53See the bottom for a lengthy author's note. Sorry for the 10 month wait!
I suddenly became a perfect child. Obedient, spoke only when spoken to, graduating with top marks. I appeared at social functions as a beaming, happy bride-to-be. As the days ticked down, my plan piecing itself together, every contingency assessed. It was only a matter of time. A small part of me naggingly wanted me to hesitate. Maybe, it said, life with Lawrence wouldn't be so horrible. Arranged marriages could go well, they seemed to be in history. Even if he was a little overbearing, or if he held me a little too tight, I reasoned, he was still okay. I could figure something out - after all, the codicil only applied to Corinne. Not to myself.
Then again, his temper, well hidden in more polite settings, began to rear its ugly head behind closed doors. Lawrence became increasingly possessive. Despite not even being married, he began to dictate what I wore, specifically that it should coordinate with him, but to never, ever be flashy, revealing, or in any way upstage him. When with him, I was to walk slightly behind, only speak when spoken to, and to always agree with what he said. It was like my etiquette lessons multiplied by ten. It felt as if I were only his eye candy, just another trinket that he could show off at social functions. He was never concerned about how I felt. Only how I looked and acted as his little doll.
I had to get out.
Over the next few months, I withdrew cash, little by little. A few dollars here and there, all under the guise of shopping for myself. The change I would pocket, later stashing it inside books and underneath furniture. I was living a double life, during the day I was a blushing bride picking out flowers for her bouquet, the way the cake would be decorated, the honeymoon destination. At night, I was scheming, planning, researching. I figured out the perfect date to leave. The moon would be full, lighting my way, and there would be a train north leaving at dawn. It would even make sense, in a way, for me to disappear when I planned.
It was natural, I decided, for a bride with cold feet to go missing the night before the wedding.
The date approached quickly, not tiptoeing along, but roaring like a river. In the month leading up to it, I checked my supplies nightly. I couldn't let anything go wrong. I had money and a few valuables to pawn off if necessary, I had clothing ready to be packed at a moment's notice, and I had some legal looking papers just in case I was questioned. All I had to do was wait for the right moment.
Friday, June 10, 1960. Two in the morning. The time had arrived.
I was physically ready, but mentally, I was still hesitating on the threshold of unsteady freedom and immutable servitude. It had been so long since I was, well, me. I wasn't quite sure if I was ready to take off the mask.
I took a deep, hesitant breath, staring at my bedroom door, readying myself. In one hand, I clutched a small suitcase, in the other, an envelope of fifty dollars cash. It would be more than enough to get four train tickets far, far away, and for them to start a new life somewhere safe. On my nightstand lay a creamy envelope, detailing a false narrative that hid my true intentions, one of remorse and regret, detailing my intent to drown myself in the nearby lake. I poured my heart into it, lamenting for my dearest Lawrence and family, crying for forgiveness from God. Hopefully it would be enough.
The full moon poured through the open window, a light breeze ruffling the thin, gauzy curtains, beckoning me to stay, stay, stay. The white fabric reminded me too much of the wedding dress that hung in my closet a few feet away. Stay, stay, the room whispered. It's safe here. Just play along. You'll be alright. The hallway is dangerous, the world is dangerous. Ignoring the calls, however much they insisted, I opened the door.
The hallway was only a little darker, with the window at the far end letting light pour in. Sticking to the shadows, close to the wall as possible, I crept upwards to where I knew I had to go first. It was utterly silent besides the rhythmic tick tock of the grandfather clock and my own slow, deliberate breathing. It felt like ages before I got to my siblings' bedroom door and produced the false key, and I unlocked it slowly, deliberately, as not to make a sound. I slipped in and latched it behind me as quietly as I had opened it.
Four blond heads lay in two small beds, resting peacefully. I hated to wake them. Instead, I gingerly lay the envelope on one of the side tables, then produced a note from one of my skirt pockets. I looked it over.
Chris, Cathy, Carrie, and Cory,
I have to leave, it's the only way I can be safe. I didn't want to be married. Grandmother is out to get rid of you by any means possible, and I'm afraid mother knows. You need to get out as soon as possible or else something horrible might happen.
The envelope has enough money for train tickets and hopefully you can get a hotel room somewhere. I will be travelling north to Ohio or Illinois.
I will find you. I promise.
I love you.
Camilla
Before I could set it on the table with the envelope, someone stirred, and I froze. Slowly, I turned, and made eye contact with Cathy. We were silent for a few moments, then she whispered to me.
"Are you leaving?"
I nodded.
"Can't you take us with you?"
It was a possibility that I had briefly considered. Before I could answer, she slipped out of bed and pulled me into a firm hug.
"Please, take us with you."
I looked around the room, at the blond heads and the tiny beds, at the window with curtains drawn tight and the door that led up to a makeshift playground. I sighed.
"Wake everyone up, let's go to the attic and talk about it."
In minutes, we had gone up to the attic, stifling in the summer heat, sitting on an old mattress. Cory had curled into my lap, half dreaming, breathing hoarse.
"He needs to go to a doctor." Chris had an air of urgency in his voice. "I can't tell you what is wrong with him, but there's something very, very wrong."
"Well…" I posed, trying to find a solution. "Have you gotten enough sleep? Sunshine? What have you been eating?"
Cathy nodded. "We sleep regularly, we sunbathe when we can, and Grandmother brings us food every day… as long as we behave as she wants us to."
I nodded. "And you eat all of it I hope?"
Chris and Cathy shared a look that I knew meant more than words.
"Yes." Chris answered. "All of us get enough for each meal, and we even get powdered sugar doughnuts."
My blood ran cold. Powdered sugar. Grandmother's plan. She had not, in fact stopped like she had promised. My expression had obviously soured, because Cathy nudged me.
"What's wrong?" She asked.
"We need to leave." I replied. "Now. Gather whatever you can into any small suitcases that you have here."
Cathy shook her head stubbornly. "No, you need to tell us what's wrong. Obviously something is up."
I placed a hand on her shoulder. "Cathy, this is urgent. It's getting too close to sunrise, and we need to get out of here by the earliest train. I can tell you then, I promise. I really, really need you to just listen to me."
Her face was unreadable. I could tell she wanted to rebel, to push against my much-too-grown-up demands. However, she relented, and wordlessly they all found discarded suitcases and began to fill them. In the meantime, I wandered to the schoolroom area, seating myself on top of one of the desks. A dark energy seemed to fill the very walls. How many children had been confined to this very attic as a result of greed? The desks were well worn, the air dusty and stale.
I rifled through the desk, finding a scrap of notebook paper. It was thin, the lines barely visible. In the same desk, I found a pencil.
By the moonlight, I wrote three simple words, then signed my name.
You're not alone.
Camilla Dollanganger, June 10, 1960
I heard someone step into the room, and shoved the scrap back into the desk haphazardly. I turned to face Cathy, paused in the doorway, suitcase in hand. We didn't speak, but she had a similar idea to me. She set down her things, and I turned away to give her a moment of privacy as she wrote her own message on the chalkboard. We weren't so different, I thought to myself, the only factor was our circumstances.
We exited the schoolroom for the last time, convening by the bedroom door.
"Do all of you have everything?" I asked.
Cory nodded, clinging to Chris, and I scooped Carrie up into my free arm.
"I think so." Chris replied. "At least clothing and some little things."
I took a breath. "Okay. Everybody follow me then. Make sure to be as quiet as possible. Once we get into the hall, no talking unless I tell you it's safe."
Hesitantly, I opened the door. A quiet, dark, lonely hallway greeted us. I made sure everybody was out before I latched the door as silently as I could, locking it behind me. I made a motion for everybody to follow.
Down the stairs. The second floor was clear, only the grandfather clock tick-tocking down the hall.
To the first floor.
It was more dangerous down here. Most of the staff that stayed here slept on the first floor, and they were notoriously light sleepers. We tiptoed, staying near the walls.
Every sound was amplified; our light footsteps, the creaking of the house, soft sighs of wind. I heard a cough down the hall. The butler was awake, as he often was at this hour. I powered through.
The back door was in sight.
Then it was just at my fingertips.
The night air was upon us. The breeze cooled our cheeks.
Freedom smelled of early summer milkweed.
We weren't completely safe, though, not yet. Once we were out of sight of the manor, I took a deep breath.
"Do you remember the way we took to the manor when we first arrived?"
There were murmurs in reply, vague recollections, but a general yes.
"Okay, " I continued. "We're taking the same way, we should make the earliest train north."
Like years before, it was a long, gruelling walk. Even though it was now safe to speak, nobody did. Carrie fell asleep in my arms, softly snoring, nearly dropping her own tiny suitcase. I took the suitcase in my other hand and let her doze. God knew what long term poisoning and trauma did to a little body.
We arrived at the station just before sunrise. There were a few others waiting at the station. None of them looked our way, or, if they did, it was a passing, disinterested glance over a newspaper.
The booking clerk, an older gentleman as equally sleepy as I, sold us our five tickets without much care. He didn't seem to recognize me in the early morning haze, despite me having seen him many times during my boarding school years. Either that, or he was as indifferent as the rest of the patrons waiting to board. I filled out our luggage tags, fastening them while Chris took Carrie for me.
With some of the spare money, I bought breakfast sandwiches for everyone. The twins were just waking up as I eased the food into their hands. As if the fresh air had reinvigorated them, they devoured their meals, and by the time they were licking the strawberry jam from their fingers, the train was ready to board and the porters were taking luggage.
"Are we ready?" I asked, knowing the answer already.
"As we'll ever be." Cathy laughed. Her curls shone in the morning sun.
We were led to our seats and we made ourselves comfortable. It wasn't first class, but I made sure we had a decent spot. Playfully, Carrie and Cory bickered over one of the window seats as small children should. They really were coming around. Carrie won out, though Chris, the natural leader, had them agree to switch every hour to make sure everyone was happy. I took the other window seat. In the distance, the mountain mists were clearing, and I could faintly see Foxworth.
Grandmother would be awake already, and she was likely discovering my note now. She would be making her way up to the attic and finding it barren. She would be calling for a search of the lake, I thought, just to make sure I was really dead.
Let her search.
A faint smile made its way to my lips as the train's whistle blew and it lurched forward.
Chris nudged me in the side with his elbow. "Lovely morning, isn't it, Camilla?" He asked, a full grin across his face.
"It would be a great day for a wedding." I replied. Lawrence would be among the first to hear of my untimely demise.
Chris laughed, then leaned back on his seat and began chatting with Cathy.
We drew closer to the manor, I could see the windows. Lights were being turned on on the second floor, near my bedroom. I was right. They were looking for me.
The train took a corner, and before long, the manor was out of my sights.
Lucille Winfield was dead.
I was Camilla Dollanganger.
I was born again.
Author's Notes
So, three years, five months, and three days later, this story has come to a close. It's spent more time on hiatus than not, but it's become the longest piece of writing I've ever done. I have a lot of mixed feelings about it, to be honest. On one hand, the plot is disjointed and cliche'd, a lot of it was made up on fly, I procrastinated TEN MONTHS to get the final chapter out, and the chapter length is more varied than the lengths of time between updates. On the other hand, it was a labor of love and perseverance, and it's garnered way more praise than I ever believed it to be worth.
Still, I couldn't leave everyone without a conclusion to Camilla's story. There you have it, a story I worked on between the ages of 15 and 19, through most of high school and my first year of college. If it's anything, it's a testament to my growth as a writer.
I want to give a big thank you to everyone who's been there for this, between day 1 and those picking this up long after it's been published. I know a few of you have been particularly vocal in the reviews, and I really appreciate your dedication.
I would also like to thank those that made the suggestions that made this story better than I ever imagined. You know who you are, and I really owe you all one.
It's been a long time coming, but I can finally, finally, say THE END.
Best regards to everyone,
Exactly Who Am I
May 15, 2020