Part 3, Chapter 16
Methuselah’s Daughter: Part 3
Childhood’s End
And Cain went out from the presence of the Lord, and dwelt in the
-Genesis 4:16
Chapter 16
—[Begin Journal entry]—
It was a hectic fortnight, first arriving at home to the mothering fuss of Edna’s ministrations and dealing with Joshua’s dismay over my injuries, then the sudden desire to host the family at the house for Christmas and the furious pace of preparations for that. Then the day itself, with so many people: it was with a sense of relief that I finally collapsed into the overstuffed chair by the fireplace in the smoking room.
The urge to abandon this mad desire to tell my story to the world was strong as I felt the reality of all that had transpired withdrawing from me as some weird fantasy that could not truly touch me. Only the aching of my left arm and the stiffness in my left knee gave the lie to those thoughts, but as I sat by the warmth of the fire it was easy to indulge myself. For a few precious hours I thrust the outer world aside.
I awoke with a start to find Edna perched in the matching chair across from me. A pillow and a blanket had appeared about me, the fire was but ashes in the hearth and sunlight streamed through the open doorway from the windows in the next room. I sat up straight as Edna laughed quietly.
“You are amused?” I asked, stifling a yawn.
“I don’t think I’ve ever walked in on you when you were sleeping. You snore, did you know that?”
I shook my head, but I was not really listening. My mind was still in the grip of dreams: dreams of the sea, of longing and desperation. I pulled myself free of them and forced a grin.
“I like sleeping by the fire. What time is it?”
“Just after eight. Thought I’d come by and have breakfast—hardly expected to find you laying about…”
Edna had actually had the cook get started on breakfast, which was just as well since my belly was protesting loudly despite the gorging from the day before. Still, it was less insistent of late and I took some pleasure in that. I resent being a slave to my appetite.
The Breakfast Room was bright with morning sunshine and delightfully warm, the scent of pancakes, bacon, ham and eggs along with fresh coffee making it nearly irresistible. The furniture was all original, as Joshua had finally had it taken from storage and restored while I was away. I suppose a collector would be scandalized to see us actually use it to eat breakfast, but Edna and I both long ago sat about this table, in these very chairs, and it was good to use them again.
“Joshua won’t tell me a thing about that foundation of yours,” Edna sighed between picks at her scrambled eggs, “He treats it like some sort of Great Secret.”
“Well, it is, and it isn’t,” I said. “It’s a scholarship fund. I am setting up a relationship with the University to put selected students through undergraduate and graduate study programs.”
“You’re turning into a philanthropist?” she seemed both surprised and pleased at that thought.
“Yes… but it is more complex than that,” I sighed then, realizing I ought to explain myself, but not truly wishing to. Edna watched me through the small round lenses of her glasses, waiting. “I am trying to build a base of support. People who will know me, know of me, and perhaps have some small influence, either culturally or politically.”
“That’ll take some time…”
“Decades. I need to be careful how I proceed, choose my candidates with discretion. I’m planning on offering full scholarships through the Master’s level, Doctoral in some cases, and perhaps have some of the students live here in this house.”
“And you’re going to do what? Just drop it in their lap? ‘Oh, by the way, I thought you should know I’m immortal’?”
“For the last thirty or so years I’ve known I needed to do something, Edna. I’ve just been avoiding the inevitable. This modern world, with its identity cards, its birth certificates, its computing networks and such… I’ve felt it constricting about me like a noose. But I’ve only been working on this plan for about a year, and am making it up as I go, as best I can. This latest accident only proves that… indeed if I’d had this accident only a few years ago instead of now I can’t imagine how much less prepared I would have….”
Suddenly I felt a bit dizzy, my pulse racing. My throat felt as if it had been filled with ocean water and I could not breathe. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Edna was looking at me owlishly through her glasses, her face impassive. She was used to me being flighty around her, as she was the only one I trusted to talk to me when I became distraught. But with as much iron as I could muster, I forced myself to calm down.
“I am making this up as I go, I admit,” I said, “But I made a decision a year ago that I am going to make my stand, and these latest events only emphasize the fact that I’ll have to do so sooner or later. I would like that to be here, in this place. I do not wish to leave this house, this life. I’ve had my fill of that. At some point there will be questions. When they are asked, I shall answer them, fully and honestly. By that time I hope to have some people I can rely upon to help me.”
“So you’re basically planning to make a lot of friends?”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re writing a book?”
“Yes.”
She harrumphed, and looked a bit put off, but did not say anything.
“Please, Edna, don’t be difficult.” I smiled cajolingly, “Your support would mean a great deal to me in fact.”
A faintly sardonic smile creased her face, and she sat back a bit. “Three thousand five hundred years and that’s the best you could come up with?”
“If you have a suggestion I am quite willing to listen, but you have to look at this from my perspective: a long term approach really is the safest strategy, yes?”
“Oh I suppose so, but…” she paused, then heaved a slow, heavy sigh. “Oh, I just hate the idea of missing out on all that excitement.”
I was confused for a moment before it fully sank in what she was saying. But obviously no, she would not be here for most of it. Suddenly, my throat closed again and the room became a blur.
I hate this, I hate feeling so weak, so helpless, but could think of nothing else to do or say.
My left hand was still ensconced in its plastic brace and wrapped in its scarf, but suddenly I felt her gnarled right hand resting upon it. I put my right on top of hers, sandwiching it between the brace and my good hand. I blinked furiously until finally I could see again, and I found my voice.
“I’m sorry too Edna. I wish you could be. I’ll share everything I can with you.”
“Oh I shouldn’t have said that, Jenny. It’s excitement enough just to know you. I always thought great-grandmother probably made you up as a fairy tale. Just knowing you’s been the cat’s pajamas. And if the world doesn’t like your plan, why you’ll just come up with a new one. If people don’t like that, they can stuff it.”
“You are so like your great-grandmother Catherine,” I said with a laugh.
“It’s a fine plan, Jenny, as fine as any plan could be. You’re going to lick this problem just like all the others, and take on the world.”
I sighed. “I hope you’re right Edna. I hope you’re right. Although this business of my accident may render it moot. The world might well come crashing down on me sooner than I had hoped, and if so you may just see some excitement after all.”
I was caught in an emotional maelstrom, whipsawing between happiness, despair, anxiety and resolve. Events also conspired to complicate matters. Just after New Year’s Day Edna’s son Joshua called and asked if we could talk regarding some issues that had arisen of late. He seemed unwilling to discuss it on the phone so I made the trip into town to his office, having decided I needed to get out of the comfortable, seductively cloistered halls of my home.
His office was in an historical building near the center of town, one that I had had dealings in long ago, and it was with some stirring of the raging anxieties that had plagued me that I mounted the steps and made my way to his suite. The receptionist was new, but she had obviously been informed I was coming and ushered me straight into Joshua’s study. He was meeting with a client and would be delayed a short while.
The study itself brought more memories to the fore: in that very room, some one hundred seventy years earlier I had confronted Jeremy’s sister over her suspicions surrounding her brother and me. That little drama had played out satisfactorily, so perhaps what was coming would as well? I took the time to peruse the books lining the shelves, mostly old law journals, encyclopedias and other reference materials, but also some interesting asides. For instance, he had an entire collection of Twain original printings that should have been in a museum under glass.
“Sorry for the delay, I had a mini-crisis to dispose of.”
I turned from the books and smiled at him as he strode into the room. Joshua was semi-retired, still handling legal issues for the McAllister Trust and selected clients. One would think that in such circumstances he might be somewhat informal in his dealings, yet still he wore a suit and tie every day without fail. A tall man, he had a generous head of silver hair, neatly coiffed of course, and piercingly deep blue eyes. He was one of those ruggedly handsome types whom the passing of years served to make more dignified and beautiful, and he retained the vitality of his youthful days, his back straight and his stride purposeful. Combined with the warm resonance of his voice he was an imposing figure in any courtroom. He could have been a legal giant, yet he had been content to remain in this town, tending to family and friends.
I rather admired him for that.
“I apologize for being abrupt about this,” he said after we had exchanged pleasantries and settled down at the table in the study, “but I need to ask you something. What happened in
I deliberately fixed my gaze on his eyes and said, “I was injured in a traffic accident. I told you this. Why do you ask?”
He sighed and sat back in his chair, putting his hands together, elbows on his chair’s arms and fingers steepled as he frowned slightly. I watched him as he made a decision, had second thoughts regarding it, then decided to forge ahead.
“You are an enigma, Mary Genevieve Baker.”
I merely nodded. He gazed at me, clearly uncomfortable, but determined to proceed. Despite the sudden thudding of my heart I forced myself to relax, shifting my posture slightly, opening up in a non-verbal invitation for him to continue.
“My mother has some pretty odd notions regarding you. I’ve been ignoring them mostly, because she’s getting far on in years and it seems harmless enough. But there are other things.”
“You have had me investigated?” I asked. I knew the answer to that, but it seemed best to let him reassure me.
“No, not beyond the checking I did when you first arrived. I have to wonder, though. If I did, what would I find?”
I let that question sit for a moment as I regarded him. Joshua was a man of very rational motivations. He was so thoroughly un-superstitious that he might have been an atheist had his religious upbringing not been so well rounded in his youth. Given those facts it was clear something drastic must have happened to bring us to this point.
“Were you thorough in your investigations you would find you had more questions than you had answers. What is prompting this?”
“I’ve been getting phone calls from
“I don’t know that name,” I said, but my little internal alarm bell was clanging away to beat the band. A reporter could not be anything but bad.
“Well, she certainly knows yours. It seems there’s some political scandal in the making in
“Interesting,” was the only response I offered.
“Now, at first I assumed she had to be mistaken. You see, she described an accident where the woman who was hit… well, she left half of her left leg in the car when they finally freed her. She was in critical condition. Double amputee, head injuries, comatose… really horrible.”
“You say ‘at first’. And now?”
“HIPAA rules are pretty strict about medical records, but you provided me power of attorney for matters related to the Trust, and you carry medical insurance through us…”
I let that statement just sit on the table as I read his face, his body, and the motions of his hands. He was in a state of suspended disbelief, and wondering if I were involved in some sort of fraud. He wanted me to give him something he could use to put this set of seemingly contradictory facts into a perspective that not only made sense, but preserved his understanding of what was possible, and what was not.
“What has your mother told you about me?” I finally asked. His head drooped as I said it and for the first time I saw a hint of true unease in him. Up until now he had been looking for a logical explanation. My question told him that whatever he got from me was unlikely to make this any less unusual.
“My mother…” he sighed, “She hasn’t told me anything, but she’s implied a lot. I think she believes you are some kind of reincarnation of Elaine McAllister. I think she believes you were sent here to save the house, maybe even save the family, though from what I can’t hardly say.”
Another long silence ensued as I thought about what he had said. I considered lying, building a careful construct of half-truths to sate his curiosity and ease his concerns. He was old enough that I would need to keep up the façade for only a handful of decades at most. The idea was surprisingly distasteful.
“You are not entirely correct in your assessment of your mother’s beliefs. She does not believe me to be the reincarnation of Elaine McAllister.” I raised my hand and paused, as he had been about to say something, “Please, it is time for you to listen. Your mother is in possession of a bit of knowledge, a rather closely guarded secret. She believes that Elaine McAllister was an entity, ancient and immortal. This immortal creature touched your family for a brief span of years in the mid-nineteenth century, and then moved on after the man she had loved passed away. Your mother believes I am that creature.”
Joshua’s eyes never wavered from my face. I saw him turn the words I had spoken over in his mind, parsing them carefully with his lawyer’s practiced eye to tease out what I had said and, more importantly from his viewpoint, what I had not said.
“You have… encouraged this belief?”
I laid my hands on the table in front of me, leaned forward a bit, and looked him in the eye, my face and voice calm.
“Joshua, your mother is correct.”
After I said that it took all the self-control I could muster not to break out in a nervous giggle, or simply get up and leave the room. I had not been prepared for this though in the back of my mind I had known it was a possibility. Joshua was a good man and an excellent lawyer. He had trusted me based on his personal instincts, but at some point his natural caution would have forced him to look more closely at my past. All the work with the Trust and setting up the Foundation had kept him occupied to the point of forestalling such a moment, but could not hold it off forever.
Joshua stood, still looking at me, and then he turned and walked to the window, gazing out at the street below with his hands clasped behind his back. He made a couple of abortive starts at saying something, each ending in a protracted sigh.
Finally, without turning to face me, he said, “You’ve placed me in a very awkward position. Legally and morally.”
“Explain, please.”
He turned to face me again, but he remained by the window and his demeanor had changed markedly. His eyes were now calculating: he looked upon me as a possible adversary and he chose his words with the caution of one long accustomed to avoiding providing his foes with anything of value.
“Legally, I am forced to consider what, if any, action I should take to have you removed as executrix of the McAllister Trust. Morally, I must decide if you are a danger to my mother and my family.”
I nodded in acknowledgment of those positions. He was waiting for me to protest or to retract, but I knew I had evidence on my side. At the moment he was ignoring the contradictions which had led him to ask the questions which in turn brought us to this point, but he could not do so for long. I would not permit it.
“Let me ask you this: have I done anything, anything, to lead you to believe I have any malicious intent?”
“Until this admission of… fantasy? No. You may have no malicious intent at all, but if I believe you to be… unstable…”
“Enough,” I interrupted him, “Joshua, you still have questions which have no easy answers. I suggest you tend to those, for the answers will help you to draw the proper conclusions.” I took one of the legal pads stacked neatly in the center of the table and drew a pen from my purse. I wrote down Dr. Omar’s name, address and phone number, then slid it across the table and stood.
“That is the name and number of the surgeon who cared for me in
—[End Journal entry]—
Methuselah’s Daughter, A Novel
Posted on August 1st, 2007 by Zsallia
Filed under: The Novel
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