Sara Stanley was so happy, and so sad, to be coming home to Carlisle. It would be so good to see all her friends and family again.
Almost all her friends and family. There was one who would not be there to greet her; one who was the first Sara would
Sara thought back to the day, less than a year ago, when she had, just for fun, predicted everyone's future. Her own voice haunted
her as she remembered the words she had spoken to Cecily. "Everybody you meet will love you as long as you live."*
And now, less than a year later, Cecily was gone, dead from consumption, but Sara had not been able to come home for
the funeral. This would be her first opportunity to bid dear Cecily a proper goodbye.
The train stopped, and Sara, assisted by the porter, stepped off.
"Thank you," she said.
Twenty minutes later, Sara walked softly, quietly, reverently into the cemetery. It did not take her long to find
the grave marked "Cecily King, aged 13"
"Aged just barely thirteen," Sara thought.
And then she gently placed on the grave the blossoms she had brought.