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CHAPTER TWO the start of october fifteenth
WILHELMINA BLANCHARD WAS playing Clair de Lune, the gentle hum of the piano keys travelled through every thin wall and swelled the house pleasantly with the soft sound of music. It had been raining, so the patio was still spotted with water, and the gutters were fresh with a new digestion of murky grey sludge. Primrose had locked herself in the bathroom, the switch of the shower was turned on and water splattered like a gushing waterfall. Steam fogged up the mirror she was faced with, and every few minutes she would snatch the sock that she hid her red lipstick in and wipe the surface clean. There was a whole in the wall behind the sink, and out of fear of being appropriated by her mother, she stuffed her cosmetics inside and only brought them out when she was in the ensured safety of privacy from the sound of the running water indicating that the young girl was in the bath. Prim smiled at her reflection, it was barely a statement▬ red lipstick, that was, ▬but living in a household that thrived from the self doubt of its members, loving herself was a rebellion Prim excelled in. A silent revolt behind a locked door, an internal rage that would escalate through the day into a rioting wildfire, setting the Blanchard home alight from the gasoline that had drowning the walls in malaise for years. The match that would set it ablaze would be the final tipping point of tolerance from the sisters, and soon they would all be dead, no longer needing to hide their red lipsticks in the wall, or conceal their rage in fear of being disowned for letting it surface.
The sky was a thick wedge of brutal charcoal grey, and the sun was tucked behind the clouds as if the people below hadn't yet deserved the shine of light. However, Bernadette knew that that was just winters way of announcing its arrival. The heating was jammed, so the air was cold, and other than the small segment of the corridor that was hot from the steam trickling through the gap around the bathroom's door, the house was bitter. Even if it had been under tragic circumstances, Bernadette▬▬ and her sisters ▬▬missed June, fish fly season. Though Philippa had tried to take her own life that month, there was something settling about knowing she had survived, and how the sun peaked out to congratulate the Blanchard sister's safety.
October was cold for many reasons, it was the year that Pippa, Agatha, Constance and Primrose had been pulled from attending school and taught at home by Wilhelmina, but the weather was also cutting. Air whipped at plump cheeks, and the girls could no longer skip on the front porch to allure the attention of the group of boys who spent hours watching them from their treehouse. It wasn't perverted, not even Bernadette thought it was wrong, the boys loved the Blanchards, or maybe it was just powerful infatuation. Nevertheless, they stared besotted at the girls from the house among the leaves, and occasionally called out for them to dance. They were their own Gods, they stood up in the air, watching down, and the Blanchard sisters fed off of the attention, for it was the only focus they were given. There was nothing evil or wicked, no heinous crime was committed, only girlish crushes, and childish admiration.
