Sweet Madness
Trisha Leaver and Lindsay Currie
Copyright © 2015 by Trisha Leaver and Lindsay Currie.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
Published by
Merit Press
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.
www.meritpressbooks.com
ISBN 10: 1-4405-8894-5
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8894-5
eISBN 10: 1-4405-8895-3
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8895-2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their product are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book and F+W Media, Inc. was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed with initial capital letters.
Cover design by Frank Rivera.
Cover image © Shutterstock.com/ Raisa Kanareva; apostrophe/123RF.
Trisha:
For LuLu
Lindsay:
To my family. I love you with all my heart.
Acknowledgments
Trisha:
This book would not exist if it weren’t for the support and encouragement of countless people. My agent, Kevan Lyon, whose dedication and unwavering support makes all things possible in my writing world.
My editor Jacquelyn Mitchard, who fell in love with Bridget Sullivan’s story from page one and worked tirelessly to make it shine. The entire Merit Press team: Bethany Carland-Adams for fielding countless emails (I promise I won’t send anymore), Frank Rivera for designing the perfect cover, and MT Cozzola, whose mad copy-editing skills amaze me.
Kate Conway, Hillary Monahan, and Eva Schegulla for being grounding force throughout this entire process. My amazing CP’s who read countless versions of this manuscript, and my co-author Lindsay Currie for taking this journey with me.
To my family who has endured this crazy writing obsession of mine with grace and dignity, not once complaining that their dinner was late or their socks were mismatched. And most importantly, my amazingly patient husband, Brian, whose quick wit always keeps me laughing.
Lindsay:
As always, I’d like to thank my husband, John, and my kiddos, Rob, Ben and Ella for their support while Sweet Madness was being written. Their words of encouragement and infinite patience are the reason I’m able to do what I love, and for that I owe them eternally.
I’d also like to thank my agent, Kathleen Rushall, for her constant support. Kathleen—you’re amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Huge thanks to Jacquelyn Mitchard for falling in love with Bridget’s story and helping to bring it to the shelves. And thank you to the entire Merit Press team for months and months of hard work!
Last but not least, I’d like to thank Trisha Leaver, for taking this journey through Fall River, circa 1800s with me. You’re the best!
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
About the Authors
Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks.
When she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one.
Chapter 1
I made my way down the back stairs, excited and nervous at the same time. It had been a few weeks since I’d last seen Liam, and given the extensive list of chores Mrs. Borden had scribbled down last night, it would be a while before the opportunity presented itself again.
It was the dreadful heat I had to thank for this small reprieve. It had Mrs. Borden confined to her room most days, completely incapacitated and unable to properly supervise my work. She still found the time to handwrite me a list of errands to run and household tasks to complete, but as unwell as she was, she seemed content to overlook the smaller details of my employment.
I’d run into Mr. Borden earlier that morning. He’d inquired about my day, more specifically what meals I had planned. It’s not that he was looking for something fancy, rather he wanted to inform me that there was plenty left over from last night’s supper to make a stew. I nodded and tossed the nearly meatless mutton bone into a pot of water, before asking for permission to spend the day down by the river with my friends. He waved his hand dismissively, as if what I did with my free time was of little interest to him.
Lizzie was my main concern. She’d become nosy lately, constantly at my side, constantly trying to help. It was odd at first—her obvious affection for me—but the more time I spent with her, the easier it became to understand. Lizzie Borden was lonely. A burden to her father and a nuisance in a house that thrived on thriftiness and obedience. She had no one but me to keep her company. Lizzie wasn’t meddling, rather looking for a friend, a confidant. And right now, that person happened to be me.
Lizzie had left early that morning to teach Sunday school, then tend to her charity work at the Fruit and Flower Mission. She’d be home briefly for her midday meal, but by then I would be gone.
A weighty sigh drew my attention to the parlor. I silently made my way to the front room, fearing it was Lizzie, praying it was Mr. Borden grumbling over some unexpected expense at his Swansea farm. Mr. Borden I could pacify with a simple, “sorry to disturb you, sir.” But Lizzie . . . she’d ask questions.
I thought about ignoring whoever it was and simply leaving through the back door, but the sigh came again, louder and drawn out as if someone were subtly announcing their presence. Lizzie.
“I thought you were visiting with Alice after Sunday worship,” I said. Alice Russell was Lizzie’s one friend besides me, the only other woman in Fall River Lizzie confided in. And it was days like today I was grateful for their friendship; it gave me a much-needed reprieve from Lizzie . . . from this house.
She shook her head rather than answer, her eyes scanning a letter I could’ve sworn was addressed to her father.
“I set dinner on the cookstove; it won’t be ready for a few hours, but there is some bread and tea in the kitchen if you are hungry,” I said, hoping the hunched set of her shoulders and the hollow look in her eyes were due to nothing more than the heat and a bit of hunger.
“In
a bit,” she said. “Alice is feeling ill, and my own dear sister, Emma, has gone to Fairhaven. I find myself with very little to do. Perhaps I could help you with your chores.”
I didn’t miss the spark of hope that lifted her last words. It wasn’t the first time she’d offered to help, and more often than not I enjoyed her friendly conversation as I hung clothes on the line or emptied the ash bin in the cellar.
“I did most of my chores this morning before the heat became unbearable,” I replied.
Lizzie looked up, her eyes fixing on the drawstring purse I had cinched around my wrist. “Where are you going, then?”
“Errands,” I lied, then bowed my head and sent up a quick prayer for forgiveness.
She laughed and carefully resealed the letter she was reading before placing it back on the table in the entryway. “Come now, Bridget, do I not deserve the truth?”
On most things, yes, but not this. I don’t know why I hid Liam from her, why I would talk freely with Lizzie about my home back in Ireland, my sister Cara and the gossip that shrouded her very existence, but became close-lipped at the mere mention of Liam. Perhaps it was because he was the one thing in Fall River that belonged solely to me, the one thing the Borden family and their wealth couldn’t touch.
“I’m not my father,” Lizzie added when I remained silent. “I will not begrudge you time with your friend. Liam, is it?”
I searched my memory for any instance when I had spoken of him by name or made any reference to having a male friend, knowing full well I hadn’t. “I truly have errands to run, Lizzie. I’d ask you to join me, but I know how the heat disagrees with you.”
When she didn’t argue, I made my way out the front door, half-expecting her to follow or, at the very least, voice her displeasure over the situation. But she didn’t, and that had me even more on edge. It wasn’t like Lizzie to set aside her curiosity that easily.
I purposely took a roundabout way to Corky Row, making several unnecessary turns that did nothing more than loop me back to Second Street. But no matter how many times I changed direction, the sturdy and purposeful click of boots against pavement followed me. It wasn’t until I rounded the corner to Liam’s street that I gave in to my nervous discontent and hazarded a peek over my shoulder. It wouldn’t be the first time Lizzie had followed me, but usually she made her presence known by calling out my name.
The street behind me was nearly empty—a few beggar children and some maids hurrying to and from work—but no plainly-dressed woman of stature. No Lizzie.
A flare of apprehension quickened my steps. I sought out an alleyway to duck into and concealed myself in the darkness until whoever was following me passed. I knew it was ridiculous. I’d told myself half a dozen times I was being overly suspicious, that my guilt about lying to Lizzie in the first place was getting the better of me. But no logical explanation, no amount of self-condemnation could stop the way I felt. It was that sensation of eyes on you when there shouldn’t be that made me believe I wasn’t alone.
I stepped behind an abandoned fruit cart, crouched down, and watched as a shadow appeared at the mouth of the alley. Lizzie. She paused, her eyes skittering across the darkened corridor as if debating whether I was foolish enough to risk my welfare with the vagrants who called these rat-infested passageways home. With a brisk nod of her head, she walked away, probably assuming I had more sense.
I counted to fifty, then eased my way out from behind the cart, slowly making my way back out to the cobblestone street. Half-hidden in the shadows, I scanned first to my left and then to my right, but she wasn’t there. It was as if she had vanished, as if her appearance at the end of the alleyway was nothing more than my conscience-stricken imagination chastising me for lying. But unlike Lizzie, I wasn’t prone to fits of fugue. I didn’t subscribe to the belief that the voices that plagued her were whispered from beyond, were . . . the voices of those drawn into the Borden curse.
What I saw and the uneasiness I felt were real. I was being followed, silently stalked by my own friend. And she was still there, carefully hidden out of sight. Lizzie wouldn’t sulk back home and occupy her time by reading her father’s mail or pawing through her stepmother’s belongings. No, she’d circle these streets until she found me.
Chapter 2
I sat down on the damp grass and watched Liam show the O’Connor boy how to catch small fish with his bare hands. Liam had been at it for nearly an hour and still had no fish to show for his efforts. But he looked happy, more relaxed than I’d seen him in weeks.
Today was the first day in nearly a month I’d seen Liam. I saw him most evenings, but it was a rare occasion that we actually got to see each other by the light of day. He worked six days a week at the Borden Mill. It wasn’t owned by the same Borden family I worked for, but that didn’t matter. Seemed like all the wealthy in Fall River could claim some distant relation to each other.
He’d also recently picked up some extra shifts at the mill. It was less about the money and more about covering for his friend Peter Bence. Peter had fallen ill and Mr. Furlong, the mill manager, was threatening to replace him. Liam and what few friends Peter had were doing their best to help him. But even with the extra hours, Liam still struggled to make the rent and set money aside for us. He’d been rooming in a tiny, mill-owned tenement house with his five brothers since the day he stepped foot in Fall River four years ago and lately, it seemed like that’s where he’d stay.
To my left, the mills stood in all of their bleak, ugly glory. Even running at half-capacity, the smoke billowing from their stone chimneys filled the air with a haze so thick it dampened out the afternoon sun. Tomorrow, when the Lord’s Day had passed, the smoke from those stacks would consume the air again, and everyone who lived within a few blocks of those mills would struggle to breathe.
Drops of cold water pulled me from my observations, and I looked up to see Liam’s smiling face above me. “Dreaming about me, love?” he asked.
I laughed. He was soaking wet, his cotton shirt clinging to his upper body and his trousers rolled up nearly to his knees. I hadn’t been thinking about him at that moment, but there weren’t many days that I didn’t use the thought of Liam as my escape.
“Perhaps,” I said, hoping he knew without a doubt that all of my dreams revolved around him. “I suppose you’ll never know, though, now that you’ve gone and interrupted me.”
“That sounds like a challenge, lass. Not a challenge you’d win, either,” he said with a laugh.
Easing away from him, I shook my head at the smirk forming on Liam’s lips. He knew to keep his hands to himself in public, but that didn’t mean he was above teasing me a bit. “I see you caught yourself some dinner, Thomas,” I said, motioning to the tiny fish he held.
The O’Connor boy was completely dry and proudly displaying a fish not even worthy of a pan. His parents weren’t anywhere to be seen, but that wasn’t unusual. His da frequently took the less desirable Sunday shifts for the extra money and his mother . . . well, she was probably home, tending to her newborn son, the seventh sibling to be born in as many years.
Thomas smiled and held the fish up higher. “Liam helped.”
Judging from the quality of Liam’s clothes, I had no doubt about that. Liam hadn’t simply helped. He had dived in headfirst to guddle the tiny fish.
The river was getting crowded, wealthy families and immigrants alike seeking the cool breeze that floated off the water. I pulled the brim of my hat down lower over my brow and scanned the bank for Lizzie. I’d been looking for her since Liam and I arrived nearly an hour ago, thought I’d caught a glimpse of her a time or two. But each time I stood to confront her, the light would change and what I’d assumed was Lizzie turned out to be nothing more than a shadow.
My thoughts drifted back to the Borden house, and I wondered if the noontime meal I’d left simmering in the pot had met with Mr. Borden’s approval. The butcher was closed and the ice delivery wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow, so I’d had to make d
o with what I had. Unfortunately, that was day-old mutton and bread.
“Mr. Borden gave you the entire day off, no?” Liam asked as he stretched out next to me on the grass. His hand drifted lazy circles over the sleeve of my dress, and I smiled, dreaming of a future where these quiet moments weren’t so few and far between. I reached out and let my hand rest on top of his. He stilled for a moment to squeeze it, then laced his fingers through mine. It wasn’t the most intimate gesture, but it was still nice. Calming.
I nodded. “I left their meals on the cookstove. Doubt they’ll have need of me at all today.”
“Does she know you are here? Is that why your eyes keep drifting to the comings and goings of the people around us? Are you looking for her?”
I didn’t bother to question how Liam knew what I was thinking. We’d had this discussion countless times in the past few months. He thought I was too involved with Lizzie’s life, or rather the other way around—that she’d taken an unnatural interest in mine. He said it wasn’t right for the daughter of my employer to be so meddling, that what I did or where I went on my own time was none of her concern.
“I’m not,” I lied. “I just want to make sure I have time to fix you and your brothers a proper meal before I have to leave, ’tis all.”
His crooked smile told me he wasn’t buying my excuse, but he played along anyway. “It looks like it’ll just be me,” he said, tilting his head towards the bank of the river. “Doubt we’ll be seeing much of my brothers ’til morning.”
I didn’t need to follow his line of sight to guess at what he was implying. All six of the Higgins boys, Liam included, were handsome. Blue eyes and blond hair, with smiles that could part a girl from her corset in mere minutes. But they were stable too, loyal to a fault and hardworking. That made them promising to the young and widowed alike.
My eyes skirted over his other brothers before settling on Seamus. He was the youngest, seventeen like me, and full of life. He was the one I knew best, the one who Liam tended to spend all of his time with. Call it duty, but Liam had dragged Seamus over here when he was barely thirteen, promising his mother that he'd give him a better life. I don’t know if this life was better, but Seamus seemed happy. Liam made sure of that.
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