Obscurity, The Tenth Chapter
In which daughters must atone for the sins of their fathers.
e last read The Ninth Chapter, in which a bottle of poison was discovered in rather familiar company.
The cathedral burned to ash in the great fire of 1788, so the next morning, the city’s most wealthy constituents gathered in the Ursuline chapel to celebrate the solemnity of Ash Wednesday.
The people sat divided, those of lighter complexions toward the front, and those of darker complexions toward the back. Yet every eye turned toward the widow as she entered the chapel, crossing herself with drops of holy water before she walked toward her pew, the child clutching her hand.
The philanthropist winced from his position of honor. Though he sat before all these constituents and was the financier of the new cathedral soon to be completed, no eye turned toward his direction, no word whispered their thanks, no head nodded in appreciation. Instead, they all turned toward the woman in black, who sat in a pew with the small child beside her.
A canter sang a harrowing hymn, her childlike voice spiraling the words of Providence into a dizzying soprano, reaching higher and higher into the heavens until at last it stopped, the key suspended for a moment in the chapel until a bell rang, the congregation stood, and the processional began. A thurible swung from side to side as the bishop entered, emitting tendrils of frankincense and myrrh into the air, as parishioners crossed themselves in its wake.
Subscribe for free to keep reading.
Get every essay in your inbox
Weekly essays exploring a utopian future.
Join 23,254 subscribers