Sisterly Love: The Saga of Lizzie and Emma Borden

by Jordan Bollinger

  I had been exonerated from the horrible charges of killing my father and stepmother. I was unbelievably naïve, for I was overjoyed thinking I had been found innocent. How foolish I was for, as I was to learn, there is a world of difference between being found "Not Guilty" and being found "Innocent."

  However, I would not learn the harsh reality of this for some time yet. I left my time in captivity with the guileless innocence of a young child, but it would not be to the life of freedom and tranquility I dreamed of during my incarceration.

  Little did I know I was willingly -- even joyously -- entering into an unhappy existence which would become a different kind of prison.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I was eager to resume my life -- to enjoy the rest of it. During the trial, people had smiled at me. Every day little nosegays of fresh flowers had been thrust into my hands as I passed through the crowds on the way into the courtroom. I received dozens of letters whose authors offered prays for my safe passage through my travail.

  Why should I not have expected to take pleasure in the remainder of my days? Had not that been promised to me, when, upon the announcement of the verdict to the throngs outside, all murmurings halted and a cheer went up?

  Why, upon arriving back to the old house on Second Street, I was buried beneath a flood of congratulatory telegrams. So, why should I not simply do as I expected to do and slip, effortlessly back into the normal routine? After all, had not my family stood behind me, and my girlfriends rallied around me? Had not the clergymen and parishioners of my church demonstrated their constant support?

  I truly supposed, as the trial had gone on and the newspapers covered every second of it in minute detail, that the people of Fall River had come to realize the police had been wrong. forced by public outcry to rush to judgment. I imagined even the police and prosecution had seen the error of their ways, and now recognized me for what I was -- an innocent lamb, sent to the slaughter.

  So, it was with a childlike innocence I returned from my holiday at the shore, to my home -- our home -- on Second Street. Almost at once, Emma brought up the subject of selling the house and finding something a bit more modern. Apparently, she had not liked living alone, or taking care of herself, without any of the modern conveniences so many of our friends and neighbors enjoyed every day.

  And, as much as I had missed the old place, I was most surprised to discover how very happy I would be to leave it again. For upon my return, I found I could not pass through the sitting room without seeing my poor dead father's mutilated body. Even passing the guestroom caused me an uneasiness I found most dispiriting. In truth, our once satisfactory home had become a house of horror -- at least to me.

  Now, I could not imagine who on earth would purchase such a dwelling -- or even rent it. Emma, however, appeared to have already found a willing purchaser. I did not ask who this person was, or why they could be so macabre as to want to buy -- even as an investment -- the abattoir I now found it.

  She wanted to leave the house as soon as it could be managed. In fact, if I had not found it somehow improper, I would have expressed my amusement at her deep surprise when I echoed her opinion. The truth was that Emma had spoken so often and so very highly about the luxuries of modern plumbing and central heating, I looked forward to our new residence even more than she did.

  There was a short period of time after I was first released from my "ordeal" when we dealt with a great amount of paperwork. Emma had continually put off all this each time Mr. Jennings broached the subject. But, now, after nearly a year of avoiding things, decisions had to be made.

  Emma kept to her word and instructed Mr. Jennings to transfer half of Father's estate to me. Together and, of course under Mr. Jennings instructions and watchful eye, we decided which of Father's properties and business interests to keep as worthwhile investments, as well as those to liquidate.

  Once that was taken care of, we began searching for our new home. However, it didn't take us very long to settle on the house on French Street. It is true that it was very large for the two of us, especially coming from such a compact home. But, it was on the right side of town and "on the hill." At last, I thought, we would take our right and proper place in Fall River society.

  At once, we were immersed in a bustle of activity. We chose to take very few things from the old house -- for most of it had been bought before the War Between the States. So, as soon as we selected paints and wallpapers, we carefully chose new furnishings -- at least, for what one could refer to as "public rooms."

  There were other considerations, as well. We decided we needed two maids -- one of whom could cook as well -- and a man-of-all-work.

  Emma and I had always been happy living in close proximity. At least, I believed we had. Of course, we had experienced a few little squabbles through the years, but nothing that worried me. And we readily came to an amiable agreement on the furnishings and decorations for the new house.

  The one thing we did stumble over was my insistence on a horse and carriage, as well as a driver. Emma was against this most vehemently. She saw it as a waste of money. She felt, since we would not be doing our own grocery shopping and such, we could walk most places within easy walking distance and hire hacks for longer ones.

  Now, my fighting for the horse and carriage was not just for me. I had noticed that Emma had developed a slight limp during my incarceration. Perhaps, if I had been living with her and seeing her in her everyday routine, I would not have noticed. It was, after all, very minor. Yet, it was there, and I did notice. But I never told her this.

  I suppose I felt we had reached an age when we no longer wished to be reminded of that age. So, I made that it was for me, and eventually she gave way. To be truthful, it wasn’t a very expensive horse or a particularly grand carriage. But, in the end, I decided it would have to suffice.

  Now, much has been made of my taking on "airs." But in my own defense, I must protest this. I did not choose the rhyme carved on the dining room mantle. Emma did. You could have asked anyone that knew us. I am sure they would have told you Emma was the reader -- not I -- and how she was particularly fond of poetry. I had never been an avid reader. I glanced through the newspapers every morning, and enjoyed the ladies magazines of the time -- but books, very rarely -- especially after my release from jail.

  The one thing some might have considered "haughty" or "taking on airs" was to name the house "Maplecroft," and have it carved into one of the steps leading from the sidewalk. That is all, I swear. I never thought of it as being snooty. I had done it because it made me happy. It was as simple as that.

  There were many things I loved about our new house. There was state-of-the-art plumbing, of course. It had three bathrooms, and each had a bathtub. What a luxury it was to have running water throughout the house -- all three floors of it. It was wonderful, especially since the only water in the Second Street house was in the scullery. Also, there was the central heat, and electric lights. I suppose for the first several months, we were like children set loose in a candy store.

  There was also the fact that we each had a large and airy bedroom with doors and hallways between them. For the first time in my entire thirty-three years I knew the feeling of privacy. But, the thing I found the most joyful was the large yard, which I could fill with birdbaths and birdfeeders to my heart's content. In years to come, I would have a special porch room closed in so I could watch the birds and squirrels, without being seen.

  I loved having the spacious grounds to enjoy nature and appreciate her creatures. After all, I understood the agony of being locked up, and delighted in their freedom as well as mine.

  Life on French Street was going to be wonderful -- or so I thought.

  Chapter Seventeen

  So we moved into our new home. And, not long afterwards -- once we felt everything was in perfect order -- we sent out invitations for a tea party. We included Mrs. Bowen, Mrs. Churchill, Alice Russell, and the girls with whom I had traveled to Europe, as well as the
few new neighbors we had met.

  Now, I have always believed Emma was just as anxious and excited about this as I was. After all, this would be the first time we were to ever, formally, entertain anyone but our oldest and most intimate friends. Much time and effort was spent on finding just the "right" dresses. We chose fashionable clothes, but not necessarily the latest fashion. We also kept the colors somber, since we were still officially in mourning.

  One of the things we had found when packing up the Second Street house was a complete set of Haviland china. It was well used, and Emma believed it had been our Grandmother Morse's. It was a lovely pattern, and so much nicer because it was not "new." We worked very hard to have the house clean, and tastefully decorated, but not look new or ostentatious.

  Everyone responded favorably, arrived promptly at the appointed time, took tea and participated in light conversation for an hour. just as polite social etiquette dictated. Then, with the exception of Alice -- who was staying for supper -- everyone thanked Emma and me, said their goodbyes, and left.

  Once the front door had closed for the last time, the three of us gathered up tea cups, napkins, and other litter to the dining room. Jane, our new parlor maid, collected them and carried them out to the kitchen. Finally alone, we settled in the sitting room once again. Only this time, we were relaxed. I remember how I even slipped off my shoes. To our very pleasant surprise, Jane returned bringing a fresh tea tray in to us.

  As we recounted our afternoon, Emma said something to Alice -- I cannot remember what. After all, it was so very long ago, and made in a most casual, off-hand way, but it made me think she had dreamed just as often as I had of being free to do as we wanted.

  It was this notion of being able to entertain who we wanted, when we wanted that we found so wonderful. I do believe it is why I later became so vexed with Emma and her controlling ways. But, that was not to come for many years.

  Personally, these first few months of freedom were quite dear to me. Life on Second Street had often been trying -- even at the very best of times. Now, please do not misunderstand me. I had never hated Abby and, even if I did, I would never have left my father's house without his express permission. Even then it would have only been to marry, or set up housekeeping with my sister.

  It might be amusing to entertain in a spare bedroom, with friends scattered on the bed and pillows on the floor, when one is young. However, that becomes most stale as the years creep up and you are no longer a schoolgirl. Now we had a parlor and dining room to entertain in. I can only speak for myself, of course, but, for me, the feeling was exhilarating.

  *****

  I suppose the first place where I noticed a difference in attitude toward me was at church. Now, the entire congregation had been most supportive during my incarceration and trial. I truly believe nearly every person older than twenty and younger than sixty-five had taken their turn to visit me. They had, as a group, rejoiced in my acquittal and release, and welcomed me back to the fold -- initially. But, then things began to change.

  First, I found I was not allowed to resume teaching my Sunday school class. The chairwoman in charge of assigning teachers to the classes couched things in a most delicate way, of course. She said how they had naturally been forced to find someone else to take over my class.

  After all, she continued on, this young woman had been doing an excellent job. Of course, that was not to say I had not been, she exclaimed. Besides, the children adored their new teacher, and now it seemed a shame to disrupt the fine rapport she and her students had developed.

  Besides, the chairwoman assured me, should she ever need someone else, she would, of course, call on me. She had discussed things with the board of deacons, and they decided that, at least for the time being, they would leave things as they were.

  Now, Emma had always accompanied Father and Abby to church, while I had attended Central Congregational Church. Very soon after my arrest, however, Emma began attending Central Congregational. I do not know why she did this. Perhaps, because of their strong support, she felt she should show her thanks. Or, she no longer felt comfortable in the other church now that Father and Abby were gone.

  We were still welcomed when we entered the church every Sunday morning. However, I noticed how the other parishioners' greetings and small talk gradually became more and more brief with each passing week. Then, no one ever seemed to have time for a chat, either before or after the church service.

  If Emma noticed at the time, she said nothing about it to me. Perhaps, she truly was not aware of anything. Or, maybe she thought this was how things had always been done. After all, she had attended Central Congregational for less than a year. Her old church had been traditionally run by the older women, like Abby, so even at forty-two, the little jobs Emma was offered had always been few and far between.

  The first thing that caught her attention was that neither of us -- either alone or together -- were ever asked to do the flowers. Initially, they told us we should take time for ourselves -- to give ourselves some time to heal and regroup. After all, we had both been through a very trying time. But, finally, we realized we were not needed -- that we would never be needed -- for any church committee or function.

  A few weeks after our first foray into the role of hostesses, we again sent out invitations, but this time only for our new neighbors. Once again, everyone attended.

  Since we had virtually no experience in entertaining, we decided to stay with afternoon teas, before we branched out and attempted a small luncheon. So, after another week or so, we sent out another round of invitations to the same people as our first party, for another little afternoon gathering.

  Because the weather was still pleasant and warm, and we had a beautifully landscape back garden and the chrysanthemums beds were in full bloom, we decided to hold it outside. This was risk taking, for it might turn cold or rainy. It also made much more work for both the servants and ourselves, but we thought it would be delightful

  Even though a good many of our "would-be" guests sent their regrets, we were still very excited. The few who had accepted our hospitality arrived unfashionably late, scalded themselves as they downed their tea, and quickly began making their excuses as to why they needed to leave early.

  How very foolish I was back then. For, looking back on that time, I was so enamored with freedom and our new life, I did not even perceive the slight.

  On reflection, I do believe Emma, however, felt the snub. She put on her sour-milk face before the last of the guests was down the front steps. Then, she retreated to her room.

  And, that was how it went. Fewer and fewer people found themselves able to accept our hospitality. Eventually, only Alice Russell seemed able or willing to cross our threshold.

  When we purchased the house, Emma and I had talked it over and decided to actually allot one of the guest rooms for Alice's use. Emma had chosen the one closest to her own, and took great pains to decorate it as she thought Alice would want.

  So, she might arrive for tea one afternoon and stay until after breakfast the next morning, or even several days later. She had no need to bring anything with her, for she was able to keep a modest supply of clothes and toiletries in that room.

  I had always felt that poor Alice hated her solitary little existence even more than we ever had. Her house was just that, a roof over her head, but very little else. And, she did love Emma.

  I often wondered, in my declining years, if she had any idea -- the even remotest suspicion -- of what her very dear friend had been capable... of what she had done.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Upon thinking on it, I believe I misspoke a while ago. I had, perhaps, done something the good people of Fall River might have considered inappropriate, or thought of as "putting on airs."

  Even as a young girl, I had been unhappy about my name. For, my parents had not only burdened me with a permanent nickname, but added insult to injury by giving me my father's name, Andrew, as my middle name.

  Over
the years, my displeasure had lessened. That was, until I testified at the inquest. For some reason, even though there was certainly much more to be disturbed by, it irked me to be forced to acknowledge to the world my foolish name -- for so it seemed to me at the time. As I had had plenty of time on my hands in those days following, I often considered the possibility of "adjusting" my name.

  At first, I toyed with the idea of Elizabeth; but, somehow, it sounded too much, even to me. Emma had heard me inquiring of Mr. Jennings as to what exactly would be involved in changing my name and suggested "Lisbeth." I tried it on, so to speak, for a time and finally decided it was a good fit. For, while it was more formal than my old "Lizzie," it was not so drastic a change as "Elizabeth." So, as soon as Mr. Jennings was able, my name officially changed to Lisbeth A. -- just a middle initial, with no name -- Borden.

  Apparently, this most innocent, innocuous action proved to be the final straw for Fall River's finest citizens. This odd attitude confused me most grievously, for I did not see what could possibly be so unacceptable about it. Even more foolishly I was sure for the longest time, their prejudices would eventually pass.

  After all, I had been found not guilty. Perhaps even more important was the fact that I was innocent. The murders had been horrendous, and my ordeal had been equally horrible. Still, the jurors -- the fathers, and brothers, and husbands of Fall River -- had acquitted me. I had done my best to be patient during my incarceration. I would be patient again for the people to come around.

  I would wait for everyone to see I was the same person they had known before. They would ultimately realize I was almost as much of a victim as Father and Abby had been. And, even though I believed the police were no longer looking for the perpetrator, justice had supposedly been served. These people, my neighbors, the people I had grown up with, gone to school with, and sat beside at church my entire life, would come to see that I was innocent and had done nothing to deserve their sanction.