Lizzie Borden (29 page)

The thunder of the headache loomed on the horizon.

“I need dark. And quiet. I’m so glad it’s cool here.”

“Come. Let us make you comfortable. I even have a nightshirt that will fit you.”

Lizzie pulled the pins out of her hair as she followed Enid into her bedroom. She somehow wasn’t surprised to see piles of books on both sides of the bed, by the nightstands. Enid pulled a big cotton nightshirt out of a dresser drawer as the pain began to sound. Lizzie sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes half closing.

Enid drew down the shades and pulled the draperies closed.

“Come, Lizzie, let me get you out of those clothes.”

Lizzie fumbled at her clothes, and Enid helped. She wished she could enjoy the act of being undressed by Enid, but now she felt limp, drained, and wanted only to be in the nightshirt, in the bed, with a soft pillow under her, so she could rest, just she and her pain, while they became reacquainted.

Sometimes it felt as if her headache pain was her only friend, her only consistent, loyal confidant. She could tell her pain anything, and if she didn’t tell, then it wrenched the information from her. It visited her when she needed it the most and took everything she had to offer. Everything and more.

Lizzie felt her bare feet sliding between cool sheets, and lay her head on a fresh pillow slip. The pain moved in and moved Enid out. She never heard the door close.

When the quiet knock came at the door, Andrew Borden was sitting at his desk, totaling his accounts. At first, he wasn’t sure that he had heard a knock at all.

His first thought was of that bloody Italian man again, but he had pounded on the door, that stupid little greasy man did, and unless this was his wife— No, those wop bastards had greasy wives who would probably pound just as loud.

Then it came again, a soft little rapping, as if made by a child’s hand.

He rose and went to the door.

He undid all three locks and opened the door.

There stood the Widow Crawford. Her hair was askew, her clothes hastily prepared. She wore a shawl to cover the fact that her dress was not properly pressed. In spite of himself, he whipped his head around to see if Abby approached.

“Good evening, Mr. Borden,” she spoke with a clear, loud voice.

“Ma’am,” he said.

“My name is Enid Crawford. I am a member of the Central Congregational church, where I attend services with your daughter, Lizzie.”

“Oh?” Andrew had no idea what was going on, but he found his face flushing a deep crimson, something he always found becoming on Lizzie, but which he detested on himself.

“I invited Lizzie to dinner tonight— ”

Anger flooded Andrew.

“— and just before we were to eat, she succumbed to a terrible headache.” The anger fled. Lizzie had another headache. His heart went out to her. “I have put her to bed, and came to tell you that she wouldn’t be home until morning.”

He stood, staring at her.

“So that you and your wife wouldn’t worry, Mr. Borden.”

“Of course, of course,” he said. He still didn’t know what to do or how to act.

“Mr. Borden?” Abby called from the kitchen. In a moment, she was at his side, pulling the door wide open, and the two women regarded each other for a long moment. Andrew was deeply ashamed at his wife’s size. “What is it?”

“Lizzie went to this woman’s home for dinner and was seized with a headache— ” he began.

“Oh, my dear, please come in, come in, let me get you a coffee.” As Abby turned, Enid gave Andrew a small smile, a knowing smile, a sly smile, a naughty smile, and she stepped over  the threshold and began to look around.

“Well, perhaps Mrs. Crawford needs to attend. . .”

“Lizzie is asleep, or at least resting,” Enid said, “and I’d love a cup of coffee. Cold, please, Mrs. Borden. No sugar.”

Abby bustled her bulk ahead. “Come in, have a seat. I have coffee all ready.”

“You shouldn’t have come,” Andrew whispered. He didn’t know what else to say, what else to do.

“And just let you worry about Lizzie? She won’t be home tonight. I had no choice. Besides. . .” She stepped in front of him and made herself comfortable on the sofa in the sitting room.

“What was Lizzie doing at your house anyway?”

“We’ve managed a friendship, Andrew,” Enid spoke loud enough to make Andrew’s heart race, but soft enough to keep her words for his ears only.

“Oh, Enid,” he said, surprised at the way it sounded, it sounded like a moan, like the moans she elicited from him under highly different circumstances, it sounded intimate and personal, it sounded as if they were friends, lovers, when in actuality, they were rather business partners. But even business partners begin to realize a touch of affection for one another over a period of time, don’t they? And perhaps, Andrew thought, as he realized how his ‘oh, Enid,’ sounded, he had fallen in love with her a little bit and liked the idea of being able to say such a thing to her.

“It’s a harmless thing,” Enid whispered, then straightened  as Abby’s heavy step sounded in the hall. “Lizzie and I were going over some church business. She’s very involved with the Orientals, you know.”

“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?” Abby said, bringing in glasses of coffee. Andrew regarded her with disdain. She was acting as if this were a social call, instead of a notification that their daughter was holed up in this woman’s house, sick and unable to leave. “I don’t know much about Orientals at all, and Lizzie’s changing churches just like that for no apparent reason was quite a shock to us all, as well you can imagine, but God does his mysterious works, doesn’t he?”

“He does, Mrs. Borden,” Enid said. “We all feel very fortunate to have Lizzie active in the Christian Endeavor Society. She is a wonderful person. An asset.”

“What does your husband do?”

“My Charlie passed away years ago, Mrs. Borden. I work at the law offices to keep my boys in college up in Boston.”

“Well. . .” Abby said, breathlessly, and had no more to say.

“Lovely home,” Enid said, and the platitude fell quietly to the floor. Everyone looked at their feet. Andrew felt completely ill at ease. Bile burned at the top of his stomach and a cold dislike for Enid began to creep in around the gills. He brought his eyes up and met hers squarely. They looked at each other, Andrew felt his face an expressionless mask, and a queer look—almost fear, almost regret—crossed Enid’s. Then they both looked at Abby, and her eyes were busily looking back and forth between them.

She knew. He knew she knew. He looked again at Enid, and saw that she had also seen the light in Abby’s eyes. Andrew felt frosty toward the woman.

Enid set her untouched coffee on the table and stood up. “I better go back and check on Lizzie,” she said. “I’m terribly sorry to have disrupted your evening.”

“Oh, no trouble at all,” Abby said, and Andrew wanted to slap her and tell her to shut her silly yap. “Give Lizzie our love. Sometime in the night her headache will pass, and in the morning she’ll be better. Believe me. We’ve lived through many of Lizzie’s headaches, haven’t we?”

Andrew nodded. “She’s like as not to upchuck,” he said.

Enid nodded. “Well, goodbye, then. I hope to see you again.”

Andrew opened the door, Enid stepped out, and he closed it without another word. He turned all three locks, as if Enid had taken all his odd feelings with her and he never wanted them to return. Abby turned on her heel, without so much as a glance toward him, took up Enid’s glass from the table, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Andrew went back to his ledgers, but his mind was not on numbers.

The house fell silent about him. He wished Lizzie were home, he wished Abby were not so overwhelmingly fat. He wished Enid had never come to the house. He wished Emma loved him  still, he wished life were just a little bit easier for a man in his elder years, he wished for those youthful times, those good times, when he was a daddy, a hero to his little girls, and he used to take them. . .

Fishing! He and Lizzie had talked about fishing a while ago. Wouldn’t it be good to take her—take both the girls, if Emma had a mind to. Some nice fresh brook trout would be excellent, and the fresh air and sunshine—

Reminded him of rutting on the damp ground, Enid moving urgently beneath him, and his body stirred.

What in the
hell
was Lizzie doing at Enid’s house? More importantly, what was Enid doing with Lizzie?

The stirring stopped. The inflation deflated. The moment of warm, pleasurable thought was replaced by another thought, one that put a cold stone in his lower belly. There was a hard edge to a woman who wore her hair short. There was a ruthlessness about a woman who wore no underwear and shamelessly seduced an older man for money. Blackmail was in Enid Crawford’s soul, and Andrew saw how foolish he had been to allow their little business affair to carry on for so long.

And he had been going to put her in his will!

Surely she was after even more money, and would try to milk it using Lizzie, in some way.

He leaned his elbows on the desk and put his face in his hands. His hands were cold. He took off his specs and rubbed his face. It felt good, the cold, hard hands on his face, and when he looked up, and his vision cleared, Abby was standing in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Are you ill, Mr. Borden?”

“No, no, just. . . worried about Lizzie, I think. She hasn’t been away from home for a night, before.”

“When she was abroad. . .”

“Yes, I know, but she was not ill. I feel as though I should go and check on her.”

That was the wrong thing to say. As soon as he said it, he knew how it sounded. It sounded like his Fridays with Enid Crawford were not enough, and now he wanted to add a Wednesday to them as well. He knew she kept her gaze steady on him, but he could not meet it. “I don’t think I shall, though. I don’t even know where Mrs. Crawford lives.”

“Doesn’t the bank do business with that law firm of hers?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Hmm.” She turned and went back to the kitchen.

Andrew was stunned with anxiety. His life was disintegrating. First, Emma. Then Lizzie became too independent and has decided she wants to live in her own house. And now, he was fool enough for Enid Crawford, and Abby was feeling it personally. And what on
earth
might Enid do to Lizzie?

He would take it up with Enid on Friday.

He went into the kitchen and took a tart into the dining room, sat down, hoping Abby would join him. She didn’t. He ate it, then went upstairs to bed.

When Lizzie awakened, her whole being was awake in an instant. She smelled the difference in the room, felt the different sheets, the larger size of the room. Disoriented in the darkness, heart pounding, she recalled the headache, and before the headache, readying for dinner at Enid Crawford’s.

A low moan escaped her before she could stop it. How could she have a headache at Enid Crawford’s? What a terrible thing to impose.

“Lizzie?”

The word was whispered so close to her ear, at first Lizzie thought she was still dreaming. She turned her head, and there was Enid, tucked into bed next to her. A tiny hand found hers under the covers, and a smooth foot slid over and nestled next to hers. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Lizzie turned her head away. This was what she had wanted, this is what she had dreamed of for weeks: to get Enid Crawford into bed. And here they were, Lizzie not clever, not adept, not bold nor adventurous, but pitiable, weak, small, injured, stupid. Enid was in bed with her all right, but it was not to love her; no, it was to comfort her, as a parent might sleep with a sickly child.

Lizzie wanted nothing more than to get out of bed, dress and fly home as fast as her feet could possibly take her.

“I was terribly worried about you.” The whisper was still close to Lizzie’s face, intimate, quiet. A tear leaked out of the corner of Lizzie’s eye. “I went to see your parents to tell them that you wouldn’t be home.” A sob escaped Lizzie and two more tears fell. Enid squeezed her hand tighter, then moved closer. Her arms came around Lizzie, and soon Lizzie’s head was on Enid’s shoulder, and she was sobbing, crying as hard as she had ever cried. Enid smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead and rocked her gently back and forth, saying “Shhh, Lizzie, it’s all right. Everything’s going to be just fine.”