“After falling ill, he was shipped home, where the sickness became fever. He was quarantined and cared for by his wife alone." She paused again, always tripping over the meaning in those words. House arrest sounded almost romantic, if not for the fear of dying from some terrible virus.
"Fortunately, the fever did not pass beyond the walls of the house. Unfortunately, it claimed the lives of General Delaney and his young bride.” She took a breath, suppressing a shudder. She remembered what Joe had told her about Mariel. She didn’t want to think about it, yet couldn’t stop herself.
"It is best not to dwell," Mariel stood in the doorway. It appeared by the look on her face that not only had she been listening, but she had been thinking about it too.
Ren folded her arms self-consciously. "I don't mean to, it's just..." Words rolled over her brain in a tidal pattern, in and out. She wanted to ask so many things, but the words continued to crash against a breaker. It told her that she knew better; now wasn't the time. "Does it get confusing? Keeping the history from the, um -"
"The truth?" Their eyes met, and Ren almost flinched. She hadn't meant to infer that they were lying.
Mariel walked into the room, gesturing for the girl to come close. Her fingers expertly loosened the chaos around Ren's neck and convinced the fabric to bend to her will.
"It is not that hard to keep separate. One life ended, and a new one took its place." She gave a gentle tug, pushing the knot to its resting place under Ren's collar. "As far as anyone knows, we are a simple society intent on preserving William's memory. Which we are."
Ren turned back to the mirror, as if to examine Mariel's handiwork. They made eye contact in the reflection.
"There is no need to separate the two, Ren, but there is no reason to tell them everything either."
Mariel turned, leaving Ren to her thoughts. Her eyes returned to the notecards. Her fingers turned them, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
**
Between Ren’s introduction and Colette’s return, the house managed to find an easy nice ebb and flow. Ren reasoned it was Colette's ability to balance herself between the factions that seemed to naturally occur: the stable against the reckless, the young against the established, the impulsive against the reserved. Colette stood between them all, the Great Negotiator. Normally, her presence was enough. Young enough to still enjoy a laugh with her sisters, but wise enough to understand that order and rules are what kept the house in one piece.
To keep their lives from being discovered, the sisters migrated between three houses. East, West and Central - where Delaney House resided - were available to each of them. Colette and Mariel regulated transfers to keep the general public from becoming suspicious. Though they tried to keep a rotation, it was not uncommon for some sisters to travel together.
Ren boggled at the idea that there were not only four of them, but an even dozen, spread out at different points. She wanted to know them all, to drive them crazy with interrogations, to know each and every detail. She had to continually remind herself that there was plenty of time to do so.
"Before long, the two of you are going to have to decide where you want to go next," Colette looked between the Ren and Joe. They looked at each other and instinctively took one another's hand.
Delaney House was a beacon for all sisters, a lighthouse in any storm. Ren smiled a little at each mention of 'sisters', as if they were a misfit pack of nuns. But they were definitely a sisterhood; there was no mistaking it. Each of them had a life after death to contend with, a new identity to replace the one stripped from them, a brand new life in a strange new world. They needed each other. Someone to comfort them when they woke up screaming, afraid they'd been buried alive. Someone to hold them and keep them strong when they longed for their old lives. The transition wasn't easy, but between them, they seemed to get through.
Ren hadn’t reached any dark moments yet, and she hoped she wouldn’t.
**
Between her job, her passion, and her lack of answers, Ren found herself reading, researching and assaulting her sisters with questions constantly. She would not let rest that there were simply no answers to some questions. She resolved to leave 'why' for later. Someday, she would know why - why they came back, why them, and all of the why's that gnawed at her.
Colette and Joe had explained that second lives didn't seem to come very often, but when they did, each of the girls were aware.
"In my case, I was weak and starving to death," Colette shuddered, pushing the memory away. "The call came earlier, whenever my body decided it was really over. But we all feel it when there's a new one. Here, close your eyes."
Ren eyed her as Colette leaned across the table. She was expecting a prank. Colette straightened Ren's arms palm down.
“Really, close them.” Colette insisted. Ren conceded, shutting her eyes.
"No peeking," Joe chided.
"Stop distracting her. Take a deep breath, Ren."
In the darkness behind her eyes, she waited. She inhaled deeply, feeling her chest expand. Slowly, she exhaled and drummed the pads of her fingers.
"Again." Colette spoke softly.
She breathed in again, pressing her palms flat. She paused before exhaling, cocking her head as if to listen for something. Instantly, she knew that she was using the wrong sense, but she didn't know what she was sensing, or what she was feeling it with.
"Breathe, Ren," Colette insisted. "And then tell me what you're feeling."
What am I feeling?
She couldn't find the words. At first, she was certain it was a sound, a vibration in the air. But she realized that she wasn't hearing anything. She thought perhaps a frequency of some sort, but then she could see it shimmering. No, not see. Feel.
Her face scrunched up as she tried to pin down the sensation and what it meant. She stilled. Before, it was everywhere, filling the room and all of her senses. Now, the sensation focused itself in a space just in front of her. She could almost see it; the way memories replayed themselves just behind her eyes. Immediately, it reminded her of the sensations she felt that first night that Joe and Mariel had come to her.
"It’s a signal, and it’s always there. It's a part of all of us," Joe explained, almost knowing the understanding as it played across Ren's face.
"If you learn to concentrate, you’ll be able to tell where any of us are, anytime." Colette spoke, but it was almost background noise as she felt the glow brighten.
She reached out, wanting to grasp it. At first, she wasn't certain what she had laid hands on, but it wasn't a ball of light. It radiated a warmth that she felt reaching out from within her to join this new source. She held on to it, wanting to bask in this glow as long as she could. She opened her eyes. Colette and Joe had threaded their fingers together, hand in hand across the table from her, and Ren had reached out to add her energy to the fold.
FOUR
As Ren settled into daily life and begrudgingly accepted that there were chores and expectations, she realized she had been blessed with an amazing opportunity. It dawned on her that she could finally put her art history degree to some use. When it got down to facts, Delaney House was not much more than an elaborate storage facility for priceless wares. Between what Mariel had built in the name of the Delaney Society, and the private collection from Mariel’s own adventures, Ren was face-to-face with a collection most amateur historians would kill to pore over. The private collection ran the gamut of cultural influences: Spanish, Italian, and Greek. It included other influences; so many that Ren's brain had trouble keeping up. All this on top of the fact that she was living inside a cornerstone of local history. The original mansion, lovingly referred to as Delaney House, was built in the early 1800s and still every bit as beautifully cared for as the day the last chandelier was hung under the watchful eye of William Delaney himself.
More than once, Ren had to stop and close her eyes, shuttering herself from the sensory overload of priceless treasures. The trove on display to the general pu
blic only consisted of the first three rooms. Large though they were, they didn't carry the impact they were meant to once the secret treasury hidden throughout the rest of the house was revealed. Even as time wore on, Ren was mystified: Mariel had foresight enough to plan and prepare for a lifetime. More than one really, as she has no idea how long this life was going to last. Ren had trouble planning a week in advance and Mariel had been establishing a treasury for herself and her family for over a hundred years now. Sometimes, she was allowed to move through the rooms, cataloguing and studying antiquities that had been boxed up and stored away decades before. Mariel had even admitted that she had forgotten what lie in a number of the boxes.
"Memory is a strange creature," Mariel mused, though Ren wasn't quite sure if she was actually part of the conversation, or just privy to it. "It can be nearly impossible to remember what you had for lunch just an hour after on some days." She laughed and Ren still wasn't sure if she should speak up. "But when you discovered your first love, that moment is locked tight. I can almost recount the specks of dust hovering in the air between us."
Ren stood in the doorway, ready to begin another grand adventure in another nameless room. She watched Mariel drift to the staircase. She turned, looking at Ren and for once; she wished Mariel had been talking to herself.
"No exploring today. It's First Thursday."
First Thursday, as the name suggested, was the first Thursday of the month. The doors of Delaney House were not only open to the public at large, but to the Daughters of the Revolution, another local historical society that met once a month to drink tea and gossip.
"Don't let the name fool you. It's pretty much a sewing circle for rich widows." Joe had commented the first time Ren watched them file in. As she watched them file out later that day, she had many more colorful phrases to describe them.
"They're smarmy, vindictive, shallow -" Ren started, pacing the common room as Mariel and Colette watched.
"They donate a considerable amount to our museum," Colette interjected.
"They made fun of Ren's hair." Joe breezed to her sister's defense, gliding a tray of tea and snacks to the table. Ren nodded, pointing to Joe as if she made a very strong argument. Mariel could hardly suppress a smile.
"It's true," Ren slumped onto the couch. "They spent a half hour deciding which species of bird I resembled."
Everyone paused, the question looming in the air, no one wanting to say it out loud. Ren looked up from her melancholy, her eyes moving across the curious faces. She huffed and folded her arms, pursing her lips tight.
"They couldn’t decide between a crowned crane and a kingfisher."
Joe raised her open hands in surrender as Ren gaped at her. Clearly, she hadn’t expected Joe to sell her out so easily, but equally clear was Joe’s inability to leave curiosity unsatisfied.
Mariel could hold back no longer as she poured a cup of tea and slid it closer to Ren.
"Unfortunately, Colette is right. We need someone donating to us so there is a paper trail to follow." She exhaled across the top of her teacup. "Otherwise, I would happily excuse them. Anything to rid us of Mrs. Abernathy."
There was a collective grimace at the name. Eunice Abernathy was the matron of the Daughters of the Revolution. She was also not a nice person, no matter what she pretended to be.
"She's hiding something. Probably dark magic." Inquisitive eyes were now on Josephine, who merely shrugged through further exposition. "She just seems the type. I'd guess sacrifices."
**
Like previous Thursdays, Mrs. Abernathy shuffled slowly, her frail hips taking their toll on Ren's patience as the old woman moved toward the doors. Ren's mind compiled a list of options available to her to encourage Mrs. Abernathy's exit. None of the options were polite, nor did she suspect any of them would be well received when Mariel heard about it. She clenched her jaw and watched the grandfather clock's hand move slowly forward, matching the old woman's progress.
Again, the sewing circle had taken time to critique and criticize modern fashion, using Ren as their focal point. And again, it had taken everything Ren had to bite it back down and stay quiet. Ren stuck her tongue out, wrinkling her nose and doing everything in her power not to vocalize the responses brimming inside her. She loved her violent purple bangs and spikes, and saw nothing wrong with a bit of personal expression. Mariel said nothing against it either, and technically, she out ranked the lot of them.
For a moment, Ren considered screaming, knowing it wouldn't help move Mrs. Abernathy along, but thought it might pass the time for her. She could almost feel Mariel's cold, disappointed gaze, and decided it probably wasn't worth it. Her thoughts drifted back to the present and she realized that the old woman was still talking as she shuffled forward.
"Grandmother Abernathy, on my father's side, she knew William very well. Oh, but of course you know that. She's mentioned all throughout his diaries." She had been through quite a few of William's journals, but she had never come across any Abernathys. She wondered if it was more of the old woman's confusion surfacing, or if she was trying to impress Ren with false aristocracy.
She listened to the voice but not the words as the old bones shambled forward, taking ten more minutes to reach the doors. Ren looked at the floor, studying the pattern of the carpet, putting her mind anywhere but the present. Her fingers tingled with certainty, an assurance that she could easily shove the old woman down the stairs and out into the evening before any protest could be managed.
Again, Mariel's ghostly judgment lingered over her, driving back the impulse.
Finally, Mrs. Abernathy was four perfect feet away from the door, and Ren could not fight back the urge: she rushed around the old woman with too much fervor, and yanked the door wide. A gust barged into the room, startling them both and fluttering Ren's vibrant purple bangs as she held her post.
Mrs. Abernathy showed some life, almost jumping as the breeze pushed past her. She pulled her sweater tightly around her, as if by reflex, though Ren didn't consider it very cold, even for mid March.
"Gracious! You'd think that gust had been waiting all night for you to open that door."
For once, she said something Ren didn't feel the exhausting urge to roll her eyes at. She only smiled, nodding softly. She may have done both with too much enthusiasm, because Mrs. Abernathy turned toward her, squinting her eyes and adjusting her glasses. At first Ren thought it might have been a glare and wanted nothing more than to glare back, but the old woman just shook a finger and turned toward the door again.
"Pale, too pale," Mrs. Abernathy said to the room. "Looks like she's wasting away."
Ren’s too-pale fingers tightened on the door handle, almost afraid she might slam the door closed before the old woman had a chance to pass through it completely. Ren tried to conceal the deep inhale that would turn into an exasperated sigh the moment the door’s lock slid into a closed position. She watched the old woman turn and brace against the breeze, moving slowly down the steps of the porch and out into the evening world. Then, quietly as she was able, Ren slammed the door and twisted the lock, smiling with satisfaction as the bolt secured the door with a hard click. Mrs. Abernathy would not pass this way again tonight. Not for anything.
Ren let loose her exasperation loud and proud into the empty room. She pouted not having the satisfaction of sharing the moment with her sisters. She walked to the wall, switching off the main lights of the room. She would repeat herself for her sisters later. They owed her as much for leaving her alone tonight.
She moved through the showrooms, looking for obvious unsightliness from the day's visitors: greasy fingerprints on the glass cases, gum wrappers on the floor. She followed the tour path, letting her heels click on the wood, echoing softly in the room. She picked up around the main desk, arranging the brochures, turning down the rest of the lights as she made her way to the antechamber. As she passed through the great room, she looked up at the large painting on the mantle. A gilded frame held an elaborate render
ing of William Delaney at the peak of life and health. He stood in an elegant waistcoat, top hat held to one hip, a gold pocket watch in the other hand. He stood proudly; his wide shoulders set back, his broad chest raised. He wore his hair in a side part, from left to right. It waved across his brow and rounded back over his ear. His nose was thin but proportionate and beneath it, his thick – woolly, even – moustache tapered to tail-like points at each end. Ren wondered at the artist and whether or not they had embellished the color or his hair. His hair and moustache seemed to radiate golden light. She smiled and admired the raw magnetism the portrait captured. She attributed it partly to his strong features: solid jaw, dark observant eyes, and a good square frame for a face. His eyes were what she always came back to. They stared off to the edge of the frame, across the room it seemed. Even though he was posing, she could tell he was still keenly observing. Silently, as she often did, she lamented not knowing him personally.
"Mrs. Abernathy implied that you were quite intimate with her Gram-gram, William," she smiled up at him as she sauntered past. "Is that something you hid in another journal I haven't read? Does General Delaney have a secret black book of dirty exploits?" She waited, giving him a moment to present his defense. When he didn't, she gently kissed her fingers and blew the lingering kiss up to his likeness.
"Goodnight, William. Try to stay out of trouble."
**
Colette could feel the pressure against the bottom of her foot. It was an annoying insistence that meant someone was poking her with something. She kept the magazine up to her face, trying to ignore the nagging desire to snatch whatever it was and beat someone with it. She debated whether it was more likely to be Ren or Joe, and decided that they were really more like two sides of the same trouble-making coin. She tried to be grateful that it took a considerable amount of work to annoy her; Ren and Joe would probably be merciless if she were ticklish.
House of Thirteen Page 4
