A/N: Trigger warning for characters discussing the topic of death. Nothing graphic, I promise.
Part 27
Miranda knows the mood, and, oh God, what an insufficient word to describe the turbulence of feelings, was gone. For now. Andrea's huge eyes spoke not of passion, but of shock and confusion at Miranda's words.
"Executed? How? Or, rather, why and by whom?" Andrea walks over to the window that can't boast about much of a view, but she still presses her forehead against it.
"These two women, Caroline and Trudy, were sisters. I think about ages eight and ten, when we all got ill on the ship." Rigid now, so much so, her back ached, Miranda turns on the light over the small table, sits down, and pulls out the ledger from her bag. "I couldn't even make myself put them on the page of the other ones when I started my ledger. These girls had a mean streak from the beginning—I mean before the plague."
"They were children. Kids can be mean." Andrea turns around and seems to hesitate before she walks over to Miranda. She stops before sitting down and places a hand on the back of Miranda's neck, giving her a quick caress. The touch is soothing.
Feeling ridiculous for wanting to say, 'thank you', Miranda pats the chair next to her. "Let me show you."
Andrea sits down and leans in closer, looking down at the page. "These dates are mostly from the late 1800s." She runs her hovering fingertip along the row of dates. "Until September 10, 1888, and September 14, the same year."
"Yes. It was quite the scandal in Philadelphia." Miranda shudders. "As I lived there at the time, I followed the trials from a distance. I felt obligated, but also, their actions…I admit I worried about the plague and what it did to us, being the reason for their…megalomania? Insanity?"
Andrea squeezes Miranda's knee with her free hand. "Well, you know the answer to that by now. You possess neither of those traits."
"No, perhaps not. There have been long periods of time when I've displayed blatant disrespect for my own life. That's one thing that knowing your days are numbered automatically protects you against, or should, at least."
"How do you mean?" Andrea leans her head in her hand as she rests her elbow against the table. She's entirely concentrated on Miranda and her laser-focus settles something inside and makes it marginally easier to speak. To explain.
"When we are young, life seems endless, almost. Certainly, old age seems very far away. The older we get, the more people we lose, well, that reminds us of our own inevitable demise. It makes us value each moment—or it should. At least it keeps most of us from doing foolhardy things and brings self-preservation to the forefront. Now, enter a bunch of little girls from a ship in 1769. We all get seriously ill. Our parents let the ship's priest give us the last rites. We are dying. And then we're not. We all recover and live on. And on and on. When I, and the other girls, put two and two together, which naturally took us a while, nothing much changed at first. But then it did, for me. There were many decades when I was reckless. Perhaps I was challenging my fate, testing the 'immortality' in a manner of speaking. I drank too much, I took lovers left and right, of both sexes, I gambled, stole, went to prison, you name it. I disrespected myself and worse, the people around me." Her voice so raw now, it hurts to speak, Miranda fully expects Andrea to withdraw. She doesn't.
"What changed?" Andrea asks quietly.
"I reached a crossroad where I needed to once and for all decide what kind of human being I intended to be for this seemingly never-ending life of mine." Miranda sighs. "I could go on being a callous bastard with a cavalier attitude to life and my place in the world, or I could take stock of what this meant, adjust accordingly, and make the best of it. I quickly found out that what was best for others, meant a lot of pain to me, eventually. I've come to accept that, until—"
Andrea waits patiently, gives Miranda time, but the words are stuck in her throat. Wrapping her arm around Miranda's shoulders, Andrea pulls her closer. "Yes? Until?"
"Until you." Miranda knows it's a mistake, this honesty, this confession. "Until you, Andrea." Oh, she'll pay the price for this temporary relief in being completely honest. Miranda knows this, as this has been her reality for so long, that she'll think back on the two of them, here at the small table in this boring hotel room. Her memory will depict Andrea and the way she looks at Miranda, accepting, with tenderness, and underneath that, the passion…and, Miranda hopes she's wrong, perhaps even with love.
"Miranda." Andrea brushes her lips lightly over Miranda's. "How did you regain the appreciation for life, even after knowing in your case, it's going to be a long, often lonely, one?" The question, spoken so softly, cuts deeply as they're prompt and to the point.
"I looked for purpose. Sometimes from a humane angle, but mostly from an artistic point of view. Like my current endeavor. I've built Amaranthine Inc from nothing to one of the most reputable art restoring companies in the world. I know…" Miranda shakes her head "…choosing that name was foolish, but in all honesty, I saw it as a way of vanquishing the demons from my past. Nothing untoward had happened for a long time, and when I say long, you better believe I mean long. Apart from having to inevitably change my identity and relocating once I reached a certain age, I suppose I got complacent."
"Because of Rosalee."
"I've thought of that. I likely targeted before I recognized her and vice versa. Whether she had anything to do with it, or if she's merely doing what I do, trying to stay ahead of the game, I just don't know."
"I only met her very briefly, but to me, she looked like a woman on the verge of collapse," Andrea said, stroking Miranda's back gently. "Thin, no, emaciated, pale as a ghost, and with enough nervous energy to charge a cell phone."
Miranda nods. "Yes. Her fear is real. It still isn't proof that she's not involved, or under someone's thumb."
"True."
"God, I feel we're talking in circles." Miranda pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Perhaps, but you never know when what we say stirs an idea or a revelation." Tugging the ledger closer, Andrea peruses the pages about Caroline and Trudy. "Back to these girls. I suppose they didn't want to conform to the Amaranthine law?"
"Not even close," Miranda says slowly. "They flaunted their youthfulness, attended balls, courted one man younger than the other. As the rest of us were treated horribly by certain people, the churches especially, Caroline and Trudy made themselves into celebrities. I don't think most people believed the truth about their birthdates, but there were enough people who knew them from the plague incident on the ship, to keep a tinge of truth about them going.
Miranda can't sit still. She stands and feels Andrea's arm fall off her back. "The older they got, the more brazen they became. Trudy especially, who was considered the prettiest. They took such risks, and eventually, it caught up with them. I had no idea at the time that they had resorted to putting their longevity into a horrible system. They married older men, who really were their peers, and even younger, and I'm sure they waited them out in the beginning. You know, waiting for their husbands to die of natural causes. But soon that wasn't enough. They began poisoning their men. Not only did they inherit their money and entire estate, but often they had made the man take out sizable life insurances."
"Holy crap." Andrea stood also, but walked over to an armchair and curled up in it. "Black widows."
"In a manner of speaking. They were caught eventually and sentenced to death by hanging. I wasn't there to witness any of this myself, but two other women from our little 'club' were. One of them wrote me afterward, poste restante, which is the only way we ever communicated. She saw them die."
"And yet, you thought of something before, regarding Trudy and Caroline. Despite them being dead." Andrea looks up at Miranda, leaning her head against the backrest. "What was that?"
"I was trying to figure out if one of the others could somehow be behind this. As far as I know, it's just Rosalee and me left who are still breathing. And even if all of them had still been alive, I couldn't think of anyone else who swears by the Amaranthine law to go after us…but these two never did adhere to the law. They spat at the idea since they obviously thought their own method to enrich themselves and social climb, was much better."
Andrea nods. "The truly callous, ruthless ones."
Miranda groans softly, she's nervous now, knowing full well she's pushing the boundaries of credibility, of the suspension of Andrea's disbelief. "If you think anything of what I've told you is crazy, you'll think I'm certifiable if I share my theory. I have never discussed it with anyone."
"If you want to, I'm listening." Andrea pats the wide armrest next to her and Miranda fetches the ledger, gives it to Andrea before she slowly sits down." Andrea takes Miranda's hand and kisses it. Her lips linger. Warmth spreads from the caress to the deep recesses of Miranda's chest. Before Andrea, she had the feeling of always cold, thinking it was due to her too-long life. That she was cold because she should have been dead a long time ago. Now, all Andrea has to do is touch her, even the most innocent of ways, and it is as if heat radiates from the connection.
"It was about fifty-some years ago that this theory gained a foothold with me." Miranda pauses, leans over, and opens the ledger to a new place. "I think I was actually quite drunk, and therefore uninhibited when I jotted my notes down." She looks down on the page. "See what I mean?"
Andrea's hand trembles as she follows the title of the page with her index finger, reading the words out loud. "Circumstantial Evidence of Resurrection."
xxxxx
Continued in part 28