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letters set into an arch above it:
∼ MOUNT REPOSE ∼
    On each side of the sign were angels sobbing into the crook of an arm, drizzle dripping from their elbows. Inside, an intensely green lawn stretched for acres. Clara passed statues of men on horseback brandishing swords, obelisks, baby lambs of stone dozing on the graves of infants. But around the bend was the most awesome sight of all: a hulking black marble fortress supported by fat Ionic columns, slick and shiny from the rain.
    At the tip of the roof was a sculpture. Clara thought it resembled a peacock. Its head was raised toward the heavens, and its wings were spread wide. Below, in the doorway, a stout minister in a white collar spotted the carriage and bowed.
    “What kind of church is this?” Clara asked after the coach had rolled to a stop.
    “It’s a crypt,” said her mother.
    Clara got goose bumps. She had read about crypts. They were burial houses in ancient Egypt. “Are there mummies inside?”
    “No. It’s a place that George Glendoveer built for his family.”
    The carriage man held his tongue when he helped the ladies down to the walk, but Clara could tell he was taking in all the details of the crypt’s strange edifice, perhaps to gossip about to his next set of passengers.
    The minister rubbed his palms together to warm them before shaking hands. “It’s chilly inside,” he said. “I don’t think the place has been opened for thirty years.”
    “It’s an interesting building, to say the least, Reverend Tandy,” Clara’s mother said.
    “Yes,” he answered. “That bird on the roof is a phoenix, I believe.” He looked up and shook his head. “I’m told it has some significance to the family, but I’m afraid I don’t know much more.”
    As they entered the crypt, dimly lit by a gas lantern, Clara was surprised to note a luscious perfume thickening the air. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out a black and silver casket heaped with white lilies. Candles in glass cups flickered around it.
    “Reverend,” Clara’s mother said, “who sent the lilies?”
    “I have no idea,” he said. “We could ask the director after the services, if you’d like. Should we begin now?”
    Clara reached for Ruby’s hand and they followed the reverend closer to where Mrs. Glendoveer lay. Behind the casket a square door opened into the darkness. A plaque bearing the names GEORGE AND CENELIA GLENDOVEER was mounted above the opening. The reverend lifted his Bible and began to read in a round-voweled voice more dignified than his own:
    Behold, I shew you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye.…
    The words echoed in the marble chamber and seemed to Clara to gather power. She pictured Mrs. Glendoveer inside the heavy casket turning golden with light, readying herself for heaven. Tearing her eyes away from the casket, Clara noticed that there were many doors built into the wall. Each door had a plaque mounted above it.
    ELLIOT , read the first.
Baby Elliot
, thought Clara. And then she read the next one: HELEN .
Would that be Mr. Glendoveer’s mother?
she wondered. And there were more: ARTHUR, PETER, FRANCES, GEORGE WILLIAM .
    None of those names were familiar to Clara. She supposed that Mr. Glendoveer must have come from a large family.
    Just then, Clara heard footsteps from behind. She turned her head but was quickly prodded by her mother to face forward. Two men had joined them in the crypt. One wore a pince-nez and a long black coat, and carried his hat in his hand. The other was short and ruddy, and wore a baggy striped suit.
    “My friends,” said Reverend Tandy, “it has pleased Almighty God to take from this world the soul of Cenelia Glendoveer here departed. We now commit her body with the sure and certain faith in the resurrection to eternal life.”
    The reverend summoned one of the men. “Oscar?” he said.
    The man in the baggy suit stepped forward and