A White Room by Stephanie Carroll Page A

itself, I cannot endure. Every day in it I am filled with terror and a rigid ache deep in my heart. I never understood how a person could hurt just from being, until now. I cannot bear it.
My dearest brother, I dread asking any favor, but I must beseech you. Please. Please, save me. I know you can enlighten Mother, and if she cannot possibly care for me, I know you will. My dear, dear James, please come soon.
    Yours, Emma

Eight
    April 1901
    T he church in Labellum was modest and poorly ventilated. I imagined it would grow hot and stuffy when spring submitted to the wet heat of summer. It was a white wooden church with oak pews and scuffed floors. No varnish. If Ida and Margaret weren’t in charge of the committee, the group could use its funds and time to make the church nicer, fix the windows so they could open, put some kind of finish on the pews, and give the pastor a decent place to preach from. He had nothing but a music stand donated from the schoolhouse, just for Sundays. Church volunteers had to promptly return it before Monday classes. Actually, the schoolhouse could have used some help, too. I had avoided Margaret since I failed her assignment, and she didn’t seek me out either.
    Pastor Tomas asked us to bow our heads so he could lead us in prayer. I could hear the rain beating the roof like falling pebbles. We had just finished singing a few hymns and were still standing. I decided not to join in Pastor Tomas’ prayer but to make one of my own instead. I prayed that God could help free the committee from the grips of those two selfish women and let it be handed down to someone who would actually give back to the community. I pleaded for James to come swiftly but safely, and I prayed that my family and society would forgive me. I begged forgiveness for my inability to honor my husband as God would surely want me to. I prayed for John—I prayed that my choice would lead him to marry a woman he truly loved and one who could serve him properly. I asked forgiveness for all my choices, all my sins.
    I finished my prayer before Pastor Tomas had. He continued to ramble on in a flowery show of inspirational words louder and louder. I didn’t join in but opened my eyes and indiscreetly scanned the parishioners. John held his head low and mouthed the words, his eyes squeezed shut.
    There is something extremely painful about continuing to live a life you’ve secretly given up on. Every smile was a lie. Every moment alone in my mind was a moment spent waiting to escape. I had to keep my plans to abandon John a secret until James arrived, so I had to continue being the honorable wife. I had to continue cleaning, cooking, socializing, and attending church. Church was especially unpleasant.
    I planned to tell John I wasn’t feeling well after the service, and I knew he would believe me because keeping up my façade did seem to take a toll. My color had slowly grown pallid, dark circles formed under my eyes, and my entire face seemed to sag. I didn’t mind. I could use the excuse to avoid Margaret and Ida. The women from the church committee always brought cookies and sweet tea. Everyone mingled after church, even John, but only because his colleagues were there. Church was where I finally met Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Coddington, but I hardly spoke to them otherwise. They didn’t call on us, nor did we call on them. I’d been concerned about this once, but now, knowing I would be rid of this place and these people, I didn’t care.
    Pastor Tomas finished the prayer and began a hymn. I scanned the attendees and saw the Coddingtons singing a little louder than everyone else. From the way he peered down at everyone with glassy eyes, I gathered that Lewis Coddington considered himself superior. Martha Coddington was a boisterous, plump woman who didn’t lift her chin to me or anyone the way her husband did.
    I moved my eyes to the front, where Margaret and her husband Dr. Benedict Bradbridge sang stoically. The esteemed doctor