Chapter VII. 2007 #3
The tables were small. Round. Each set for a full service.
Silver and crystal and linen napkins and porcelain cups for their French-press coffees.
There were a few women at the other tables, their hands folded primly in their laps as they stared at their plates but not each other.
Each one wore an almost identical smile, their pupils so dilated she wondered how it didn’t hurt them just to keep their eyes open.
“Camilla, this will be your seat. You’ll sit here every day during your stay with us,” Barbara said, and moved to pull out her chair.
Camilla nodded and sank into it, folding her hands as well. Better to fit in, but even as she darted glances at the women around her, she doubted that would be possible. She was Pastor Burson’s daughter. She might as well have run in screaming and wearing nothing but twinkle lights.
“We start with morning prayer. I’ll be back later with your individual and group assignments.
Enjoy your breakfast!” Barbara retreated with quick steps, taking her own seat at a long table stretching across the back of the room.
Camilla dared a glance at what she could only assume were other Retreat staff members.
She recognized most of the women and men sitting there.
She’d seen their faces among the sea of others on Sundays.
Each one gazed at their folded hands or straight ahead.
They looked smoothed over. Glazed. As if they had been told to smile and then pressed flat.
Camilla flicked her eyes back to the front where the dais stood, and a cold sense of dread gripped her. A morning prayer. She could only hope her father wouldn’t be the one leading it. It would be too complete of a humiliation.
The dining room filled quickly. The only sounds were chairs scraping and throats clearing as the women settled into their seats.
She dared one more quick sweep of the room, but she didn’t see Brianna.
It was likely she hadn’t come in yet, but still, her heart sunk.
Her hopes of talking with Brianna and telling her about the Dark Sisters slipped further away as she forced herself to mimic the perfect, drugged stillness of the women around her.
Camilla stared at her empty coffee cup with longing. She’d hoped they would at least have given them caffeine first, but she should have known better. There was other sustenance that was a higher priority.
She was considering taking a chance and asking the woman beside her how long morning prayer lasted when the lights dimmed.
Automatically, the women turned their attention to the dais and the man now striding toward it.
The slightest sense of relief washed over Camilla even as she inwardly groaned.
The man standing at the front might not have been her father, but Youth Pastor Trent wasn’t much better.
He flashed a perfectly whitened smile. “Good morning, ladies.”
“Good morning, Pastor Trent,” the women repeated in unison.
“It is truly a blessing to be among you today. Both those of you in the midst of your journeys, and those of you who have just begun.” He stared out, his gaze immediately landing on Camilla.
He smirked. “How privileged you are to be given this opportunity to turn away from that which keeps you from Christ. From pride. From disobedience. From discontent. From envy. From dishonesty. It is a wonderful thing to humble oneself before God, and we are happy to welcome Camilla Burson. I hope you’ll all encourage her as she finds her way back to the path the Lord intends for her. ”
Seething, Camilla gripped the sides of her chair as the women around her clapped. She wanted to tear out his throat, use his trachea as a fucking straw, but she forced a pleasant smile to her face, nodding her gratitude as the room quieted.
“Let us pray as we always do, for the peace of restoration and the contentment we find in humbling ourselves before the Lord.”
Automatically, the women bowed their heads, and Camilla followed. It didn’t matter that Pastor Trent had humiliated her and would likely make it his personal mission to continue doing so. She had to play the part. Even if it meant swallowing her anger at every turn.
With her teeth pressed to the insides of her cheeks, Camilla let the prayer wash over her, the words passing through her as if she were a ghost. Insubstantial as air.
Her body went numb as Trent droned on and on, the totality of what she would endure on Retreat dawning on her.
Hours of exactly this same bullshit while her brain slowly liquified and dribbled out of her ears.
Her heart surged, her eyes fluttering open as panic robbed whatever control she had over her body. As the need to run grew larger than logic.
Everyone else was still. Quiet. Absorbed in Pastor Trent’s prayer. She craned her neck, looking for the exit in the hope just seeing it would calm her.
From the back of the room, another woman lifted her head, any pretense of prayer dismissed as she locked eyes with Camilla.
Camilla choked back a sob. The woman looking back at her was Brianna.