Lizzie Borden (21 page)

In her room, Lizzie wondered why she’d bothered to make the bed. All she wanted to do was to get in it and cry herself to sleep. She flopped down on top of the bedspread, closed her eyes and was suddenly a little girl again, safe, with a dark-haired father and a lanky big sister, on the banks of a fresh stream, with her little fishing stick in the water.

She arose mid-afternoon, hunger motivating her. She poured tepid water from the pitcher into the bowl and splashed her face. At least she hadn’t bawled, that would have made her eyes intolerably puffy for a day and a half. She dried her face and checked her looks in the mirror. As she straightened the bed, a soft knock came at her bedroom door.

“Miss Lizzie?” It was the maid.

Lizzie walked to the door, unlocked it, then returned to the mirror. “Come in, Maggie.”

Bridget entered and handed Lizzie a folded piece of white paper.

“What’s this?”

“A note from a lady. She stopped by and I told her you were sleeping.”

Heart leaping, Lizzie unfolded the note. “Lizzie— Dinner? Six. Kathryn.” She felt a flush come to her face, felt the smile grow into a grin. Then she noticed the young maid was still standing before her.

“Not bad news, I take it, miss?”

“No, it’s good—well, it’s a dinner invitation,” Lizzie said, trying to regain control of her composure. “Thank you.”

“Quite all right, miss,” Bridget said flippantly, then turned on her heel, red curls bouncing behind her as she tripped delicately down the stairs.

The dread of family embarrassment again fell upon Lizzie. What if that wench, that flippant little Irish girl knew, or at least suspected Lizzie’s involvement with Kathryn? That would give her power. That would give her terrible power.

Lizzie sat in her rocking chair and thought about that, her heart thumping, knowing she would see Kathryn again tonight. For dinner! That meant a positive, intimate experience. . . Lizzie had avoided meetings and anywhere she thought she might run into Kathryn because she was afraid that Kathryn would spit upon her once and for all, and Lizzie could never live through that.

And now, dinner!

And that Maggie thing most likely knows too much. That insipid little housemaid could bring the wrath of Fall River down upon the Bordens. She could ruin father’s reputation, she could ruin Lizzie’s standing in the community and in church. She could do much to throw the entire family into scandal—especially since she knew, or at least suspected, the nature of Emma’s “illnesses” upon her return from New Bedford.

She would talk to father about giving the girl a raise in pay. That may seal her fidelity.

Lizzie went down to the kitchen and began rooting around for something to eat. Her stomach was filled with jittery butterflies, thinking of dining with Kathryn. There were things between them that should be discussed.

She took a loaf of bread from the pantry and sliced off two thick slices.

What kind of things should be discussed?

She spread salted butter heavily on both slices, then covered that with Abby’s plum preserves.

The things that upset you, Lizzie, she told herself, and the bread stuck in her throat.

She poured a large glass of fresh milk and washed down the bread.

Yes, she thought. Those things must be discussed.

She looked out the window at the barn. Her lessons awaited her, Beatrice’s arrival demanded her attention, but there was no concentrating on them. This day would have to be devoted to two things: Approaching Andrew on a raise for Maggie, and talking things over with Kathryn.

Neither one provided much comfort, so Lizzie hunted around until she found the plate of cookies Abby had stashed in the tea tin, and set them before her.

~~~

Lizzie rubbed Andrew’s feet as was her custom, and then she asked him to give Maggie a raise in pay. He started, and looked at her with a peculiar expression, but he did not say no. Lizzie smiled at him while she made him comfortable, then read to him until he was asleep for his afternoon nap. Then she dashed upstairs to clean up and make ready for the coming evening.

~~~

Lizzie was so excited to see Kathryn that even though she noticed the fancy carriage outside Kathryn’s house, it didn’t register that Kathryn might have others for dinner besides her.

Kathryn answered the door wearing a beautiful pale green chiffon. After the door was closed, she kissed Lizzie gently on the lips, and then danced out of the way as Lizzie leaned into the kiss, wanting it to last longer, more, taste deeper. Kathryn laughed and teased, and led Lizzie into the living room, where two men rose to meet her.

Lizzie flushed crimson and looked with questioning eyes at Kathryn, but Kathryn only twinkled at her and introduced the gentlemen. From Boston. Scott Carrothers and Matthew Green. They were both wearing fine suits, and it was then that Lizzie upbraided herself for not noticing that the carriage was
directly
in front of Kathryn’s house, exactly where it should be if the owners were inside.

She mumbled her greetings to them, then rushed to help Kathryn in the kitchen.

“Men?” was all that came out of her mouth.

“You’ll love them, Lizzie,” Kathryn said. “They’re like us.” And then she swept back into the living room carrying a tray of small glasses filled with sherry.

The bearded man, Scott, his name was, stood and held his glass aloft. “A toast,” he said, and they all took their glasses. “To love and life and fine company.”

“Hear, hear,” the other man said, the small man, and the three of them drained half their glasses, but Lizzie barely put hers to her lips. She still was not certain if she approved of anyone drinking anything at all, much less members of the WCTU.

The evening progressed, Lizzie on the sidelines. She was caught up in the love of life that drove her three companions for the evening, and yet she wondered if any of the neighbors would see that two unmarried ladies were accompanied by two unmarried men, unchaperoned. That would bring a terrible scandal upon the Borden name. She also wondered what Kathryn meant when she said that the men were “just like us.” No matter how she put herself and Kathryn side by side with these two jocular and entertaining men, she could see no similarities.

They tried with unmuffled earnestness to include Lizzie in their gaiety, yet they were careful to tread lightly enough not to embarrass her or put her off. She was impressed with their sensitivity. Kathryn seemed to be bold, almost brazen, in her laughter with these men, and it seemed to Lizzie that they must be old friends indeed. In fact much of their humor revolved around old times together.

Kathryn served wine in the parlor and then a fabulous feast that seemed to require less than little time in the kitchen and in serving it. Lizzie, beginning to be dazzled by the intelligent rapport between the men and Kathryn, was astonished at how easily Kathryn tossed off this little dinner party. There was no tension, her absences from the room to tend to culinary matters were rarely excused and almost entirely unnoticed. And she served a fine pheasant, with roasted potatoes and early lima beans swimming in butter.

The Borden household had never, ever seen such a table.

She served brandy afterwards. Lizzie had sipped wine throughout the meal, but had not attributed her warm and growing affection for her dinner companions to the wine. After Kathryn had swept through the dining room and cleared the dishes, the men invited Lizzie back to the sitting room for a brandy. And she accepted.

“Have you ever been to Boston, Lizzie?”

“Infrequently,” she said, taking a sip and loving the deep flavor.

“You must come up for the weekend.  You and Kathryn. We would show you such a wonderful time. Have you been to the theatre?”

“No.”

“Well, my dear, we have theatres—granted, they’re not like New York, but still they’re professional and very, very good—and sometimes we even are invited to attend the cast parties afterwards, aren’t we, Scott?”

“Yes, indeed, Lizzie,” Scott said, relaxing against the back of the sofa. “In fact, you and Kathryn should come to Boston and we’ll go to New York, the four of us, and see some real theatre!”

Lizzie flushed. What an exciting idea, to spend a weekend with Kathryn in New York City! But then wouldn’t father be scandalized, especially if word should ever get back to him that they were accompanied—unchaperoned—by a pair of gentlemen.

“Ooh, Scott,” Matthew said, “we could stay at the Carlton. Remember the first time we stayed at the Carlton?”

“Indeed,” Scott said, and a look passed between them that mystified Lizzie. And then Scott put his hand on Matthew’s knee and squeezed it, and Lizzie understood exactly what Kathryn meant, and she thought for a moment she would lose her dinner right here in the sitting room.

Her face flushed, she stood, and unsteadily set her glass of brandy on the side table. Then she hurried to the kitchen, where Kathryn was stacking up the soiled dishes.

“Kathryn,” Lizzie breathed. “Those men are. . .”

“Are what, darling?”

Good breeding failed Lizzie. She knew of no names for what she wanted to say.

“In love with each other? Yes, they are. Scott and Matthew have been lovers for over five years now. They met and fell in love in college.”

Five years. Lizzie thought of herself in another five years. She would be thirty-seven years old, and still chasing after rainbows. She would never be any closer to having the kind of money or independence she so desperately wanted, and the walls of the kitchen began to close in on her.

And then the other thought occurred to her. What do men do to each other when they’re lovers? Whatever it was, it sounded terribly distasteful, especially if they were as rough and as selfish as Kathryn had always maintained that male lovers were. But just enough sherry, wine and brandy made Lizzie a little giddy, and she didn’t know if she would laugh at her thought or perhaps be sick because of it.

Kathryn hustled her back into the sitting room, and there they sat and talked, Lizzie mostly silent, watching the two men, the thought of their hands on each other’s naked bodies quite sickening. And soon they rose, said their thank-yous, kissed both Kathryn and Lizzie lightly on the cheek, and then they were gone.

Kathryn collapsed on the sofa. “Pour me a sherry, will you, Lizzie? That’s a good girl.”

Lizzie poured one for each of them, then sat next to Kathryn. They both sipped their wine.

“Aren’t they rocking good sports?”

“I guess so.”

Kathryn sat up and looked Lizzie in the face. “You guess so, didn’t you enjoy their company?”

“I did,” Lizzie said, “but they made me a little bit uncomfortable, I guess.”

“Uncomfortable how?”

“Well, we were unchaperoned—”

Kathryn let out a hoot. “A lady could never be safer than with those two, Lizzie.”

Lizzie’s face burned. “And that, too, made me a feel a little strange.”

“Why? They’re like us.”

Lizzie didn’t care for the comparison at all. People like that were a certain way, and Kathryn wasn’t that way, and neither was she. But she couldn’t quite put her finger on what way that was, so she didn’t mention it.

Kathryn turned Lizzie’s head with a gentle finger and kissed her lightly on the lips. “The night is yet early. . .”

Lizzie got to her feet and pulled Kathryn along with her. Then they ran for the bedroom, disrobing and giggling like a couple of high school girls until they were again in each other’s hot and passionate embrace, and Lizzie felt as if she’d come home. Home at last.

Later, Lizzie told Kathryn what the men had said about their going to join them in Boston or in New York, and Kathryn had screamed in laughter. “What a fabulous idea,” she said. “Being out on the town with those two would be a terrible lot of fun. We certainly
must
do that sometime, Lizzie. Perhaps after the heat of the summer has passed.”

Lizzie agreed. After the heat of the summer, she would go to the theatre with these three odd people. Sometime after Beatrice had come and gone, after she had lost enough weight so that her gowns would fit her again, after her father had lost his mind to let her go to New York unchaperoned with Kathryn and two men.

And she lay entwined with Kathryn, thinking it was time she got home, and she wondered if Scott and Matthew were at that very moment making their strange brand of love, or lying abed with their legs entwined, talking about Lizzie and Kathryn.

“Lizzie?”

“Hmmm?”

“I had a dream about you.”

“Oh?”

“I dreamed you had split into two people. In my dream, you were here with me, but somehow you were pacing back and forth in your house. It occurred to me that when you are here, you are either wishing you were home or worried that you ought to be home, that our activities here will be found out about your family.”

“I feel sometimes. . .”

“Let me finish. And also in this dream, while you were with me here, like this, and you were also at home, you were in two places at your house, as well. You were in your bedroom upstairs, sleeping, but you were also pacing the floor, walking into the others’ rooms and pacing back and forth by their beds.”

“I’ve been worried about Emma.”

Kathryn was silent.

“And Cynthia Miller,” Lizzie added.

Kathryn said nothing, just reached over and squeezed Lizzie’s hand.

It was clear that there would be no comfort or reassurance forthcoming from Kathryn.

And it was not until Lizzie was at home, in bed, reliving the events of the evening, that she remembered, ever so vaguely, that at times she was at home in bed. . .
and
pacing the floor at the foot of her father’s bed at the same time.

JUNE