by Mari Labbee
Camille’s room. That is where he spent every night.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
There was going to be a dinner. For several days, the preparations took over at Fig Field. Alexander had been distant since their trip to New Quay, and her indignation increased with every passing day. On the morning of the dinner, Alexander appeared at her door holding a dress of yellow silk with a wide green sash and handed it to her.
“For you. For tonight.”
It was the finest thing she had ever seen. The silk felt as soft as it looked. It was clearly expensive, and like nothing she had ever owned.
Did Alexander purchase this for her? He had gone into town the day before and brought back supplies among them several boxes, one of which would have easily carried this dress.
“For me?” she asked, gazing at the dress, not really paying attention to him as he spoke.
“Yes. We…I mean…I would like you to have it. It will look very nice with your…” He didn’t finish. Instead, he pointed to her hair.
“It will, yes, it will,” she said happily, imagining herself in the dress.
Once on, the dress was even more beautiful than she imagined. The cloud of yellow silk floated around her shimmering as if a light lived inside it. It set off her black hair and green eyes to great effect, and she had to admit she felt like a queen in it. The dress slipped on as if were made for her; it was perfect, and tonight she wouldn’t tame the wild black curls, leaving them to fall loosely down to the green sash around her slight waist. She felt incredibly beautiful.
As she descended the stairs, she recognized some of the voices coming from below. They were all assembled in the entry hall near the stairs: Philip and Victoria Stratman, Alexander, Dr. Burrows, and several others she didn’t recognize. Alexander was the first to see her, and then the others turned. The conversations stopped as they watched her approach.
Alexander began introducing her to those she hadn’t met yet: the doctor’s wife, and two low-level government officials. The doctor had always been warm toward her, which was a sharp contrast to his wife who looked her over coldly and did not attempt to hide her disdain.
“What sort of name is Indigo?” she asked almost immediately.
Indigo matched her stare, smiled steadily, and responded. “If only I knew, Mrs. Burrows, if only I knew.”
At that, Dr. Burrows began a long-winded dissertation on the mysterious inner workings of the mind, which he considered himself an authority on. He explained.
“They can count but cannot add. They can read music but cannot play it, or the reverse,” he added excitedly.
“At times they will remember a face but not a name, or a name, maybe theirs, perhaps another’s. And the memories may be just parts of a story that are thought to be a memory and nothing more. It is all a great mystery,” the doctor said, satisfied.
The assembly nodded in agreement. The doctor’s wife eyed her, and Philip Stratman fastened himself to her side. He very predictably leered and then lifted her hand to kiss it sloppily, almost licking it. She wondered if he had done that intentionally—a signal, however pathetic—meant to inflame her passion. Or was he truly just sloppy? Victoria Stratman seemed unawares and perfectly happy with her little man. The two other men, an aide to the governor and a merchant from town, were both cordial enough.
Alexander was aloof in a way he had never been before. He did not smile and did everything to keep from meeting Indigo’s eyes. Why was he being so distant?
The handful of guests marveled at how lovely the house looked. There were flowers everywhere, on every table and sideboard. The dining room was aglow with candles, and the chandeliers in the dining room and entry hall had been lit, something Indigo had never seen done. The house was alive with light. The purpose of the dinner was soon revealed.
“My dear,” Victoria Stratman said, linking arms with Indigo as they walked to the dining room.
“That dress looks as if it was made for you, and you look lovely in it. It is a shame, though, that it reminds us all of a time when Camille was well. She will be so happy to see it again.”
Indigo stiffened.
“This is Camille’s dress?”
Victoria nodded. “Why, yes, and it looks as beautiful on you as it did on her. It was not so long ago that she could wear it. But, of course, now…” She shook her head sadly and didn’t finish the thought.
Victoria then brightened. “Well, at least tonight we will all be able to wish her a good birthday. It has been many months since she has been able to celebrate one. And whether she will again, well, that is…” Another unfinished thought as she patted Indigo’s hand and moved to speak to Mrs. Burrows.
Indigo stood at the threshold of the dining room, digesting what Victoria had just told her. Unfortunately, standing alone was just the invitation Philip Stratman needed. He sidled up next to her, stood on his toes, and whispered. “Will you do me the honor of sitting by me at dinner, dear?”
Indigo looked down at his sweaty bald head and smiled.
“Nothing would please me more, Mr. Stratman.”
He giggled and led her to a chair two over from the head of the table, where Alexander would be sitting. Immediately she tried to remedy that and started to move one place over, but Alexander shot her an unmistakable look. She stopped, took a step back, and shrank into the chair Phillip Stratman was holding out for her, leaving an empty seat between her and Alexander.
The first course came out quickly, almost as soon as everyone sat down. Indigo watched the other two women at the table carefully and imitated their manners and gestures. She mimicked every action exactly, the way they held their silverware, the amounts they ate, and she stopped eating as soon as they did. The conversation bored her, but she tried not to fidget. Throughout the night, she noticed Alexander’s glances, quickly breaking away when she met his eyes.
“If you’ll excuse me”—Alexander stood up after the first course—“I will be right back. Camille wanted to be with us for dinner tonight, not just dessert.”
Dr. Burrows began to rise. “Would you like some…?”
Alexander put up a hand; the doctor nodded and sat back down.
Phillip Stratman moved in close and whispered in Indigo’s ear. Yet, he needn’t have. Everyone else was talking quite openly about Camille. She felt his hot little breath on her neck.
“How wonderful that Camille will be with us tonight. It has been so long since any of us here have seen her; except, of course, Dr. Burrows and Alexander and yourself.” She didn’t correct him, livid that she hadn’t even known about Camille until just recently. He stretched up to her again and added breathlessly, “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight, my dear?”
Apparently, everyone else there assumed that she had already met Camille, and she would continue to let them think that. To sit here in the woman’s dress and say that she had never met Camille but, in fact, had only learned of her existence just days ago was too humiliating. A new wave of anger directed at Alexander washed over her. She reached for her glass as Phillip Stratman reached for her hand under the table and fought the urge to bite him. It suddenly dawned on her then that the reason Victoria and the others did not consider it odd that she was wearing Camille’s dress was that they assumed Camille herself had lent it to her. Indigo almost laughed out loud. Then a more frightening thought occurred to her. Did Camille know that she was wearing her dress? Did she know Alexander had given it to her to wear? There was no time to worry about that because Alexander’s footsteps approached, and suddenly there he was. In his arms, he carried a tiny body. Slowly he made his way to the chair that sat unoccupied between him and Indigo. The tiny thing was enveloped in a cloud of gauzy blue fabric that covered everything, trapping the person inside yards of fabric.
Camille.
Alexander’s hands lingered on her shoulders, and then he bent down and kissed the top of Camille’s head through the gauzy blue fabric. Jealousy exploded inside Indigo as she watched how gently
Alexander handled her, but her curiosity at what lay beneath all that fabric was foremost. The other dinner guests were beaming, and they murmured their greetings to Camille. Indigo watched with intense curiosity, and then slowly the tiny head began turning toward her. Out from underneath the yards of fabric, a pale hand, with skin so transparent Indigo could see through it, slid slowly out. The hand continued its journey until it found Indigo’s warm hand.
When faced with illness—or anything else that might hasten death—a sort of panic rises in most everyone, and that was what Indigo felt as Camille’s skeletal hand landed on hers. Her instinct was to snatch it away from that pale, cold thing, but she didn’t. The others were watching, and they had already told her that whatever Camille had wasn’t infectious; no one else had come down with whatever Camille had. She had to believe it, considering how long the woman had been sick. She willed herself to be gracious, to be a lady.
Camille pulled the gauzy veil away from her head with her other hand to reveal remnants of what had once been silky blond hair clinging to her scalp. And the eyes might have been a bright turquoise once, but now they were milky and clouded over, sunken deep in a bloodless face.
What horrible sickness did this woman have?
Indigo wanted to shake off the weak grasp that held her and run as far away from this death as she could. Instead, she smiled graciously. Camille began to speak, and even her voice was dying.
“I am so happy you are here with us. I wish I could have been a better hostess,” she said, stopping, exhausted and wheezing. Alexander extended his hand to hold Camille’s other hand—a stab ripped through Indigo. Camille continued.
“And you look so lovely. That was one of my favorite dresses, and now it is yours. I am sure we could have been such good friends.”
Indigo had no idea what to say or how to react. Fortunately, simply smiling seemed to suffice. Finally, Camille pulled her hand back into the cloud of a dress from where it came, and Indigo exhaled quietly. She was stunned, and more than angry at this ambush. But maintaining her composure through this range of emotions was paramount. She grit her teeth through a stunning smile.
Everyone spoke to Camille in turn, and she responded with little more than a nod and a smile, which seemed to take a great effort on her part. She was gracious, charming, and made everyone feel that she was there just for them. Alexander never stopped looking at her or touching her, fussing over her and helping her through the entire dinner. Indigo noticed every stroke, every pat, and every brush of his fingers against hers.
Sometime before the dinner had ended, Camille bid her farewell. It was a much as she could manage for one night. She thanked everyone for taking the time to come and see her and said how happy they had made her. They all tried to convince her to stay a bit longer, but she firmly refused, and for that Indigo was grateful. She couldn’t stand looking at that shrunken thing any longer.
Camille smiled and waved to all of them with her small, fragile fingers as Alexander carried her ever so carefully in his arms out of the dining room back upstairs. Camille’s head resting on Alexander’s shoulder. Indigo stared, watching after them.
Victoria exhaled dramatically and shifted her bulk, which left her sitting taller in her chair. “I wish she could have stayed a bit longer. It has been so long since I’ve had a good visit with her. I suppose she managed all that she could, though it was good to see her.”
“So gracious and so strong despite her illness,” Mrs. Burrows said sadly.
Everyone nodded, and the mood turned somber. Indigo remained quiet and mimicked the glum expressions surrounding her.
“Did you find her better tonight?” Dr. Burrows asked Indigo.
It took a moment for her to realize he had asked her the question. She pursed her lips and nodded yes and then quickly no. They all assumed she had been in regular contact with Camille, and this reignited her anger. No one said anything more until Dr. Burrows pushed himself back from the table.
“Shall we?” he gestured to the doors.
The night pressed in on her with the scent of a thousand flowers and a wet heat that she felt in her deepest bones. It was always like this at Fig Field. Indigo was relieved to be out of the dining room that had grown claustrophobic as the dinner wore on. The night air, though warm, felt good on her skin.
“She is not getting better,” Philip Stratman said, packing tobacco into his pipe.
All nodded in agreement.
“No, but at least she does not seem to be getting worse,” Victoria said from the comfort of a large fan chair next to one of the columns.
“It does not appear to be progressing. Perhaps it has run its course. Now only time will tell,” Dr. Burrows added with authority.
Everyone was thinking the same thing; a recovery wasn’t likely.
The frown along the good doctor’s forehead revealed his frustration with his inability to help Camille. Doctors heal, they help, they know, but, apparently, this was something beyond his abilities.
Soon after the fall from her horse, Camille had complained to him about a stomach ailment, which he had proclaimed was probably bad fruit. Within a week, it became evident that bad fruit was not the culprit. When her beautiful hair began falling out, he suspected a nerve disease of some kind and recommended she be sent to France, to her parents, where she could receive treatment. But storm after storm prevented any travel. Then she fell down while walking in the fields one day and was never able to walk again.
The mystery of this thing vexed him, and it had been hard for him to see Camille waste away to the shell of the woman across the dinner table from him tonight. In his mind, she was still the rosy-cheeked girl who had captured everyone’s heart, including the island’s confirmed bachelor, Alexander. Dr. Burrows knew everyone looked to him for answers, but he didn’t have them. He had nothing; he was impotent.
“I believe it might have run its course,” he repeated to nobody in particular as he puffed out a ring of smoke.
Indigo stood away from the others, leaning against a column just beyond the threshold to the house, listening, not wanting to be part of them. They all loved Camille; that had been immediately apparent. They spoke of how Camille lit up a room just by entering it. How she always made those around her feel loved and special. They all laughed, remembering that it took all of five minutes for Alexander to fall irredeemably in love with her. They spoke of her as if she was already dead.
Yes, Alexander certainly was in love with her. That was ridiculously apparent. Indeed, Indigo had never seen such devotion—even to a woman who wasn’t even a woman anymore.
When Camille had first become sick, the island became alarmed and feared a plague was to come, but no other person had come down with anything remotely resembling what Camille had. None of the visitors or sailors on visiting ships had become sick. So the doctor had concluded it must be something neurological.
Alexander returned a short time later and joined them.
“How is she, dear?” asked Victoria.
“Well enough. Tonight was very special to her, and she was so happy to see all of you.”
“And we were happy to see her,” Mrs. Burrows added.
“She has been feeling a little bit stronger these last few days. That is why she agreed to this dinner. But then, as you all saw, her energy fades quickly.”
“She seemed happy. And that is all that matters,” Victoria said.
Indigo looked at Alexander. He did not sit and remained standing. He was consumed with love; it was written all over his face. Indigo wished she had known Camille when she was better. She wondered what secret this woman had that could make a man like Alexander fall so completely under her spell—she wanted that kind of power. Tonight she had seen a withered shell of a woman, with transparent skin and wisps of hair clinging to a bald head, hold complete power over his affections. What magic did she possess?
Indigo shifted her weight from one leg to the other, and the hand she had perched on her waist slid down along
her hip, down her side, where she allowed it rest. When she looked up, Alexander was looking at her. He didn’t look away and steadily held her gaze. He disrupted her thoughts, and her heart leaped.
That’s right; I’m alive, I’m warm. Come to me.
The evening finally wound down, and it came time for the dinner guests to leave. Philip Stratman insisted on walking with Indigo. Without asking, he linked his arm around hers and said something she paid no attention to. She smiled down at him, all the while controlling an urge to tap his bald head. Tap, tap, tap, she imagined hitting the top of his sweaty little head over and over. It amused her to know he would never guess what she thought as she nodded pleasantly. He looked longingly into her eyes, chattering his nonsense. Did Victoria know her husband was such a little devil? The plump little woman walked ahead of them and never turned around. And it was this behavior that made Indigo realize Victoria most certainly knew about her husband but chose to ignore the bad behavior. She supposed all women married to men with even the smallest amount of power were accustomed to this and were simply resigned to it for their own sake, their own position, and, if they had children, for them.
When the others were gone, Indigo returned to the veranda, and Alexander followed.
“Did you enjoy yourself this evening?” His voice was barely a whisper.
She didn’t turn to look at him. Instead she looked up at the stars.
“I did. It was a lovely dinner.” She breathed deeply and continued. “I was happy to finally meet Camille.”
He looked at the ground.
“I should have told you about her. And I cannot say why I did not.” He paused. “She has been very ill. Sometimes, I suppose I pretend that she is not, and every day I hope it will be better. This past week she has been feeling stronger, and I have hoped. She insisted I invite our old friends to dinner and……”
Indigo finished the thought.
“And she asked you to lend me her dress.”
He nodded. But then he added, “She asked me to give it to you.”
