Never Underestimate Two Women

She sat soaking in the hot water of the round tin tub; out the north window snow hung like a sheet on a clothesline, but the room was bright with the fire on the hearth and redolent of lavender water. Across the room and behind the privacy screen, in a similar tub of lavender water, was the other woman in James Buchanan’s life. It may have been accidental that both of them ended up at the same bathhouse. It may have been coincidental that their conversation turned from polite small talk to the man in each of their lives. Stunned silence emanated from both sides of the room when the two women realized they were talking about the same man.  It was with dead reckoning when the first invitation to get even with Mr. James Buchanan was uttered.

The ladies emerged from their respective tubs, and dressed as quickly as possible. They approached the other side of the screens and introduced one to the other. The dark haired woman, Amanda, viewed herself in the full length mirror, made a quick tug on her waistcoat and adjusted the long heavy skirt. She did not like the hardness that seemed to replace the glow that lit her face only moments ago. She put on her furry boots, grabbed her wool mittens and headed out into the cold of winter. The blonde haired woman, Emily, mirrored those gestures, turned on her well-heeled shoe and took the side door out to the waiting carriage. She gave a clipped instruction for the coachman to take her to the lawyer’s office on the other end of town.

One could tell that, although not particularly attractive in the modern sense of the word, both women were affluent and could afford the finer things of life on their own terms. No small accomplishment for a modern woman of 1911. But finding a means to even the score with Mr. James Buchanan was not something that could be accomplished with mere money. It would make things difficult, but not impossible. After all, both graduated from renown universities that were forward thinking enough to admit women.  They could think of something to even the score with that lowlife cheat.  And one would be remiss if not to admit that the task would be made somewhat more complex by their reluctance to go without the many attributes of the extremely handsome Mr. James Buchanan.

Yet one should never underestimate the intelligence and determination of a woman who has been played, or two women who were used as playtoys.  Men like Mr. Buchanan were primarily creatures of habit.  It was easy to discern the habits of the cad, as well as the routines of the various and sundry town folk.  Once the pact was set, and the plot commenced, all they had to do was follow through and then just not talk one to the other ever again.

How easy was it to slip the sedative in his drink and push him out of the hotel into the frigid winter air?  Emily tugged the sleeve of her velvet jacket into place as she watched Amanda guide the lurching and stumbling reprobate to a secluded bench away from the main street and the crowds. Emily returned to her room and moved towards the window overlooking the patio area between the hotel and the bathhouse. Amanda led her subject to the bench and deposited him thereupon. Standing back, her eyes drifted upwards and caught Emily’s blue eyes in the room above. They stared at each other for a moment as if to give their witness to what happened on this day and this time.

Within a few days, the two women came together at the frosty window in the bathhouse to once again look at the spot that was the place where the county’s most notorious liar and cheat breathed his last. They shared one last knowing smile and one last satisfied look. They drew the blanket back across the window and waited patiently for the fire to warm the bathhouse room. The privacy screens were pulled out again. Each waited patiently, wordlessly, for the attendant to prepare a hot tub for a bath of bubbles and lavender. They both knew this would be their last contact with each other. Once their baths were prepared, each of the two women rose, looked at each other, nodded one quick bob of the head, stepped behind the screens to disrobe and sink into the tub to luxuriate in the warmth and sweet aroma emanating from the large, round, tin tub.

Together they had dispelled the shadow of James Buchanan.