Chapter 2 – Camille
After church, I was sent to my room to entertain myself, with a sandwich and a glass of milk on an agonizingly ironic silver platter for lunch.
I was told to stay in my room until Ethan came to fetch me.
It turned into hours of boredom as I watched the sun set and the moon rise.
The piano played softly downstairs, drowned out by the sound of laughter and conversation.
My family had invited the few notable families in town who were part of our church: the Rosendales, the Bonds, and the Lancasters.
They all had kids around my age and Reed’s age, but after listening through the open slat at the bottom of my bedroom door, I came to the conclusion they were not partaking in this event.
Usually, during get-togethers like this, our parents would invite both the parents and their children to keep Reed and me busy as they entertained their guests.
Reed and I would either spend the evening with our friends out by the pool or lounge in the tea room with piping hot tea and biscuits while being waited on hand and foot.
There were so many red flags I didn’t dare acknowledge.
The unsettling feeling my family had given me all day, the quietness of the house without the usual servants cleaning and maintaining our living quarters, my isolation…
I didn’t have the mental strength to lay out these details and examine them.
I knew deep in my conscience I wouldn’t like the answer, and it would only cause me more anxiety.
Not only that, I couldn’t imagine what awful scenario this could play out to be because I had no idea.
I chose to ignore it and hope the intentions of this social event were good.
Realistically, it was about an hour after the sounds of guests arriving and socializing when I heard a knock on my door and Ethan entered the room. He had a white dress draped over his arm, and he carefully placed it on my vanity chair.
“Ms. Chambers, you are requested downstairs. Your mother insists you wear this dress. She forbids any kind of jacket or shawl.” His eyes roamed my body, his lips pursed.
Ethan was a scrawny, mousy man. He was balding, which made me feel slightly awful for him in a vain way.
He had to be in his mid-twenties. I couldn’t recall meeting him at the church where my parents claimed he was from.
He was formal despite the lingering stares, which increased the intensity of my fears concerning what was to come.
There was no attachment or protectiveness in his voice like the usual servants, whom I credit with raising me since I was born.
He left the room with a bow, and I walked over to examine the dress.
It was made of a flimsy material I couldn’t identify.
It was white and thin, and it didn’t leave much to the imagination.
From the size alone, I could tell it was above the knee, which was odd considering I didn’t own any formal wear that wasn’t below the knee.
In fact, most of my dresses fell just above the ankle.
I slipped out of my pink silk pajamas and into the dress, then found a pair of white flats to go with it before glancing at myself in the mirror.
My cheeks flushed from embarrassment. The dress was wedding-gown white and came barely above my knees.
It had a plunging V-shaped neckline that showed the crevice between my breasts, and the sleeves were fitted to my shoulders.
It wasn’t too tight around my hips, as the material moved when I turned, but I’d have to be careful with how far apart my legs were to avoid showing too much skin.
Why did my mother want me to wear this around her guests?
And with nothing else over it? While it would be cute over a swimsuit by the pool on a hot summer day if I were three inches shorter, it was not formal attire.
My dark hair was thick and wavy as usual, the Mississippi heat playing a small part in its volume.
I didn’t bother to brush it for fear of making it worse, so I used my hands to flatten it as best I could, took a deep breath, and opened the door to leave my room and head down the stairs.
I hoped I was wearing the dress right. I also hoped my mother didn’t expect me to do anything more with my hair or face.
The humiliation would be far worse if I messed this up.
I made my way down the stairs, and the chatter of guests evaporated into the air.
My parents looked on in approval—my mother with a glass of red wine in one hand, her other hand sparkling under the chandelier with the number of jeweled rings on her bony fingers, resting delicately on her hip.
The dress she wore matched her wine in color and fell to her knees.
My father had his arms crossed as he stood next to her, watching me.
He was also well-dressed, as per usual, but not nearly as bold as my mother in his black fitted suit and burgundy tie.
He didn’t need to be flashy in his natural state, and maybe that was why she tried so hard to match his aura.
As I stopped at the bottom of the stairs to await further direction, the room burst into applause.
The Lancaster woman was sniffling and wiping away tears—a strange reaction for a woman who had spoken maybe two words to me, though I could say with confidence she had visited my mother shortly after she gave birth to me.
I forced a smile, trying to settle the butterflies flapping in my stomach as I scanned the room for clues.
My father held up a hand to silence everyone. The guests obeyed immediately.
“As you all know, this is my breathtaking daughter, Camille Elizabeth Chambers. Not only is she stunning, but a recent graduate of Belham High School. Class valedictorian, which is very impressive for a lady!” The room boomed with laughter, echoing on the marble tiles and through the oak stairs I stood atop.
It was hard to forget women aren’t supposed to be smart, and I think my parents were more disappointed than impressed when the principal called the family in to share the class standings.
“She’s going to make a special man very lucky to have her.
” There were chuckles and whispered comments, accompanied by knowing side-eyes across the room in agreement.
Just barely out of my field of vision, I recognized the familiar slim build of the priest from our church.
It wasn’t often he was invited to our Sunday evening events unless there was a wedding, death, or birth.
Another red flag I tried to bury in the recesses of my brain as my fears began to form guesses about what was going on.
Were they marrying me off tonight? Who could I possibly be marrying a week after graduating high school?
Theodore Rosendale was the only eligible bachelor in this circle my parents would possibly approve of, but he was sixteen and still had a year of high school to finish before talks could be serious.
My father continued, reaching behind him for his glass of champagne resting on the shiny platter to his right.
“We will continue the ceremony with a blessing from our preacher, who has helped us decipher God’s prophecy and come to the decision that tonight would be the night to fulfill it.
” He raised his glass to the chandelier light, and everyone else did as well before murmuring their “praise be’s” or “amens.”
When they all lowered their glasses and took a single sip, the priest made his way toward me until he was about a foot away.
He was a tall, lanky man. He had graying hair adjusted to cover a small balding spot at the top of his head.
From a young age, I remember he had a way of making me feel uncomfortable, and I tried to keep my distance from him.
His blue eyes were often cold, bordering on sadistic, though that could have been my imagination.
“You all have witnessed my son, Reed, receive his blessing moments earlier. Now we extend the blessing to my daughter.” My father nodded to the priest, whose big, toothy grin and darkened eyes made my skin crawl.
The priest turned to the table placed next to the staircase, picking up two crystal chalices and extending one to me.
I took it gently, peering through the glass to guess what the red liquid inside was.
It had the appearance of wine, the legs clinging to the side and slowly dripping down to meet the rest of it.
It carried the same sharp smell, but my guess was as good as any as to what it actually was.
He kept the other, turning to the guests.
“Friends, family, followers of our Lord and Savior… Today we come together to witness the beauty of our lineage and God’s intention of purity.
As I bless this girl before me on her journey to womanhood, I bear witness to God’s plan.
Praise be.” He raised the chalice, draining it in three gulps as everyone else did the same, murmuring “praise be” as well.
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to drink mine, so I didn’t.
No one paid any attention to my hesitation.
The room burst into cheers and applause, and the preacher whipped around to face me with a hostile sneer that turned my veins to ice.
I kept my gaze on him, despite my uneasiness. I hoped he couldn’t smell fear.
“The blessing has been finished. The final task is now underway.” He reached for the table again, grabbing a black handkerchief and a thin silver rope.
The heavy thumping in my chest reminded me I was in the present as I wondered what this was for.
That horrific sneer remained on his face as his grip locked onto my wrists, pulling them behind my back and tying them with the rope.