we head to one of the oldest parts of Folkestone.
The Folkestone cemetery is a strangely beautiful place, all massive trees and rolling lawns. Birdsong and the rustle of the leaves around us are the only sounds I hear as we walk toward the granite crypt. Even our footsteps on the flagstone walkway are muffled. Stopping in front of the entrance door, I run my hand over the now-familiar carvings of delicate vines and twinkling stars, the name Bradleigh in flowing old school script at the top.
Cecily moves me gently out of the way and pulls a large and ornate skeleton key from her purse, slotting it into the old iron lock and pushing open the door. Stepping inside, she motions me to follow, but just as I’m about to, Sunday’s hand reaches for my forearm.
“Stell, I’m going to wait out here, okay? This is for you and your aunt.” Giving me a little squeeze, she meanders over to the nearest tree and leans her back against it. She seems slightly odd, and there’s a bit of a shake to her hands, but I know cemeteries can freak people out, so I give her a grateful smile and join my aunt in the interior of the crypt.
The first thing I notice is how cool it is inside. Reaching out to touch one of the dark rose granite walls, I realize they are primarily responsible for the air temperature in here. Smooth and cold, with a small window high in the back wall to allow a surprising amount of light in. While I expected to feel claustrophobic and nervous, instead, I feel reverent. Humbled.
Cecily stands silently and watches as I read the names of the Bradleighs that came before me. My grandparents, back to the great greats—Thomas and Christianne, Frederick and Euphemia, Isaac and Annah. Their children—my great aunts and uncles. And their children. Moving closer to my aunt, I see the newly inscribed memorial next to her.
Catherine Elaine
Beloved Mother, Daughter, and Sister
Home at Last
Something inside me that’s been wound tight for a long time snaps, and the tears that come feel ancient—powerful and cleansing. Wrapping our arms around each other, Cecily holds me tight while I cry, and I know in my heart I’ve truly forgiven her. She pulls back, wipes the wetness from my cheeks with her thumbs, and gives me a watery but peaceful smile.
“This is where you come from, Stella Evangeline Bradleigh. These people, this town—this is your home. For better or worse, Folkestone is where you belong.”
“Aunty,” I ask haltingly, “can we sit down sometime soon and talk about them?” I wave my hand around us. “I’d really like to know more about them, learn about the Founding Families, the Heirs. What it all means.”
“I would love that.” She sniffles and digs in her bag for a tissue before giving my hand a squeeze. “I’ll give you a few minutes with your mom.” As she steps out into the sunlight, my thoughts turn to the last time I saw my mother. Slightly manic at breakfast and rambling about my birthday promise to never tell anybody who I was. Me coming home to an empty apartment after school that day and finding her gone without a goodbye.
I have no idea what happened to her in the intervening years, but I feel like she spent her whole adult life looking over her shoulder, just waiting for the boogeyman to catch up.
You’re safe now, nobody can ever hurt you again. I know I didn’t keep my promise to you, but I’m not alone anymore. There is love here. I can feel it.
I trace the letters in her name.
Goodbye, Mom. I love you.
Feeling lighter, I leave the crypt and pull the door shut tightly behind me, looking around for Sunday and my aunt. Not seeing either one of them, I start to wander further along the path that weaves lazily among the trees. Stopping at a stone gazebo, I survey the area and realize I appear to be in the middle of this section of the graveyard and that there are seven other crypts similar to my family’s.
One for each Founding Family.
A breeze tickles the hairs on the back of my neck, and from this vantage point, I can see Sunday sitting next to one of the crypts and Cecily standing a respectful distance away. With a little shiver, I make my way over to my best friend and crouch beside her. She turns her face to mine, and even though