Part 43
Miranda can't allow herself to think too much about the afternoon and night she spent with Andrea in the Plymouth hotel room. With only taking enough of a break to order room service, they had turned to each other again and again and made love as if it was going to have to last them a lifetime. Who knew—it just might.
Now Miranda sits at the foot of the bed, pulling on her boots and smoothing the jeans down over them. She glances furtively at Andrea who is already putting on her jacket. Otherwise, she's similarly dressed in jeans, shirt, sweater, and jacket. It's cold outside and they don't know what the day's going to bring, which means, being prepared to brave the elements is a good thing.
"Yes?" Andrea says and saunters over to Miranda and sits down next to her on the bed.
"What do you mean?" Miranda pulls on the second boot and repeats the smoothing down of the jeans, thus avoiding Andrea's gaze.
"You looked at me as if you were trying to decide something." Andrea takes Miranda in her arms. "Please. After last night, there shouldn't be any more barriers between us. You know more about me than most and I daresay the same is true the other way around."
"If I looked at you that way, it was because I was trying to decide what I need to focus on today, to not get us killed, rather than the fact that I'd love to drag you back to bed and order in more room service," Miranda says, and her throat actually hurts as she's trying to keep her tone light.
"Same. And we'll be back here later and then I'm at your beck and call." Andrea kisses her, slow, but without deepening the caress. "As I said last night. I'll do anything for you."
Miranda closed her eyes briefly. God. "Likewise," she says, her voice still strained. "And that entails keeping you out of harm's way if I can help it. We better get going."
"Agreed. The sooner we resolve this, the soon I'll have you to myself as a free woman, rather than us being hunted down like prey." Andrea stood and held out her hand. Normally, Miranda would have scoffed at the idea of being pulled to her feet, but this was Andrea.
"All right. Let's drive to my hometown. Though it wasn't a town when I lived there as a child. It was rural and more of a settlement." As they made their way to the car, Miranda told Andrea more details. "When we reached Plymouth, I remember how the other passengers regarded us, little girls, with suspicious glances. I could see in my mother's little worn mirror how pale I was. Wraith pale. The other girls had the same pallor as if we hadn't seen either sun or moon for weeks or months. My lips looked blood red, and my eyes seemed to have sunken deep into my skull and radiated an almost violet hue. My sister was teasing me mercilessly until Mother told her to stop. And when my parents and sister saw how people treated us, as if we were indeed cursed, my sister became very protective and my strongest ally." Miranda doesn't even suggest that she should drive. Instead, she's happy to slip into the front passenger seat and tell her story. "We were among a few families that settled just southwest of Plymouth, about a two-hour drive with a horse and cart. There awaited the prospect of owning land, and of finding work—mostly both at the same time."
"How did it turn out? It must have been hard to uproot a family and settle in America. So many unknowns."
"More than you can possibly imagine. As a child, of course, I went where my parents and sister went. I didn't question decisions. Mother taught my sister and me to read and do numbers. She was an unusual woman for her time and in her social bracket. Illiteracy was more common than not, but she would have none of that. Father worked hard with the land and hunted. I admit my memories of a lot of things are very fuzzy. What I do remember is being loved—and feared."
Andrea is quiet but places her hand on Miranda's arm for a brief moment. Grateful that Andrea isn't offering pity, but just quiet sympathy, Miranda's grip on her messenger bag loosens.
"Was it the same for Rosalee and the other girls?"
"I'm sure it was. Rosalee and her family moved further inland at first, but when her mother passed, not sure why, they returned and lived close to us. A few other families from our voyage across the Atlantic did the same and eventually, our small community became a village called Greenfield. It's a town now, of course, but last time I was there, our house was part of a protected area. You know, saved for posterity from a historic point of view."
"Like colonial Williamsburg?" Andrea asks.
Miranda snorts. "Nothing that grand, but in principle, yes, I suppose so. A moment of history preserved." She goes quiet and then shakes her head. "Kind of like me."
Andrea snaps her gaze to Miranda's for a second. "Hey, it's not like you belong in a museum."
"No, but perhaps in a laboratory?"
Andrea groans. "That's not funny."
"A little funny, when you think about it." Miranda feels strangely better. Perhaps there's something to be said about gallows humor after all.
"Hm. We're coming up on our exit in a minute." Andrea doesn't seem amused. "Laboratory." She huffs the last word. "Cute."
Miranda sees the exit to Greenfield come up and grips the sides of the seat with both hands, her short bout of dry humor erased. They're here, and she is certain that their visit to this place that holds the memories of her childhood, and also of relentless persecution and ostracization will bring them the answers they seek even if the outcome is uncertain.
xxxxx
The small town hall turned out to be fully digitalized. A proud clerk showed them to a room where a row of four computers sat along with a desk, divided into partitions. Andy got a sense of deja vue from their research in Geneva, but sat down at the keyboard, realizing she would be doing the typing. Miranda was so on edge, it seemed she would shatter if Andy so much as touched her.
"All right. We need the year when you and your family arrived." Andy made an effort to sound matter-of-fact, which seemed to be the best course of action right now.
"To this area? In 1770. I doubt the census records go back that far." Miranda is rigid next to Andy, but who can blame her.
"Let's just do a search for the names. Sarah Stuart and Corinne Stuart. Let's see. What were your parents' names?" Andy looks up from the screen.
"Clara and Neville." Miranda's voice is short, but she moves her hand and lets it rest on Andy's knee.
Andy nods and keeps typing. There is nothing of the parents, but Corinne's names show up. "Look, Miranda," Andy says in a low voice. "See?" She reads in a low voice in case Miranda doesn't see the short note.
"Corinne Stuart, born 1753, married John Granger in 1885, four children, oldest son Lawrence born in 1754. Sounds like your sister." Andy squeezed Miranda's hand.
"It's her."
"And here you are. And…no official death date." Andy's stomach clenches. "It says…" She squints at the faded, digitalized document on the screen. "I can't make it out."
"Probably that my fate is unknown. That I moved away and never returned." Miranda sighs. "I see my parent's names. My nieces and nephews."
Andy has scrolled but now stops and goes back a few rows. "Caroline. Trudy. There." She presses a trembling fingertip against the screen. "And here it is clearly stated that they died within days of each other, just like the dates in your ledger, in September 1888."
"They're listed here? I've never seen that before." Miranda straightens. "Then again, I haven't been back in years. Perhaps the digitalization happened after I visited last."
"Most likely. These are faded old documents. They might have been locked away because of their frailty." Andy keeps scrolling but can't find anything else about Caroline and Trudy. "Seems that we've hit a dead-end after the church records. Any ideas?"
"I'm not sure, but something tells me we should visit the old church located not far from my childhood home. There might be document kept there that wasn't of interest for the Town Hall archives."
Andy nods. "All right. Let me just print some of what we found. We should keep those documents in the ledger." Realizing that she was suggesting things regarding Miranda's very private notes, Andy stops in midmotion. "If you think that's a good idea."
"I do." Miranda gave a quick smile.
Andy prints double copies of the documents and soon they are back at the car. As Andy gets in behind the wheel, she thinks of something. "Did you know that Charlotte and Trudy live around here? I can't remember if you told me that."
"I did, but it wasn't for long. My memory is not very clear from that time, but I want to say it was only for a few months. I can't even remember who was the priest back then, who must've entered them, and their parents, into the church books. I just hope he found it prudent to enter more information in other documents. We have to find out more to have a chance to solve this."
"We will." Andrea stops at the parking lot exit. "Right or left?"
"Oh. Right." Miranda puts on her seatbelt. "It's not far."
Miranda hasn't exaggerated. After less than ten minutes, she guides Andy through a wooden portal where a sign says 'Greenfield Old Town'.
"The church is outside of Old Town, but we can park here." Miranda unbuckles her belt again and grabs her bag.
"Want to see your old house?" Andy asks carefully as she exits the vehicle and locks it.
"No." Miranda stops, perhaps because of her own curt tone. "Not this time," she adds softly. "One day, perhaps."
"Of course." Andy kisses Miranda's temple quickly before they start walking toward the old church on the outside of the fence.
Tall and well maintained, considering that it's more than two-hundred and twenty years old, the white wooden structure pushes its humble steeple toward the sky. Around them, snowflakes have begun to fall, making the neighborhood look rather romantic. Andy knows it's ridiculous as the settlers lived under anything but romantic conditions, but it is making the trees lining the path up to the church door look idyllic.
"There's a light on," Miranda says. "That bodes well. Someone might at least be able to point us in the right direction."
"I hope so." Smiling, Andy goes up the stairs first and tries the double door. It opens on well-oiled hinges and they step inside.
"It looks so much like it used to back then, just smaller," Miranda murmurs. "Even the pews."
"It's beautiful in a rustic sort of way," Andy says.
Afterward, she can't say what she notices first, the still legs sticking out behind the pew closest to the altar, or the sound of the door slamming shut behind them.
Perhaps both.
xxxxx
Continued in part 44