A/N: I have never been to any library in Geneva - come to think of it - I haven't even been to Switzerland, so I took some real liberties with it. :-)
Part 30
Walking into the vast library on Promenade des Bastions 1 with Andrea, Miranda finds herself doing yet another double-take when looking in Andrea's direction. She can't get over the change in her appearance. Gone are the young woman she has made love with repeatedly during the night, as they both completely disregarded how tired they were. Miranda easily confesses that on her part, it was also both because of a deeply felt need and a knowledge that the night in Andrea's arms, will be the only one.
Now, in the early afternoon, after all their errands and a beeline back to the hotel to change into their new clothes, Andrea looks nothing like the girl who applied for an internship a while back. Next to her, dressed in an expensive trouser suit over an emerald green blouse, carrying a bougie looking tote bag, walks this auburn-haired beauty, wearing impeccable smokey-eye makeup.
"You're staring," Andrea smiles, but doesn't turn her head.
"Can you blame me? I barely recognize you." Miranda stops by an information board and begins to look for the newspaper archives.
"That's the point, right? And you should talk."
Miranda recognizes that Andrea has a point. Miranda hasn't colored her hair but wears it in an austere, combed back do. For her clothes, she has changed her style to a more conservative look. Gone are her boots and leather messenger bag. Instead, she too wears a suit and carries a Samsonite briefcase. Where Andrea holds a high-end brand poncho over her arm, Miranda has settled for merely unbuttoning her trench coat.
A librarian guides them to the area that holds computers and even some of the older microfilm scanners, and they sit down together in the booth, Andrea by the computer and Miranda next to her. She pulls out the ledger and places it next to the computer. Opening the page to the McLeod page, she turns to Andrea who has used their temporary guest card to log in.
"This is the latest name I have for Iris. Anneliese Munck." She taps the page.
"When did she die?" Andrea pulls up a list of newspapers.
"When Rosalee told me, it had been twelve days ago, according to her. Why don't you set the date parameters to between five to three weeks ago?"
Andrea typed fast. "Done. She said accident, right?"
"Accidental death in the Suisse alps. Could be skiing, car crash, anything, really."
"All right. Let's cast a wide net and see what we find." Andrea kept typing and then pressed enter. "Not much reported about skiing, but I would imagine they can't report every time someone breaks a leg. Several vehicular accidents during this time. And…oh. Here. Fifteen days ago there was an avalanche. It surprised the drivers coming out of a tunnel and there was a pileup. Let's check out that."
Miranda leaned closer as Andrea pulled up articles of the accident that took two lives and injured several others. "Two women died. Does it say what ages? Anything?"
"Hang tight." Scrolling down, Andrea murmured. "One lady was a backseat passenger and a mother of small children. God. The other was the alone in her car."
"That could be her." Miranda rubbed her neck.
"Let's look at the obituaries," Andrea said, typing in new commands. "If she had a family…I mean, she must've had someone to miss her."
"One would hope." Miranda grips the backrest of Andrea's chair, as unwelcome thoughts of how many times in her life, she has wondered if anyone would ever truly miss her—and why. She shakes them off when Andrea stops scrolling and taps the screen.
"Anneliese Munck. The date is correct if it was twelve days ago, plus the four since Rosalee told you. Her burial was…hey, is, tomorrow." Wide-eyed, Andrea turned to Miranda. "Which we should attend."
Miranda blinks, her mind has stalled on details in the obituary and she's not quite able to follow. The obituary speaks of a husband. It lists a long row of family members and friends. How can this be? How can Iris, sweet and soft as far as Miranda remembered her, have broken the Amaranthine law like this?
"Miranda?"
"What? Oh. Yes. You're right, of course."
"What's going on in your mind right now? You're pale." Andrea takes Miranda's hand that's is resting on the McLeod page of the ledger, in hers.
"I got sidetracked about the details. Her blatant disregard for the rules…the law…we set. Makes me wonder what happened to the timid young girl who was the last to protest or stand her ground. See? Married. Family." Realizing she sounds stark and offended, Miranda squeezes Andrea's hand too hard, but Andrea doesn't even blink.
"She may have fallen heads over heels. Or she may have felt enough time had passed. That she felt safe enough."
"And clearly that was an error in judgment." Miranda lets go of Andrea. "I'm sorry."
Andrea capture's Miranda's hand and kisses it gently. "This is hard for you."
Miranda nearly chuckles at the understatement but settles for nodding. "You're right. Is there a number to the funeral home?"
Andrea holds her gaze for a moment, but then finds the phone number at the bottom of the obituary. Miranda finds her burner cell and dials. A male voice answers politely in German. Miranda replies in the same language. "Guten Tag, mein Name ist Moira Parker, ich möchte gerne meine Teilnahme am Gedenkgottesdienst für Anneliese Munck anmelden."
The man is polite and asks a few follow-up questions about how many are in Miranda's party and if they will participate in the gathering after the funeral, which is taking place at the Munck residence. Miranda tells him there will be two of them and that they indeed want to join the family gathering. She takes notes of time and the addresses to the church and Iris's home, feeling a pang of guilt as she does, but tells herself, Iris would have understood.
"I don't speak much German, but I got the gist of it," Andrea says after Miranda disconnects.
"We are."
"Feels weird to crash a funeral like this, but I don't see what other choices we have." Leaning back in her chair, Andrea sighs. "I can tell you feel the same way."
Miranda merely nods.
"Do you think there was foul play behind her death?" Andrea chews her lower lip. "I mean, the timing is suspect if nothing else."
"I do. Not sure how, or why, or even if this old idea of Trudy and Charlotte somehow surviving the hanging can be applied to this, but we have to figure it out."
"The tone in your voice when you say their names speak volumes."
Miranda scoffs. "That's putting it mildly." She rubs her neck again. The stress is making her muscles clench up and turn into knots. "Not that I should throw the first stone. I wasn't much better than them for a long time."
"How do you mean?" Her voice gentle, Andrea caresses the back of Miranda's hand, her gaze unwavering.
"They were reckless. I was too, in the beginning. I displayed a blatant disrespect for my own life. Knowing that there were very few—if any—consequences, to how I chose to live my life, I pushed the boundaries. Normally, knowing your days are numbered, self-preservation sets in."
Andrea pulls up a knee and hooks her free arm around it, resting her chin against her kneecap. She's entirely concentrated on Miranda and her laser-focus settles something inside and makes it marginally easier for Miranda to speak. To explain.
"When we are young, life seems endless, almost. Certainly, old age seems 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 decades, nothing much changed at first. But then it did, for me. I was immensely reckless for a long time. Perhaps I was challenging my fate, testing the 'immortality' in a manner of speaking. I drank too much, I took lovers left and right, 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 recoil. She doesn't.
"What changed?" Andrea asks quietly.
"It wasn't just one thing. It started when I found out my sister had passed at the age of ninety-one. She had lived a full life and left four children, sixteen grandchildren, and fifty-two great-grandchildren. This made me take stock. What did I have to show for my eternal youth? I was seventy-five and looked twenty. I attended her funeral and her oldest son, Laurence, somehow realized who I was. I was ready to bolt, but his reaction wasn't based on fear, anger, or hatred, but in compassion. He pulled me aside and told me how much Corinne had regretted the shunning of me—and also of the rest of the girls—that had taken place when it became obvious, we weren't aging. Among her children, he was the one she had confided in. Trusted to know the truth, I suppose. He begged me to stay in touch." Miranda swallows, hating the tears filling her eyes, threatening to spill over. "I did until he passed away, eighteen years later. He was my last link to my family."
Andrea's tears are even less obedient than Miranda's, flowing freely down her cheeks as she patiently waits for the rest of the story.
"Those decades, corresponding with Laurence, confirmed and became the basis for how I've lived my different lives since then. Carefully, consistently, and always looking over my shoulder."
Andrea doesn't offer any platitudes or sticky comments of attempted comfort, which is a relief. She merely runs gentle fingertips against the back of Miranda's hand, showing she's listening intently.
"I don't know the exact inner journey for the other girls from the ship, but it is safe to say that for Trudy and Charlotte, it never reached the part where they ever considered their own safety or others. They notoriously flaunted their eternal youth and there should be old newspaper articles about them because of that."
"But do you really think they can have survived the hangings? It sounds impossible. But so does a lot when it comes to your life, so who am I to argue. It clearly isn't." Andrea wipes her own tears away and then she gently brushes her thumbs against Miranda's cheekbones. "So we have to dig deeper when we return to the US." Andrea lowers her leg and then presses her lips to Miranda's cheek. Lingers. Warmth spreads from that caress to the deep recesses of Miranda's chest. Before Andrea, she was always cold. Now, all Andrea has to do is touch her, even in the most innocent of ways, and it is as if heat radiates in all directions from the point of the connection.
Miranda understands fully now that Andrea won't back down when they come home to New York. She's adamant about seeing this through with Miranda. Looking down at her ledger, Miranda reminds herself of the Amaranthine Law. She's managed to heed it for so many years, by never straying from it, and when it comes to Andrea, she has to become even stronger in her resolve. For centuries, it has been to save herself from unspeakable pain, but now, nothing is more important to her than protecting this woman.
xxxxx
Continued in part 30