Father had knocked on the front door, the boom noise filling the house, and Bridget unlocked the bolt on the front door, let him inside. He came further inside the house, placed his hat on the coat rack then moved like old time into the sitting room. Seeing him like that made me giggle. I came down the front stairs, looked at the guestroom door.
I had so many things I needed to tell Father, I thought I might spark and burn away. I worried that he wouldn’t listen, the way he hadn’t listened to me for so long.
I shook my head and continued down the stairs, listened to Father grunt as he tried to lengthen his body along the sofa. His stomach sounded war; churn-churn fire pit, a small crying devil.
I surprised myself. When I saw Father resting on the sofa, I began mouthing my favourite prayer, ‘As the Lord liveth, there shall no punishment happen to thee for this thing.’ Father had taught me the prayer when I was tiny, had wrapped it tight around my brain and heart so that it would never leave me.
Father held his head in his hands. I wanted to be inside him, to see and hear all the thoughts that never came out to speak to me. I wanted him to hear me, to really know me.
Father opened his eyes and looked at me, his body hunching deep into the back of the sofa. ‘I feel so unwell, Lizzie.’ There was a buzzing coming through the floor into my feet and legs, travelling all the way to my head.
I smiled at him. ‘Let me look after you, Father.’
He watched me and I smiled again, felt my teeth raw on lips. A few weeks before, I had dreamed about him. Father was a tiny baby sent to me to be looked after. I bathed him and nursed him, both of us happy. He was a small puppet for me to play with, to make him do whatever I wanted. Baby Father was warm in my arms and when he looked at me, I saw myself and kissed his cheeks. The beginning of love.
The clock on the mantel ticked ticked. Father kept watching me and the dream feeling disappeared. When I looked at him on that sofa my arms and hands became heavy. I stepped towards him, hoping that being closer to him would release me, make me happy again, I want my daddy to love me, and I could see him stare, stare, stare. I wanted to tell him so many things. I walked closer to him, and I thought I heard him say, ‘Is it too late for me to be a good father?’
The conversation we could have.
‘What do you think a father does?’ I would ask sweetly.
His face would pucker like dried fruit. ‘I’d let you live the life you deserved. Everything for you and Emma.’
‘Would you marry Mrs Borden?’
He shook his head, an earthquake. ‘I wouldn’t make that mistake again.’
I walked closer and we watched each other. Father blinked. I felt a twist in my heart and my body turned arctic. I considered everything. ‘I wish it could be different. But it won’t,’ I told him.
Father looked at me, eyes wide, confused. I wondered what Emma was doing. I missed her. ‘Everything will be better when Emma comes home,’ I told him. The ceiling popped and ice ran the length of my spine. The clock on the mantel ticked ticked and I began to feel warm, warmer.
How old he looked there on the sofa with his white hair and white beard; I saw how different we were. I wanted to ask him, ‘Can you tell me one more thing?’
‘Yes, Lizzie. Anything.’
‘Can you tell me something from when there was only me and Emma and Mother and you?’
‘Once, there was love. All love.’
‘Yes. All that love. Once.’ I smiled. A father returned.
I stepped closer to him, heard birdsong in my ear. This was the beginning of my happiness. I would show him that I could finally love him more.
‘Lizzie?’ Father’s voice was loud.
I nodded. Father’s eyes widened and he grunted a little, words becoming stuck to the side of his mouth. He began crying, I didn’t know this was possible, and for a moment, I felt confused. I stepped closer to Father, said, ‘All that love, once,’ and he cried some more. The clock on the mantel ticked ticked. I folded my body all the way down to his, kissed him on the head. He cried. ‘It’s alright,’ I said, my angel voice.
Birdsong was loud in my ear and happiness was about to begin. Above me, the house opened up, just like I had always wanted it to. I felt the sun come for me, wanted Father to see it.
‘Look up!’ I said. ‘Look up.’
Father did. I watched his hands, saw the golden circle on his finger. I smiled. The sun burned bright. He shielded his eyes with his hand.
I knew he was waiting, just like I was. Waiting for all my happiness. Together we closed our eyes. I lifted my head towards the sky, everything is magical! I want to touch the sun!
I raised my arms above my head.
Fall River timeline
13 September 1822: Andrew Jackson Borden is born at 12 Ferry Street, Fall River. He is the eldest of five children.
19 September 1823: Sarah Morse is born. She is the eldest of nine children.
21 January 1828: Abby Durfee Gray is born.
1833: John Morse is born.
1845: 92 Second Street is built. It is designed to house two families.
25 December 1845: Andrew marries Sarah. He is a cabinetmaker, she is a seamstress.
1 March 1851: Emma Lenora Borden is born.
3 May 1856: Alice Esther Borden is born.
10 March 1858: Alice dies at home from ‘hydrocephalus’ (commonly known at the time as ‘dropsy on the brain’).
19 July 1860: Lizzie Andrew Borden is born at 12 Ferry Street, Fall River.
26 March 1863: Sarah dies of ‘uterine congestion’ and ‘disease of spine’. She is thirty-nine. Andrew is forty. Emma is twelve. Lizzie is two.
On a certain date: Andrew meets Abby at Central Congregational Church, Fall River.
6 June 1865: Andrew marries Abby. Abby is thirty-seven years old. Andrew is forty-two. Emma is fourteen. Lizzie is almost five.
1866: Bridget Sullivan is born in County Cork, Ireland.
1875: Lizzie goes to high school.
1877: Lizzie leaves high school in her junior year.
24 May 1886: Bridget arrives in New York on the SS Republic.
1887: Lizzie stops calling Abby ‘Mother’.
1 October 1887: Andrew sells Emma and Lizzie 12 Ferry Street, Fall River, for $1 as a gift and as an attempt to soothe tension in the household. As owners of the house, the sisters will collect rent and make an income.
November 1889: Bridget is hired as a servant at the Borden household.
21 June–1 November 1890: Lizzie takes her Grand European tour. She is gone for nineteen weeks.
24 June 1891: Daylight robbery takes place at 92 Second Street. Lizzie, Emma and Bridget are at home. Andrew never pursues an investigation. It is believed that he suspected Lizzie committed the crime.
End of June 1891: Both indoor and outdoor doors are kept locked at 92 Second Street at all times.
End of June 1892 and 10 July 1892: Uncle John comes to visit.
15 July 1892: Because 12 Ferry Street was always in dire need of repair, Lizzie and Emma actually made a loss on the house (that is, they couldn’t ask for higher rents from tenants). They sell it back to Andrew for $5000.
21 July 1892: Emma goes to Fairhaven.
3 August 1892: Uncle John comes to visit.
4 August 1892: Andrew and Abby are murdered.
6 August 1892: Andrew’s and Abby’s funerals are held; 2500 people gather in the immediate vicinity of 92 Second Street.
11 August 1892: The bodies of Andrew and Abby are exhumed and autopsies are performed. The heads are removed, retained as evidence. Lizzie is told she is the main suspect of the murders and is taken into custody just before seven pm.
12 August 1892: Lizzie is taken to the jail located in Taunton, Massachusetts. She is refused bail.
17 August 1892: The decapitated bodies of Andrew and Abby are buried once again.
5 June 1893: The trial begins.
20 June 1893: Lizzie is acquitted. She spent ten months in jail leading up
to and while the trial was held.
Twenty days later, 1893: Lizzie and Emma buy 7 French Street, Fall River. Lizzie names the house ‘Maplecroft’.
Early 1905: Emma abruptly leaves Lizzie and Maplecroft. The sisters never speak again. Lizzie begins to call herself Miss Lizbeth A. Borden. Emma takes on an assumed name until her death.
1906: Emma travels abroad. She visits Scotland.
1 June 1927: Lizzie dies of pneumonia. She is sixty-six years old.
10 June 1927: Emma dies of chronic nephritis. She is seventy-six years old. The sisters are buried side by side at Oak Grove Cemetery in the family plot alongside Andrew and Abby.
1948: Bridget dies in Montana.
Last will and testament excerpts
Lizzie, 30 January 1926
Section 1. ‘To the city of Fall River the sum of five hundred dollars, the income therefrom to be used for the perpetual care of my father’s lot in Oak Grove Cemetery in said Fall River.’
Section 28. ‘I have not given my sister, Emma L. Borden, anything as she had her share of her father’s estate and is supposed to have enough to make her comfortable.’
Emma, 20 November 1920
Section 1. ‘I give and bequeath to the treasurer of the City of Fall River . . . the sum of one thousand dollars ($1,000) . . . IN TRUST, the income thereof to be used and applied for the perpetual care and improvement of the family burial plot, and the monuments and stones thereon . . . which was owned by my father, Andrew J. Borden, at the time of his death.’
Section 6. ‘If my sister, Lizzie A. Borden, shall survive me and I shall own an interest at the time of my death in that tract of land with the dwelling house . . . situated . . . [at] French Street . . . then I give, devise, and bequeath all my right, title and interest . . . to my said sister, Lizzie A. Borden.
‘If, however, at the time of my death I shall have disposed of my interest in said tract of land . . . on French Street . . . and my said sister, Lizzie A. Borden, shall survive me, then I give and bequeath to my said sister the sum of one thousand dollars ($1,000).’
Acknowledgements
WRITING IS SOLITARY but you never truly do it alone. Over the years I have had tremendous support in all forms. Without it I would never have finished.
There are many, many people I need to thank but in particular I’d like to give a shout out to: Christine Balint for early supervision, encouragement, and advice. The MA/PhD group from 2006 to 2010: amazing. A big-hearted thankyou to Antoni Jach. Your unwavering support over the years has meant so much.
Very special thanks and big love to: Kylie Boltin, Kalinda Ashton, Kate Ryan and Alice Melike Ulgezer. Your friendship, advice, long talks and reading the manuscript at crucial times has meant so much to me.
To MC VI: Jacinta Halloran, Rosalie Ham, Leigh Redhead, Jenny Green, Yvette Harvey, Mick McCoy, Moreno Giovannoni, Lawrence McMahon, and Lyndel Caffrey.
To Lyndel Caffrey in particular: you’ve no idea how much you’ve helped me.
The wonderful writing group: Evelyn Tsitas, Erina Reddan, and Caroline Petit. You’ve been so supportive, wise and generous. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Huge thanks to my work colleagues, especiallly community engagement: your generosity, support and laughter means a lot.
To dearest squirrel eyes, Felicity Gilbert: you let me outsource my emotions to you when I needed it most. Thank you for advice, reading and friendship.
Over the years chunks of this novel were written with the assistance of Varuna, the Writers’ House and the Eleanor Dark foundation. Thank you also to Peter Bishop.
While this is a work of fiction based on true events, I couldn’t have written the book without gleaning information from people who dedicate their time to this fascinating case. Their hard work and keen research made the non-fiction aspect of writing easier. I’d particularly like to mention the folks at www.lizzieandrewborden.com who unlocked the best treasure trove a writer could wish for. A wonderful resource, Parallel Lives: a social history of Lizzie A. Borden and her Fall River was produced exactly at the right moment. I also spent time at the Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast Museum and for that I am forever indebted to Lee Ann Wilbur for her generosity, hospitality and insight. Thank you also to the wonderful staff at that magnificently creepy house on Second Street.
To Vashti Kenway and Susan Johnson, and to all my dear friends in my life: thank you and I love you.
To my parents, Michael and Alana for always encouraging me to make up stories and for accepting the moment I started primary school and told you that I just wanted to be a writer when I grew up. Thank you for your love and support.
My wonderful brother, Josh, and my dearest Andrea Parker. Words cannot express.
Thank you also to my extended family: Ian, Deb, Rhonda, John, Vicki, and Tara. Extra thanks to Emma and Marty for reading the manuscript at various stages. Thank you to John Parker and Honor Parker for Ireland.
Thank you to my wonderful agents Pippa Masson, Dan Lazar, Gordon Wise and Kate Cooper: you have changed my life. Thanks also to Luke Speed.
Major thanks to everyone at Hachette Australia but especially: my wonderful publisher Robert Watkins, Karen Ward, Ali Lavau, Nathan Grice, Anna Egelstaff, Tom Saras, Daniel Pilkington, Andrew Cattanach, Louise Sherwin-Stark, Justin Ractliffe, and Fiona Hazard. Thank you Josh Durham for the beautiful pigeon.
To Corinna Barsan, Leah Woodburn and Sarah Savitt and the entire publishing families at Tinder Press and Grove Atlantic. I’d especially like to give massive thanks to: Georgina Moore, Joe Yule, Amy Perkins and Yeti Lambregts for the beautiful rotting pear at Tinder and to: Morgan Entrekin, Judy Hottensen, Deb Seager and Zachary Pace at Grove Atlantic.
To Cody and Alice: two kinds of love that held me safe so I could journey to the dark places. You are everything.
And lastly thank you to Lizzie Borden, whoever you are. Thank you for choosing me but it’s time to go now.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
About the Author
Praise
About the Book
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
Part I
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Part II
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part III
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Fall River timeline
Last will and testament excerpts
See What I Have Done Page 27
