Chapter 3
3
T he high, vaulted ceilings of the Sacred Hall make me feel smaller than I am. Fear already makes me jittery, but the shadows flickering across the walls, showing images of Josiah’s teachings, make everything scarier.
I force myself to stand tall and not fidget.
Father said I’ve been blessed with a great honor tonight, but he warned me not to disappoint him like I always do. I never quite understand how I manage to fail him. Every time I think I’ve done it right, he finds something wrong. What if I mess up tonight too? What if he hates me more than he already does? I try to steady my shaking hands, but it’s hard to calm them down.
He told me, just before we arrived at the Sacred Hall, that in my ten years of life I’ve never managed to do anything right, and tonight was my opportunity to make up for it. I promised him I would do a good job and not fail him.
I don’t think he believes me.
In the center of the room stands the altar, draped in simple white linen. Josiah Wainwright stands to one side, while my father, Charles Abernathy, stands a few steps behind him. The flames atop the tall candles dance, and their light reflects off the ceremonial knife resting beside a small wooden box on the altar. I hadn’t noticed the sharp blade until just this moment. Suddenly, fear crawls up my throat and gets stuck, making it hard to swallow.
Father hadn’t mentioned anything about a knife, but then again, he didn’t tell me much about the Ritual of Purity either. He just passed me this gilded hand mirror and told me not to lose it. Then promised me that if I broke it before the ceremony, I would have to answer for it when we got back home.
That was never a good thing.
My parents got me a new dress for the ritual. It’s the best part of this whole thing. It’s white and shiny. Mother said it’s satin, but I just like how smooth it feels. Pearls are stitched into spirals on top, and lace sleeves fall just past my elbows.
It makes me feel like a princess, but my favorite part of the entire outfit is the matching white satin gloves, trimmed in lace. I love them so much. I wish I could wear them all the time.
Mother made a big fuss getting me ready. She even curled my hair, pulling some of it back with a large white bow. All the white makes my nearly black hair look even darker.
I couldn’t wait to see all the other girls and their pretty dresses, but the moment we arrived, my excitement melted away.
I’m the only one not wearing a plain linen smock with a single braid down the back. The way the other girls are looking at me makes my cheeks burn, and my stomach feel funny. I don’t understand why none of them got to wear pretty dresses for the ritual.
“Mother,” I whisper, “I don’t think I was supposed to wear this.” She looks down and smiles at my wide-eyed expression.
“Oh, my sweet Tina. Do not fret, Josiah sent this dress himself,” she says. “Now go on and take your place with the other girls.” She turns away from me and goes to take her seat. It’s the same place she always sits on the first wooden bench next to the same place I always sit. I take a deep breath and join the rest of the girls.
Usually, I’m sad that we aren’t allowed to speak to each other, but tonight, their eyes make me grateful for the silence.
My family is held in high regard within the Covenant. Father says it’s a symbol of our wealth and status. It doesn’t seem fair to me. Why should any of us be above another?
I’m relieved when Josiah starts speaking. All the unfriendly eyes shift to him. I glance at Father in panic—can he tell I’m not listening? I’m trying, but I’m too scared of messing up to focus on what Josiah’s saying.
He tells us that the ritual marks our transition into “spiritual responsibility,” binding us permanently to the covenant and Josiah’s teachings. There’s a lot more about beauty, sin, and submission that I don’t really understand. What does “spiritual responsibility” even mean?
“True beauty is found not in the face, but in obedience. Vanity is the seed of corruption, and today, we cleanse the most susceptible among us of its taint.” Josiah looks at me and nods. I guess that means it’s time for me to play my role—whatever that may be.
“The mirror is a symbol of earthly vanity, a sin that must be renounced as proof of your dedication to the Covenant and loyalty to me.” I don’t get it. Vanity… is looking at yourself wrong? Isn’t it okay to want to look nice? What if I fail this test? I glance at Father again, but he’s not looking at me.
As Josiah talks, I step forward, my Mary Janes clicking on the stone floor. I feel everyone’s eyes on me as I stand next to Josiah at the altar. I glance at Father; he’s watching with a stern look, silently demanding perfection.
Mother sits with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She wears one of her pretend smiles—she says she saves her real ones for me—but when her eyes meet mine, I feel a little less afraid. I clutch the mirror tightly, my small fingers trembling with the effort, begging myself not to drop it under the crushing weight of expectations.
If I drop it, Father will be disappointed. He’ll think I’m careless. I should hold it perfectly, like he wants. Maybe then he’ll finally say he’s proud of me, just once. Or at least not hate me for making another mistake.
Josiah smiles at me, and it makes my skin feel strange. “Do you know why you hold the mirror?” I shake my head, too scared to speak.
He takes the mirror from me, before turning to look at the congregation and says, “This mirror reflects what the world sees—outward beauty, a fleeting and hollow thing. But we are not of the world. We are of the Light. To truly reflect God’s will, we must shatter the illusion of earthly vanity.”
Josiah sets the mirror on the altar and picks up the ceremonial knife. “This blade represents the Light and the strength it grants us to battle sin in its name.” He lifts the blade high, holding it for a breath before slamming the tip into the center of the mirror with such force that I jump.
I’m lucky my gasp can’t be heard over the sound of glass shattering and echoing through the hall.
Father wouldn’t like that.
Josiah carefully gathers each shard of broken glass, placing them one by one into the wooden box on the altar. Once full, he closes the box and places it into my small, white-gloved hands.
“This is a reminder, Tina. Beauty is not something you see—it is something you become through obedience and purity.” His words are quiet, meant only for me.
As soon as he dismisses me, I turn and walk to my mother, clutching the box of shattered glass just as tightly as I had the mirror. I take my seat beside her, and Father takes his seat on my other side. I hadn’t noticed his quiet footsteps behind me. I should feel safe being sandwiched between both of my parents, but I can’t help but wish I were sitting on the other side of my mother. The second the thought enters my mind, I’m filled with guilt. I must remember Josiah’s teachings and honor thy father.
Tiny pricks sting my hands. I look down to find small shards of glass scattered across the box, glinting in the dim light. My white gloves are speckled with little drops of blood. I have to fight to keep my tears from falling. Not just from the pain, but for my lovely little gloves that I know I’ll never get to wear again.
I really loved them.
My father leans down and whispers into my ear, “You did good tonight, Tina. Keep it up, and never forget the lessons of the ritual.” My heart sings with his words, and swells with pride. I can’t remember ever hearing him say anything like that before. I sit a little straighter, though I’m not sure I fully got the ritual’s meaning. Perhaps if I hadn’t been as concerned with making a mistake, I’d have a better understanding.
I look at my blood-speckled gloves and try not to flinch as I clutch the box. Maybe if I’m perfect, Father will tell me he loves me. I’ll keep trying. I’ll get better with practice.
A couple of hours later, while brushing my hair and getting ready for bed, my mother comes in. I smile, but it slowly drops when I see the tears in her eyes.
“Momma, what’s wrong?” She says nothing as she grabs the wooden box off my dresser—I’d left it there not knowing what to do with it—and approaches me.
“Tina, I’m sure tonight’s message was difficult to understand, but someday you will. I want you to remember this moment when you do,” she says softly, handing me a silver hand mirror. While this one isn’t gilded or ornate, it’s elegant in its simplicity.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper.
“I know, my love, just remember this mirror—and know they don’t get to take everything from you. Now, hide this well, and when you need to remember my words, look into it and say, ‘They can’t take everything from me.’ Can you do that for me?” I nod, tucking the mirror deep into my drawer beneath my sweaters.
I climb into bed, and she tucks me in before kissing me on my forehead. “You are your own person, Celestina, and you are worthy of love. Never forget that.” It’s not often that my mother uses my full name, but tonight, with that tone, her words feel even more important.
“I won’t,” I whisper. She smiles, gently brushing my hair away from my face. She nods, and gets up to leave, giving my feet a little squeeze, like she does every night.
Once she leaves, closing the door behind her, I lie in bed, trying to fall asleep. I run through the ritual in my mind, paying close attention to the words I managed to remember. I then replay the conversation with my mother, coming to a conclusion as sleep pulls me under.
While not everything made sense, I’m pretty sure the broken glass from the mirror was meant to represent me, and my mother refused to let me see myself as broken. I think I understand.
They can’t break me unless I let them.