"Hardly, Emma. You know just what I am talking about. I hoped maybe you would apologize to me for all you have subjected me to."
Her jaw dropped open, then she shut her mouth and squared it with determination. In her most frosty tone, she said, "Why? I have nothing to apologize for. I allowed you to live. I allowed you to be Father's favorite. I have even cared for you. I did everything for you, and everything you have, I gave you. I repeat, I have nothing to apologize for."
"Nothing! Can you seriously claim you have done nothing that warrants an apology? You have robbed me of a sister, you have made me motherless -- not once, but twice. You killed the Father I adored! You set me up as your dupe and allowed me suffer jailing and a trial for my life. And, you knowingly allowed and encouraged my uncle to use and debase me. I would say you owe a great many people apologies, but to me most of all."
"You would think that."
I shook my head, her complete lack of remorse crystalizing in my mind. "Emma, I will do without an apology. Instead, make amends with yourself and with your God. Confess all that you have done -- either to your spiritual advisors or Mr. Jennings. I am sure if you speak to him as a client to an attorney, he is legally bound to keep your secrets safe."
"You have become tiresome. I have already told you more than once -- I will do no such thing!"
"Then write it all out in a letter. You can leave it with Mr. Jennings, or your pastor, or you can procure a new safety deposit box without anyone knowing where. I beg you. Do not leave this world -- this life -- without making amends. Or, at least trying to."
Chapter Thirty-Three
Emma resumed her packing. She now stopped, swung around slowly, and faced me. With a derisive look of contempt, she began clapping in an exaggerated way.
"Oh Lizzie, you do make me laugh. Do you really think if you just keep begging, I will eventually give in to you? Can you not see that I do not ever give up? Never! I have no intention of ever telling any of this to another person."
She stopped clapping and glared at me. "And, if you should ever presume to tell someone -- I will deny it. I shall tell everyone you are crazy! That you have always been crazy! Then, in my most pious and repentant voice say I had always known you killed our dear parents in one of your fits of uncontrollable rage."
She smirked, and asked, "And just who do you think they will believe?"
"You, without a doubt," I scowled. "But you and I both know the truth." I gave her a pleading look and added, "More importantly, God knows the truth. I was under the impression that you were the religious zealot of the family."
"Perhaps, I have already made my peace with God. Certainly, that would and should be between Him and me. So, where, exactly, do you fit in? What have you to do with my relationship with God?"
"I would never presume to insert myself between you and your God. I truly hope you have. And, for now, that is enough. But, I do believe you should reveal the things you have done -- eventually. At the very least, you should tell the world the truth about everything. And, I believe I am being more than fair -- allowing it to be revealed after your death."
"I am quite sure you do but, really, you are being ridiculous. Besides, do you actually think anyone would believe what I have told you? What do you think would happen if we were to go outside and stop the first person that walks by and I told them all you want me to?"
"I have not asked you to do that. Not at all. I--"
"Enough, Lizzie! Enough!" she screeched. She snapped the cases shut and pulled on her coat. "I shall take these two cases and be on my way. I trust you will see the rest of my things packed up. I will send word as to where to send them."
She hefted her bags and stood still, holding them at her sides. "I think I might move to Vermont or New Hampshire. Yes," she said, almost to herself, "I think I would enjoy the change."
She turned and said in a louder voice, "You would be wise to remember what you have said about buying me out of the house and things. I will need some time to consider whether we can continue to do business together."
"I have never not kept my word, Emma -- to you or anyone else. I shall not begin now. I will speak to Mr. Jennings as soon as possible. He can arrange to have the house and contents appraised for their current market value. Is that satisfactory?"
She jammed on her hat, and I was suddenly filled with wanting to tell her how very much I had always hated it. Odd, what pops into our heads, unbeckoned, at moments of stress. I felt I should say something to her, but she had already taken her purse and bags, and moved towards the stairs.
I went to follow her, but stopped at the doorway and turned to look around. There was something both odd and settling about my sudden realization that this was no longer her room. Yet, the thought saddened me greatly.
I caught up with her and reached out to take one of the cases, but she shrugged me off. She clambered down the stairs with her cases, in typical Emma-fashion -- head up, back straight, lips pursed, and chin jutting out with her look of arrogance and superiority. I must admit, this attitude she took made it a bit easier to watch her walking to the door. But, it was still hurtful.
I was only halfway down the staircase when she opened the front door and marched through it. She did not say goodbye. She did not even turn around and acknowledge me. She merely left.
I found myself alone in the semi-darkness of the foyer. I sank onto the bottom step and sobbed -- for my mother and father, for Alice and Abby, and for myself.
But, most of all, I wept for Emma.
Part Three - The Aftermath
Chapter Thirty-Four
As soon as I was able, I contacted Mr. Jennings and asked for him to arrange for the evaluation of the property. I told him Emma and I had had an argument and, in the end, agreed to disagree and go our separate ways.
He did not seem surprised at this news, and I wondered if Emma had not trusted me and already contacted him.
I told the servants some tale of Emma's having decided she wanted a change, and that she would be traveling with the purpose of finding somewhere she could settle. They did as instructed, and carefully packed up her belongings. They stored everything in the attic and waited.
At least, they did this without question. I thanked God for that -- because at the time I still wept every day.
Weeks later, I stood in the center of the empty bedroom and looked around. It was late afternoon and still warm from the sun. My room was very nice in summer, but did not get much sunlight or warmth in winter.
In that moment, I made up my mind to redo the room. I would use it as a winter bedroom. Now, I knew that having two bedrooms was extravagant. I knew it would be seen as pretentious. However, I decided in the end, it made no matter. After all, I was already the talk of the town.
I saw this as a positive move, that I was getting over... everything. Well, perhaps I was merely learning to accept it.
Emma's departure might as well have been reported in the newspapers. I could sit in the shadows of the glassed-in porch and watch as the neighbors paused in front of the house before they passed. They were usually in little clusters of three or four as they passed.
The servants were very loyal, but they always had been -- at least to me. Emma, long ago, had me deal with them because they responded better to my direction. Although she would never admit it, the honest reason for this was because I did not demean them. I always treated them with kindness and respect and, in turn, they liked and respected me.
Emma, on the other hand... well, let us just leave anything else unsaid. After all, she was still my sister.
I was not forced to wait very long for Mr. Jennings. He called to inform what the appraisers had told him, and gave me his recommendations. He need not have gone into such detail, for I had intended to agree with whatever he suggested.
I told him this and arranged to go to his office to sign the papers. I would agree to anything to have things settled.
I had expected to see Emma there at Mr. Jennings, as well. Pe
rhaps, I had even hoped to see her. But, she was not present. She had signed her papers and sent them by way of her new, very young attorney. I looked at him and sighed, as I wondered what fairy story she had told him. In the end, I decided it was probably much better not to know. Whatever, it was, I was sure to be the villain of the piece.
Mr. Jennings went over everything most carefully with me before he allowed me to sign the papers. He asked me to wait as he showed Emma's lawyer out. When he came back into his office, he gave me that fatherly look I had come to know so well during the trial, all those years before. So, I took a deep breath and waited.
It took him a while to get there, however. He hemmed and hawed for several minutes before he managed to stop chatting idly about his grandchildren and the weather. But, eventually, he got around to some ugly rumors he had heard around town. He went to great lengths to assure me that nothing he said had come from Emma.
Several people -- of course, he would never reveal whom -- had told him about a violent argument between my sister and me. He had heard reports of a shouting match that culminated in my throwing Emma from the house. But, when he had tried to speak with Emma, she refused outright to answer him.
I considered making up some story about her health, but decided against it. "Emma and I did have an argument, but it was not a shouting match. Neither of us raised our voices, but it would not have mattered, because there was no one else -- not one of the servants -- in the house. We argued and, in the end, decided we could no longer live together. Emma knew how much I loved the house and chose to leave, hence my buying her half of the house. That is all -- there is really nothing more to tell."
"Now, my dear, you do not need to explain to me. I will continue to watch over your interests as I have always done." He reached out to take my hand, and added, "You know, my dear, I am always here if you should need me. I always have been. If... there was something else -- anything else -- you wish to tell me..."
"Thank you. But, really, there is nothing more to tell. We came to the mutual decision to live apart. I still love and cherish her. Besides, I think it is high time we each lived on our own. After all, I am forty-five, and Emma fifty-five. We are perfectly capable of living on our own. I believe we are both looking forward to this new experience."
I shook his hand warmly and left his office.
It was only later, as I sat on the back porch, sipping on a cup of tea and watching the birds at their feeders, that I realized what he had been hinting.
He had expected me to finally confess to the murders.
I sat back in horror. I could feel the blood rise as I flushed red with hurt and anger. I had always thought that he, among everyone, had believed in my innocence. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, this wounded me more than anything that had happened in the recent past.
I left my tea tray and crept silently to my room. I locked the door, threw myself down onto my bed and sobbed myself to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Over the next twenty-two years, I tried my best to re-establish a relationship with my sister. However, every Christmas greeting and birthday card was returned, and every letter came back unopened.
I am sure Mr. Jennings also made several attempts to reconcile us, but nothing would ever soften Emma, or melt her heart of ice.
Year after year, August 4th would come around and some newspaper would resurrect the story of my Father and Abby's murders. These articles, inevitably, spoke briefly of how I had been tried and acquitted, before going on to talk about how the culprit had never been discovered.
After that they split into several groups.
The first group pontificated on how the police had botched the investigation, which is how I managed to get away with murder. Of course, this was all couched in the vaguest of terms, but their meaning was quite clear. They insisted if the police had only done this or examined that, that they would have convicted "the villain" -- meaning, of course, me.
The second group insisted while, as a mere woman, I was unable to have carried out such a heinous crime, I had always known more than I had told. They said the police had made a mistake prosecuting me. By accusing me of the murders, and trying me, they had made me a martyr and allowed the murdering fiend to slip away, unscathed.
Their theory was, if I had not been arrested and jailed, I would have somehow or other eventually given my accomplice away. Then, of course, both of us would have been tried, found guilty, and hanged.
Of course, there were a few "die-hards" who believed in my innocence, but they were allotted very little column space.
*****
As it happened, Emma left for nothing, because I never had another house party. If she had merely gone up to her room, nothing would have spilled out of her, and we might have spent all our days together.
After she left, I stayed close to home. I was not unwell -- exactly -- I was just not particularly well. The thought of traveling to Boston was too tiring; and Washington, D.C. might as well have been the moon.
Nance, and her company, toured the west for nearly a year, and then moved on to an extended tour of Europe. Her letters became fewer and fewer, and I withdrew into my house.
Animals became my only friends. I spent hour after hour, sitting in my garden, shielded from the rest of the world by high hedges, or in the glassed-in porch, wrapped in an afghan, watching the birds and squirrels. My animal friends loved unconditionally and did not pass judgment.
I suppose anyone in my position could not help continually pondering on all that had happened, and playing out various scenarios.
What might have happened if I had come upstairs with my laundry earlier and found Emma with Abby? Would Emma really have been able to murder me as well? I wanted to believe that she would not -- could not -- but, in truth, I think she would have.
Having once come to that unpleasant conclusion, it was only a natural extension for her to have killed little Bridget, as well. Or, somehow manage to push the guilt on her.
I will admit, there were times when I wished we all had died that day.
After all, I had failed everyone. I had never seen my sister for who she truly was. Father and Abby had been brutally murdered. And, I had failed Mr. Jennings because he believed he had somehow failed me. Or, perhaps, more importantly, he felt he failed my father.
Even though I had been found "not guilty," I was not innocent. I was responsible for everything.
Over the years, I tried to mentally embrace my assumed guilt, as well as Emma's presumed innocence. Everyone had always thought of her as my loyal and long-suffering sister -- standing by me, knowing of my guilt. Until even she could not stand to be near me.
As the years passed, and my health failed, my only traveling became long, leisurely drives through the countryside. But, times changed, and so did the landscape, until there came a time when I no longer wished to see what the modern times was doing to Fall River.
Even so, until the very end, every time the telephone rang, my heart jumped into my throat, hoping it would be Emma. I never gave up. I always believed my sister would come to her senses and return.
I had faith in Emma. Faith that, in the end, she would eventually do as I had asked and write out all she had told me that awful afternoon, so long ago.
I went to my grave still believing this.
Epilogue
So, dear reader, I have reached the end of my sad, sad tale of woe. I have done as I had promised you. I have told you all there is. I have kept nothing back from you.
I prayed for my sister's forgiveness every day since she confessed the truth to me. I prayed for my own forgiveness because I kept her secret. And, I am sorely afraid that is my greatest sin.
I wrestled with my conscience for more than twenty years. I had given her my promise of silence. Right or wrong, I had given my word.
Yet, I have come to fear that my silence is as grievous a sin as murder. That my secret has damned me. If it is not so, why am I trapped here, along side of her, in pur
gatory?
The problem, of course, is that Emma does not see what she did as wrong. She insists all her actions were warranted. She sees them as the natural and fair result of all that was "done to her."
The only conclusion I can reach is she was not in her right mind -- she was never in her right mind. But, if that is so, would that not absolve her? And that puts the guilt squarely back upon my shoulders, does it not? If Emma was not responsible for her actions, I should have made sure she received help and care. Instead, I promised her my silence.
So it has gone on and on. I have gone around and around, like a dog chasing its own tail, wondering if I should have acted my sister's keeper or not.
I cannot ask for her absolution. I can only pray for her. I can forgive her, her sins against me. But that is all I am able to do. I do not even have the power to ask for her absolution. She must seek that for herself.
All I want is peace. I want to pass through this nothingness of purgatory. I want to leave my grave and rise up to heaven. I am even willing to move on to hell.
But here I remain.
I do not know if I am condemned because of what I have done, or what I failed to do.
I dream of my family waiting for me with Saint Peter. All of them: Mother and Baby Alice, Father and Abby, and even Emma, herself. Everyone who was taken so cruelly from me, would be there, waiting to welcome me.
Yet, still I remain.
In the end, I can only continue to pray to Almighty God. I pray for relief. I pray for forgiveness and release. I pray for my immortal soul, and Emma's soul as well.
Is that not enough? What more can I do? How else should I repent? I am here, begging for God to hear my pleas.
Perhaps, now that I have done as I promised -- that all is known -- you all will add your prayers to mine. Please help free me from my torment. Please, add your voices to my lowly plea.
Sisterly Love: The Saga of Lizzie and Emma Borden Page 17
