The Guests Recieve the Envelopes

A murmur runs through the gathering. "A week!?" Is heard uttered more than once.

A flushed young woman in a long cobalt blue dress gets to her feet. "This is ridiculous. I can't stay here for a whole week. I-I barely knew Mr Carmine. There must be some mi-mistake." She looks around then lets out a huff of exasperation before excusing herself from the room. "I'm going home." A moment later an older couple rises and leaves with her. Another ripple of whispered discussion moves through the room but nobody else leaves their seat.

The man looks around the room with an unsettling calm and waits for the voices to quiet. Opening an ornately carved wooden chest that stood to his left the man reaches down into it and produces a large cream colored envelope. He reads it aloud.

"Charles Marsh."

A slender bespectacled man near the front hesitantly raises his hand and looks nervously to the others. It is then Roger noticed that with the exception of the bald man, the farm folk, and an enormous burly man with mutton chops in the corner everybody else in the room seemed as confused and suspicious by all of this as he and Becky. Based on expressions and body language Roger judged most of these same people to be strangers to each other as well.

The already tense mood in the room had escalated when the condition of staying in this place for a week had been revealed. It was dawning on most of them now that this may very well be equal part trial and competition. Those not here at the end would miss out on their share and in turn, he assumed, the share of those that did remain would increase. But what did the man mean by clues and a test of faith? Clues to what? Faith in what? Roger had been hoping for answers but was only receiving more questions.

For her part Becky was just hoping this would all hurry up. She was antsy with a anxious energy and annoyed at how damned hot the room was. She fans herself with her hand and dabs a bit of sweat from her temple.

Charles Marsh receives his envelope. All eyes were on him as he studies it. After considering it for a moment he decides not to open it in front of everyone and instead tucks it into the inner pocket of his suit blazer.

"Lola Hayes." The bald man says in that deep placid tone of his.

"That's me." A short haired college aged woman in a suede leather jacket says. Her cheeks are dark with a natural blush and her tawny skin had a subtle sheen of sweat across it. "What's going on here? Does anybody know?"

Again there is a murmur, mostly of shrugged shoulders and muttered confusion. The half dozen ashen faced country locals seemed to be the only ones genuinely grieving and glared at the others with a pained anger. Out of respect for their bereavement the others quiet down once more.

The man brings Lola her envelope. Taking it from him she asks again. "What's going on?"

He gives her no answer and returns to the front. She looks around the room at the faces of the strangers and tucks her envelope into her coat pocket. A few more names are read and the envelopes given out. The room is quiet as this happens, the roaring storm outside providing the soundtrack to this strange happening.

At one point a woman speaks up. "Can we hurry this up? Or...at least turn down the heat or open window or something?" The other women in the room all nod and voice their agreement.

The man ignores the request. "Roger Carmine."

This causes another stir. Roger's was the first name read aloud with the same surname as the recently deceased.

Roger raises his hand. "Right here."

All eyes turn to him. The man in the tail coat walks to the back and gives him his envelope. It was large and creme colored and the textured paper was of exceptional quality. His name was handwritten on the front in flowing black calligraphy obviously from a fountain pen. Roger turns it over to see if anything was written on the back, there wasn't. Nobody else had opened their envelope yet which made Roger hesitant to open his. Secrecy seemed to be the prevailing mood of the room as it pertained to the envelopes and, given the competitive nature of the will, Roger could understand it. Nobody wanted to give anybody else and advantage until the knew more.

Becky was nearing her wits end. She peels off her coat and flaps her dress to cool her body. "Are we almost done?" She asks. "Can we go?"

"We can't go Becky." Roger whispers. "We still don't what's going on."

The bald man nods. "There are no further instructions for you tonight. If you have received your envelope you may leave the study. Each of you have been assigned a bedroom. A list is on the table near the stairs." He almost smiles, almost, before saying. "Roger Carmine...I believe you've been given the master bedroom."