Lizzie Borden (37 page)

Then he began pulling drawers out of her dresser, fumbling through them and throwing them on the ground. The first one split when it landed, and Lizzie cringed. He went through the room like a madman, flinging dresses from their hangers, going through each shoe, each shoebox, each hatbox, searching, searching.

Lizzie was appalled.

Finally, he finished. He sat down on Emma’s bed, perspiration flowing down his face. He took his handkerchief and mopped. “It’s not here, Lizzie,” he said, then kind of slumped in the chair. Lizzie thought for a moment he had fainted from the sickness and then the heat. “It’s not here,” he whispered.

She went to him and sat at his feet. “It’s not that important, Father,” she said, and then remembered that she wasn’t supposed to know that it was his will.  “Perhaps you should go downstairs for a little nap. Shall we read, maybe?” She felt like she was coddling to one of her six-year-old Sunday school students.

“Yes,” he breathed, “maybe we ought.” But he made no move.

Lizzie put her cheek against his knee. Despite the fact that she sometimes hated him, the affection she felt when she realized how old and frail he was overcame her. He was her father, after all, and didn’t that count for something? Of course it did. Blood is thick, especially Borden blood, and Lizzie felt a tremendous amount of loyalty to her father. To her father
and
to her sister.

She wondered what Emma was doing in Fairhaven, and as if he read her thoughts, she felt his hand upon her head.

“I’m such a foolish old man, Lizzie,” he said. “I’ve no right to a daughter as wonderful as you are, and it makes me so very afraid that you will leave me in my old age.”

“I won’t,” she said with a sigh. “I would like to have a little house of my own here in town, Father, but I will never really leave you.”

“Never?”

“Of course not.”

“Your sister Emma is leaving me. All I’ve done for her and she’s leaving me, she’s leaving me as sure as we’re sitting here.”

“She’s visiting cousins in Fairhaven, Father.”

“That’s what you think. That might even be what she thinks, Lizzie, but Emma left me long ago. Took her affections and locked them up in this room.” He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. “Please don’t you ever leave me. I can’t bear the thought of growing older without knowing that I will always be able to count on you to nurse me if I should fall ill. And that’s why you can never move out, Lizzie, because it would be so hard for you to give up your little house to come home if I needed you.”

A hollowness opened up in Lizzie. The hollow center of conflicting emotions swirled deep in her gut. This man was everything to her. Everything she loved, everything she hated. He was her potential freedom, at the same time, he was her prison. She sat, her head resting on the side of his knee, his hand on the top of her head, and she listened to the things he said that were not the normal things a man should say to his daughter. They were sick. He was sick. He was sick and old and it was time for him to die.

Why don’t they all just die and leave me alone?

Lizzie stood, held out her hand for him to grasp, and helped him up. She thought perhaps tears had mingled with the perspiration on his face, but she was not sure. “Come, Father, let’s finish that book.”

He let her lead him down the stairs, down to the first floor where the heat was only oppressive, not overwhelming.

Abby was not in the kitchen; Lizzie supposed she had gone back to bed. Maggie had yet to make an appearance at all. The whole family sick and Uncle John would be arriving at any time!

Andrew sat on the sofa; Lizzie removed his boots. Then he fell sideways, and she put a pillow under his head. He rearranged himself somewhat and she fetched the book, sat next to him and began to read.

She hadn’t read three pages when she knew he was asleep. She closed the book and sat hurting, hurting from Enid, hurting from her father, hurting from the restlessness that was steeped in the house, when she felt that familiar sensation, saw that eerie brightness and was once again looking out the eyes of another Lizzie, a Lizzie who was in the kitchen.

The other Lizzie selected a knife from the drawer, and an onion from the hamper. Without peeling it, she began to chop it, with hard, brutal strokes.

Lizzie sat in the sitting room, hearing the chopping going on in the kitchen as she watched herself hack away at the onion until there was nothing left but mush and milky juice. Then, knife still in hand, the other Lizzie—the Angry Lizzie—opened the icebox and took out the milk. She smelled it and then laughed. She
laughed
, and a horrible understanding began to dawn. Lizzie was very uncertain about what had made the family sick. It wasn’t like. . . it wasn’t like when she stole Abby’s money and jewelry, was it? It wasn’t, was it?

Suddenly, the air in the room was too rare for her. Suddenly, she had to gasp to breathe. The Lizzie in the kitchen opened the screen door and walked out into the back yard, knife in hand. She picked a pear from the tree and ground it to pulp beneath her heel. Then she went to the barn and went inside. The air was choked with hot dust. She climbed the ladder, knife still held awkwardly in one hand, and stood tall in the loft, a dizzying height in this heat. She kicked at the hay and uncovered the book, then picked it up and opened it to the very first chapter, the chapter of the beautiful words, the paragraph she was to repeat every day. Lizzie knew it by heart, but the barn Lizzie read it out loud, and in her voice it was something horrible, something awful, it was something devilish, something demonic.

Lizzie had always thought of that particular passage as being of love, and life and health, but perhaps the existence of this other Lizzie, this hellish thing that had motives of her own, was a direct result of that book. Could that be?

The barn Lizzie put the book on the floor and sent the knife right through it.

Then she was gone.

Lizzie gasped for air, perspiration running freely down her face, darkening stains everywhere on her dress. She threw the book she’d been reading to the floor and escaped the house.

Out on the street, she looked both ways. Where could she go? She had nowhere. She had no one. She needed someone who could understand. . .

But there was no one who could ever understand. Except, perhaps, Kathryn Peters.

~~~

Kathryn answered the door with a surprised smile when she saw Lizzie. It appeared to Lizzie to be a genuine smile, but for the moment, Lizzie didn’t much care. She needed a refuge, and Kathryn would provide it, willing or not.

“Lizzie! How nice to see you.”

“Kathryn, may I come in?”

“What is it, dear? My, my, you do look a sight. Please come in. I’ll fix you something cool to drink.”

“Please.” Kathryn’s house was almost as hot as Lizzie’s, but it was neat, clean, and dust-free, even in this heat. Lizzie sat on the edge of a chair, her insides agitated and churning.

“We had a marvelous time in New York, Lizzie,” Kathryn said as she brought a tray of drinks into the sitting room. “You simply
must
go with us next time.”

Lizzie took the cool tea and gulped it down.

“Really, my dear, you are in quite a state. Tell me. What is all this about?”

“I’m so afraid, Kathryn,” Lizzie said, kind of surprised that of all the things there were to say about the situation, that fear was the one she gave voice to.

“Oh?”

“I fear someone has poisoned the milk.” What a stupid thing to say.

“The milk?”

Lizzie nodded.

“Have you contacted the police?”

“No, it’s far too complicated. There’s a book. And she’s to arrive tonight or tomorrow. And then there’s Emma, who’s gone to Fairhaven, but she’s so furious at Father, that. . . well, she had to leave, don’t you see?”

“Whoa, girl, settle down. Here. Put your feet up on the stool. That’s right. Now put your head back and close your eyes. I’m going to rub your forehead for you while you just concentrate on relaxing. That’s right.”

Lizzie felt the tension slide right away from her as Kathryn’s fingers rubbed her forehead.

“You’re even more beautiful now than the last time I saw you, Lizzie,” Kathryn said. “We must spend a little time together now and then, don’t you think?”

Lizzie felt Kathryn’s hand on her breast. She sat up and looked Kathryn right in the eye. “I’m in trouble, Kathryn. Our whole family is in trouble. I came here because I thought perhaps you were a friend who would care.”

“I am, Lizzie. I do care. I’ll fix us something to eat here in a short while. Would you like to take a cool bath?”

Lizzie took a long look at Kathryn. She looked like a shark. Lizzie realized with a thud that she had hoped for loving understanding from this woman, the way she would have received it from Enid. Just because they had made love didn’t mean that they loved each other, she thought, and the sadness welled up. “No, Kathryn, I think I better go.”

“Go? But you just arrived.”

“I’m sorry,” Lizzie said, and ducked her head so that Kathryn wouldn’t see the tears. She left the front door open, and didn’t look back.

Oh God, where to now?

She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t wander the streets, she had no hanky and her nose was running. Beatrice was due to arrive at any moment, and her eyes would be swollen like a frog’s from crying.

Stop crying!
Lizzie stiffened her lip and sniffed. But the “nobody loves me” refrain was difficult to suppress.

There’s a W.C. at the church, Lizzie thought. There will be a tissue there.

Lizzie slipped in the side door of the church and made directly to the ladies room. She blew her nose and splashed cold water on her face. That was better. She leaned against the wall, letting her face dry, when the door opened and Alice Russell walked in.

“Lizzie!”

“Hello, Alice.”

“Is there a meeting?”

“No, I was just caught outside and needed. . . you know.”

“I do,” Alice said, and washed her hands. “Lizzie, is everything all right?”

“Oh, Alice, no, I don’t think so—” and the tears began to run again. Lizzie’s throat felt raw from trying to hold them back.

“My dear!” Alice patted Lizzie’s back. “Why don’t we go over to my house, I’ll fix you something nice to drink, or eat, or whatever you want, and we’ll have a long talk.”

Lizzie nodded.

“I’ll go tell Reverend Buck that I’m leaving. You’ll be all right here for a moment?”

Lizzie nodded.

In a moment, Alice was back. Lizzie took her last sniff, and they left the church, silently walking the three blocks to Alice’s house.

Alice and her husband lived in a modest little house with a lovely garden. They were both in their late fifties and childless. Lizzie had been to two church-committee meetings at Alice’s house, in fact it was during a meeting at Alice’s house that she volunteered to teach the Oriental Sunday school class.

Alice settled Lizzie in her homey, lived-in front room and went to fix a glass of lemonade.

What am I doing here, Lizzie wondered. How on earth could I tell this fine, innocent, churchgoing woman about what’s been happening? How can I?

Alice returned with a glass of lemonade and a smile. She sat on the edge of the sofa and sipped.

“Now, Lizzie,” she said. “Share your burden with a friend.”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know. I want to be safe. I need to be safe, but there doesn’t seem to be anyplace. . .”

“What is it? Exactly.”

“I’m so afraid something dreadful is going to happen. I feel it in my bones. Some one of Father’s tenants threatened him a while back, and then Abby’s jewelry was stolen. And now someone has poisoned the milk and made everyone sick, and I’m just so certain that something terrible, something awful is about to happen, and I don’t know what I should do. . . Or if I
can
do anything to prevent it.”

“All right. All right. Let me fix you something to eat. You go into the bathroom and freshen up. A little nourishment and a little cleanliness goes a long way toward clarity of mind.”

“Yes. Yes.” Lizzie got up and went into the bathroom. Another house with full plumbing. Alice’s bathroom was basic, but it looked like her. And her husband’s toiletries were out in plain sight. Lizzie smelled his shaving soap. It had a nice perfume to it.

Lizzie unbuttoned her shirt and took it off. She washed her face, hands, arms and chest. The cold water felt wonderful. She toweled off with a soft towel that smelled sweet. The Oriental laundry. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to have a few of the material pleasures—a few material
basics
that everybody else in town enjoyed, but that her father was too cheap, too mean to provide for his own family.

Refreshed, she returned to the kitchen, where Alice had laid out strips of cold chicken on brown bread with crunchy mustard and cranberry sauce. It was a wonderful meal, and Lizzie ate it gratefully. As her stomach was filled with the first good food she’d eaten all day, the terrible anxiety slipped away. She could almost relax.

“Where’s your husband?”

“He’ll be home in a while.”

“He’s missing a fine meal.” Lizzie felt grateful. She wondered if she had other friends that she didn’t know about. She didn’t really want to stay at Alice’s house, and she certainly didn’t want to spend the night, but she didn’t want to go home, either. Home. Just the thought of it gave her shivers.

Alice began to talk, and the more she talked, the easier Lizzie felt. Eventually, they talked about every mutual acquaintance, all the history of the gossip at church, and when they finally ran out of conversation, Lizzie dragged herself to her feet.

“Well, I better go. I’m sorry I barged in on you like this, Alice, but thank you for taking me in and providing a delicious dinner.”

“Lizzie, won’t you stay?” There was a pleading in Alice’s eyes, and Lizzie thought that this woman could become a friend, a good friend some day.

“No, I think I better go. Thank you.” And she left.

The evening stretched long, as August evenings will, and the twilight settled slowly over Fall River. Lizzie’s dread began to grow again, she was afraid to go back home, she was afraid of what might happen when she got there.