The Lantern of June

June had always been a month of endings for the Whitfield family, but this year it felt like the final page had been torn out. When the funeral director called to say that Grandfather Elias’s body was ready for viewing, I half-expected the air in the room to turn cold, but it didn’t. It was just the same stale, floral-smelling air of the chapel, filled with the hushed tones of relatives I hadn’t seen in years.

My niece, Cora, and her cousin, Liam, were restless as always, and my sister, Margot, told them to go sit on the porch swing, a creaking relic that overlooked the winding drive of the funeral home, a converted Victorian on the edge of the town. They’d been out there for maybe ten minutes when they came back, their faces pale, their eyes wide. Cora whispered to me, ‘He was sitting on the steps, Aunt Lila. Grandpa Eli, with his legs crossed, swinging his foot like he always did. He had a cigarette, even though he quit years ago. He looked at us and smiled, and then he just… disappeared.’ Margot and I exchanged a glance; we’d seen the same thing before, when we were their age, at our own grandmother’s funeral. We said nothing, but the hair on our arms stood up.

The burial was the next day, under a weeping willow that drooped over the plot like a grieving mother. As the minister droned on about the resurrection, a movement caught my eye from the edge of the woods. I turned my head, and there he was, Grandfather Elias, standing in the dappled shade, and in his arms he held a bundle wrapped in white. It was my baby brother, Eli Jr., who had been stillborn twenty years ago. I blinked, and they were gone, but the image seared itself into my mind. I looked at my sisters, but their eyes were fixed on the casket. I kept silent, not wanting to break the fragile peace.

That night, we gathered at Grandfather’s farmhouse, a place that had been in the family for over a century. The house was a labyrinth of narrow hallways and creaking floors, and the bedroom I was assigned to was at the end of the long corridor. I couldn’t sleep; the image of Grandfather with the baby kept replaying. I got up to get a glass of water, and as I passed the room where my sister, Doreen, was staying, I heard a soft thump. I peeked in and saw Doreen sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the window, her eyes glazed. But this wasn’t her usual room; she had chosen a different one, further from the bathroom. I called her name, but she didn’t respond. She just pointed to the window.

I followed her gaze. Outside, the moon cast long shadows, and there, standing in the middle of the cornfield, was a figure with a lantern, swinging it gently back and forth. I felt a chill run down my spine. The figure began to walk toward the house, and as it neared, I saw it was Grandfather Elias, the lantern casting a sickly yellow glow on his face. He was holding the hand of a small child, the same bundle from before, but now it was a boy of about five, wearing a white nightgown. They stopped at the back porch, and Grandfather looked up directly at us, his gaze piercing the glass. He raised the lantern, and the light seemed to fill the room, and I heard a whisper, as clear as a bell, ‘He’s ready to go home.’ Then both figures faded, leaving only the flickering edge of a firefly.

I turned to shake Doreen, but she was already asleep, breathing deeply. The next morning, all my sisters and I spoke at breakfast, and for the first time, we all confessed what we had seen. Margot had seen Grandfather standing at the graveside, holding the baby. I had seen them in the woods. And Doreen, with a shudder, said, ‘I saw him too, but he was holding a lantern. He told me it was time to let go of the past.’ We all fell silent, realizing that the funeral had been more than a farewell; it had been a reunion. And as the days passed, the house felt lighter, as if old burdens had been lifted. Yet, sometimes, I catch a glimpse of a small light in the field, swinging like a lantern, and I know that Grandfather Elias is still watching over us, waiting for the next Whitfield to join him, when their time comes.