Date: Wed, 25 Oct 2017 16:19:43 +0000 (UTC)
From: Amanda <mandagl@yahoo.com>
Subject: Revolutionettes Chapter 19: Fin

Fin.

	I am not an extraordinary woman, but I have had an extraordinary
life, mostly due to such good fortune being heaped upon me and a helping of
gall that served me more often than not. My life continued on like this for
many years. I saw so many old and new faces in my tavern and held my yearly
parties, always striving to make them more awful than the year before. Of
course all in fun. My parties were meant to allow us to run wild and
unrestrained. To let us have for those three days the freedom that we never
had in the world and the debauchery we engaged in was meant to draw that
out.
	But as the years go by one finds they attend more funerals than
parties and that much of their correspondence comes in black edged
envelopes. The first was Annabelle Le Granade. She passed two years after
Sandra made her decision. She was surrounded by only her family, and,
myself as she had specifically called for me. In accordance with her wishes
her son continued to supply my tavern, though, not at the prices his mother
had given me.
	Six years later Catherine died of tuberculosis. Her daughter later
married and is raising two sons I hear. Her daughter kept Charity in the
home they had shared and cared for her for the last four years of the
former slave's life. From all accounts, Elizabeth had loved Charity as a
second mother. Though I must assume she had no idea of what their true
relationship had been.
	Virginia was, as she had predicted, found out and I kept my promise
to her. She worked in my tavern and lived in the house above for many years
before I simply gave it all to her. She and Annette remain as close as ever
they have been to this day, though Annette's health is failing and age is
taking it's toll on the former nun. On occasion I visit "The Velvet Pony."
It is more for nostalgia's sake than anything else. The faces have all
changed, but it remains a meeting place for we women seeking one another's
company. I hear tell of salons and cafes which cater only to our kind, and
have even visited one such place. I once believed women of our kind were an
exceedingly rare breed. In my years though, I have come to think that
perhaps we are not so rare as I had once thought.
	Some years ago Josephine took in a young girl of seventeen, she had
run away to escape marriage. Sadly for us all, her father found her, and
exposed Josephine. A male relative, one Marcus Wellerby, used the
opportunity to steal her wealth and have her committed to an asylum where
she would spend the last eight years of her life. As I have said many of my
friends have been taken from me. For some of them I know their fate, others
I do not. Josephine however is the only woman I know who was placed in an
asylum after being discovered. Though I hear rumors of others, I have never
confirmed any of them. I think the only reason her fate was so unthinkable
was the extremity with which she lived. Had she and the girl simply been
sweethearts I do not think the results would have been so bad. After all, I
think the father might not have imagine what was really happening. But he
must have found something awful because Josephine's exploits became
known. He did not simply take his daughter back, he exposed her and
publicly shamed her. A mistake for him I suppose as his name and his
daughter's were printed and his family humiliated. He lost his business,
and from what I hear the daughter took her own life.
	I traveled to New York to try and secure Josephine's release, but
failed to do so. I went so far as to beg Mr. Wellerby to retrieve her and
turn her over to me, but he was a beastly man, I think devoid of any
compassion or kindness. Had it been another woman among those I know I
could have offered a bribe, but I simply hadn't the money to interest
him. I am ashamed to admit I even offered my body.
	I told him that men's hands had never touched me. That just like
Josephine I desired only women. I told him that if he brought her to me,
then I would stay a month with him and in that time he could do with me
whatever pleased him. I find it a source of embarrassment to admit to such
a thing, and more so that he declined. Of course I never would have upheld
my end of the bargain, but I also knew that no matter what I'd not escape
being unsoiled by his touch.
	I do not know what animosity he held for her, but I believe that he
truly hated Josephine and wanted to hurt her. Perhaps the only solace I
could take is that Josephine was well cared for, and her accommodations
were the best one could hope for under such circumstances.
	I found Temperance still serving in that house, and took the girl
back to Paris with me. She said nothing of the man who'd taken her mistress
from her. In truth when I asked of him she would shrink and tremble. I take
that as proof enough he abused her.
	In all the years I've known her since, she never spoke of her time
with him, and seeing the distress it caused her I never pressed. But from
time to time I reminded her that should she ever wish it I would hear her
story.
	She serves as a maid in my home to this day. However I fear she
will mourn the loss of her mistress to her grave. I do not think I will
ever really understand why those girls, Temperance and Sandra, so loved
Josephine, but they did indeed love her. I suppose for my part I do not
think Josephine was wicked or intentionally cruel. But I think she was not
a good woman either. Whether she meant it or not what she did amounted to
wickedness and cruelty. I do not think she had ever given a thought to what
would become of her maids if something happened to her.
	After her death I received a trunk with her personal effects and
fourteen volumes of what I can only call her diaries. They proved a most
fascinating and terrible read. They did not significantly change my opinion
of her, but they did allow me to understand her better.
	Eliza died five years ago, Alice followed her to the grave a few
months later, they say from a broken heart. I learned this when a guitar
arrived at my home for me. I recognized it right away as the lyre style
guitar the girl had so often played. I hardly needed an explanation, though
it came with a black edged envelope. We had continued writing each other
until just before she passed. A month after I had received the guitar a
letter arrived. I recognized Alice's hand on the envelope and when I opened
the letter it read only `I'm so alone.' It must have been delayed or
perhaps found and sent once she was gone, but seeing it after knowing she
was dead sent a chill down my spine.
	Angelique and Jezebel lived for years in Paris, but they left some
time ago and I have no idea where they are or if they are still alive. My
last meeting with them however found them deliriously happy together and I
should hope that they have remained that way.
	Monique disappeared with a dutch girl. I have heard conflicting
rumors such as her living in Amsterdam, but no one seems to know anything
for certain. It is a necessity that we keep our secrets. But it also means
that so often dear friends or lovers may be lost forever. Even for widows
and spinsters we were subject to men and their whims. And we mustn't risk
discovery no matter the cost. Josephine is proof enough of that I think.
	I ferried slaves out of the south for years, Catherine's daughter
continued her mother's efforts with the blessing of her husband. But in
time I was no longer able to keep up with the many demands of such a
pursuit while also trying to appear as a legitimate shipping company. I
sold my ships to Catherine's girl and now live in retirement from the
wealth I was able to build over my life. I am proud that I was a part of
the early abolitionist movement, even at such a distance. I may never see
it but I do so hope a day will come that sees no slavery anywhere in the
world.
	I have no heir, all my worldly goods will belong to France when I
die. Save, that is, what I have hidden away for Temperance and Josette. It
should be enough to live a comfortable enough life on. It is my hope that
they will remain at one another's side. I do not think they were ever
lovers, but they have always been close.
	Neither Sandra nor Josephine told me what they whispered to each
other in my entry hall. But in the end Sandra chose to remain with me. We
lived together, in love, never leaving one another's side for twenty-six
years. Until two years ago when I lay my beloved Sandra to rest. Some
nights the emptiness of my bed denies me even the slightest hint of
sleep. I did not know I could love someone so deeply, nor miss them so
dearly as with Sandra.
	In the years since she left her mistress she had begun to shed her
chains. She would always remain submissive to me, but she would, in time,
stop calling me miss or mistress. And submissive though she was she learned
to speak her mind, and make known her will in matters. I think men expect
we women to be submissive. And having had such a woman at my side I
understand the appeal. But as Sandra slowly began to act as my equal, I was
much happier. I cared for her happiness greatly, so fulfilling that became
much easier and more complete as she learned to express her wants and
wishes.
	When she died her hand was in mine and our closest friends stood
watch with me. Much as Maddy had, she died peacefully in her sleep. Her
last words to me were simply `Thank you Liz.' I like to believe that she
meant for taking her from Josephine, but her true intent I suppose I will
never know.
	Sandra has left me instructions that she wished to be buried in her
uniform. A uniform that had hung in my wardrobe for twenty years unused. It
was worn and thread bare, but thanks to my skills with needle and tread I
made it presentable for a funeral. As I worked on it I found in it's pocket
three copper coins I did not immediately recognize as pennies from the
United States. They were old and seemed to have been worried over so much
that most of the markings were missing. I nearly tossed them out when it
occurred to me that she surely had carried them for a very long time so I
decided I would return them to the pocket that she could be interred with
them.
	I have left out much of my story. Nearly all of the troubles I
faced in my life I have said nothing of. But troubles were many. I've
watched so many dear friends snatched away. Forced to marry, or being
married and discovered by their husbands, made prisoners in their
homes. Penelope was discovered by a husband we did not know she had and
beaten so badly, that she nearly died. He then threw her out on the streets
and whatever has become of her I do not know. What I do know I only know
because after it happened she stayed with me three months. Then one morning
I awoke to find her, and several expensive gold trinkets had gone missing
in the night. She was a desperate girl with no prospects, I do not begrudge
her the theft, and would consider it worth the small loss just to know if
she was well. I suppose I hope most that she did not end up in a
brothel. Even another husband would be better than that.
	Out of respect for the families of those women I have known, I have
used false names, or forgone their surname. My own name is not what I have
written, because I am known in Paris and my servants, and associates would
suffer shame if I were exposed. Only Josephine's name is unchanged, as her
exploits were known and if it brings shame on the man who committed her
that this be known, then all the better.
	I do not care about my fortune nor if me name goes down in
history. But what I wish is for these pages to find their way in to the
hands of other Sapphists or Lesbians or whatever it is we are called. I
want them to know what we did here, so that we will never be forgotten, so
that, however small it may be, it will be seen that we left a mark on
history. That even from beneath the boot heel of men we found some
happiness.