The Exiles by Gilbert Morris

crazy deciding what to wear. When she was alone Chantel cared little for dress, but when she was going out with her father she let Elise dress her in the very finest fashion and fix her hair carefully.
    For this event Elise selected a high-waisted dress of white silk with delicate garlands of flowers in light pink, yellow, and blue. The gown had long, narrow sleeves that ended in white lace at the cuffs. The high neckline and the long skirt were edged with white lace, and she had a spencer jacket of dark blue velvet to wear over the dress.
    Chantel stood in her underwear waiting for Elise to put on the dress. She turned to her with a worried expression. “Elise, why aren’t I filling out like other girls do?”
    “That’s the way it is sometimes,” Elise said, looking critically at the dress. “Yes, this one will do. You look very nice in it.”
    “Am I going to look like a stick all my life?”
    Elise heard the troubled tone and at once put her arm around the girl. “Of course not, mon chère . You are going to be a beautiful woman—tall and well-shaped, and very pretty indeed.”
    “No, I’m not. I’m going to be an old stick with an ugly face!”
    “Do not be ridiculous. When I was your age I was the same way.” She smiled, remembering. “I did not start becoming a woman until I was nearly fourteen, and I cried myself to sleep every night.” Seeing that Chantel wasn’t convinced, she said, “You just wait. A year from now it will be all different.”
    The words comforted Chantel. Elise had become her confidante and told her of the changes that would come in her body as she passed into womanhood. Her mother had hinted about such things, but it all seemed to be very mysterious. She returned Elise’s hug and said, “Thank you for being so nice.”
    “There, there. Of course I’m nice. I get paid for that.”
    “No, you don’t. You get paid for doing my hair and helping me with my dress. You’re nice just because you’re nice.”
    Elise laughed, and a light danced in her eyes. “I am glad you think so. Now, let us ready you for your engagement with your father.”
    “A lady is going with us tonight. Her name is Miss Culver.”
    “Ah, yes, I know.”
    “You do?” Chantel demanded.
    “Why—yes, I have met her. She is a very nice lady.”
    “How did you meet her?”
    “Oh, I don’t remember. I think at a dinner your father gave while you were still at the plantation.”
    Chantel sensed the evasiveness in Elise’s reply—unusual in this straightforward woman who had few unspoken thoughts. It troubled her, but she asked no more. “When I come back,” she said, “I will tell you all about the play.”
    Downstairs Chantel found her father ready to go. She wanted him to praise her appearance, but he merely said, “Come, we’re late.” Then he added as an afterthought, “You look very nice. Elise does a fine job.”
    “Thank you, Papa.”
    Robert drove them in the larger closed carriage to a section of the city that Chantel had not seen. Her father left her in the carriage, where she waited impatiently. Then he came out with a lady.
    He helped her in, then got in and sat down beside her. “Chantel, I would like for you to meet Miss Emmeline Collette Culver. Miss Culver, this is my daughter, Chantel.”
    “I’m so happy to meet you, Chantel.”
    Chantel had not known what to expect, but she was surprised by the beauty of the woman who smiled at her. Miss Culver was a small woman, but she was exquisitely formed, and her face was attractive indeed. She had dark hair and dark eyes and seemed genuinely glad to meet her.
    “I was so glad I could go with you and your father. Do you like the theater?”
    “Oh, yes, Miss Culver!”
    The conversation went well, and she could tell that her father was pleased at her behavior toward the woman.
    The rest of the evening was fun for Chantel. She loved the play and laughed and actually sang along with some of the choruses under her breath. Miss Culver,