors away dropped into conversation the fact that they had a broken tombstone in their yard and were planning to get rid of it before selling the house. "I said 'No, don't do that; I'll take it, and I'll dig around and see what I can find out about it,' " recalled Hyde. "I thought if some old boy is buried out around here somewhere and somebody stole his tombstone or something, I'd take it back for him."

A grand notion, but one beset with terminal difficulty. No one knows how the white, marblelike stone came to rest in the former neighbor's yard, for example. It's in three pieces (Hyde has two, the other one is still there, too heavy to lift easily) and there's no name or dates on it, other than that of W.H. Grindol of Decatur, who appears to have been the stone mason who cut the monument.

The grave marker is very old and very weathered, with a faded inscription that manages to sound both upbeat and sad at the same time: "Believe kind friends, believe � Our wrath (but it could be something like "mirth") no more � we'll meet in Paradise � I'm (could be "awaiting") you � Where joy will be complete."

There are some tantalizing rumors about the house where the stone was found having been used as a convalescent center for wounded Civil War troops, and the imposing red-brick residence does date to 1859. But current owner Becky Cockrum, who lives there with husband Richard and their children Sierra, 8, Bryant, 5, Olivia, 3, and 1-year-old James, isn't losing sleep over the notion that her house could be perched over some unmarked Union graveyard.

"A woman who was 90 visited when we first moved here, and she mentioned that she did not think it was any kind of convalescent home," says Cockrum. "I like old houses anyway, and I certainly don't feel afraid of it. But it would be interesting if something could be found out about the history behind this house � and that tombstone."

Hyde's been working on it and rooting around amongst whatever records he can find but, four-leaf clovers not withstanding, questions about his own mortality have slowed the pace a bit. He says he's had four bouts with cancer, open-heart surgery, surgery for sleep apnea, both lenses in his eyes replaced, both knees replaced and is due to have both shoulder joints replaced for good measure.

"I've kind of been preoccupied with my health a little bit," says Hyde, a retired building superintendent. "But I keep picking at that stone over the years, trying to figure it all out."

Lee Slider, the retired cultural and historical interpreter with the Macon County Conservation District, won't be surprised if Hyde's quest ultimately winds up at a dead end. He's made a particular study of Central Illinois cemeteries and says there are a range of explanations for the stone being where it is, none of them helpful.

"It may never have been used and could be a castoff, like maybe the stone mason made a mistake with the inscription and then somebody just took it home," said Slider. "Someone might have thought it would make a great lawn decoration."

Other explanations for errant tombstones detached from their graves are sadder and point to the fleeting nature of what we consider eternity. Slider says it's not unusual over the years for rural family burial plots to be encroached on by enthusiastic farmers who plow ever-nearer, until the stones get knocked over and the cemetery disappears under the furrow.

"A family starts out thinking there will always be someone to take care of their plot, but the family dies out and the land is sold and so on," he adds. "Some of the gravestones end up broken, and then they get used for things like steppingstones to the outhouse or whatever. There are a lot of forgotten family cemeteries out there."

Tony Reid can be reached at treid@herald-review.com or 421-7977.