“That a new girl?” I asked, motioning towards the blanket Seamus was lounging on. I hadn’t seen her before, not at the brothers' flat, not at any of the stores I frequented on my daily errands.
“Doubt it matters. It’s Minnie he’s got his heart set on,” Liam said, and I shook my head. Lucky for Seamus, my best friend felt the same way about him. Minnie would follow Seamus’s lead no matter how impulsive or imprudent his ideas might be.
“Do I need to worry about you too?” I joked.
Liam laughed then leaned in and gently tucked a loose strand of hair back into my braid.
“Nope. In another year, I’ll have saved enough to get us a real home,” he said as he pulled back. “Give you my name and start a family.”
“Another year,” I whispered as I stared across the river to Swansea. All I had to do was survive the smothering tension of the Borden house for one more year, then I could start living, finally be able to claim the life I’d intended when I first came to America.
Chapter 3
“You sure you can’t stay out a bit longer?” Liam asked as he wound his arms around my waist and rested his chin on top of my head. The smell of the river lingered on his skin, reminding me of our afternoon together, an afternoon that had ended with me, Liam, and Seamus sitting around their kitchen table, smiling as we recalled the simplicity of life back in Ireland. I’d have given anything for every day to be like this one—calm and filled with laughter.
I tilted my head upwards and gave him a quick kiss, taking a moment to savor the feeling of his lips on mine. I had no idea if I’d see him tomorrow or even the day after that, but I was determined to make the most of the few minutes we had left.
I remembered the day I’d met Liam. I’d been here no more than two weeks and was working for the Remingtons up on the Hill. I wandered down to St. Patrick’s in hopes of finding a familiar face from County Clare back home or the SS Republic.
Liam was there, tending to a crack in the church’s front walk as he hummed a tune I hadn’t heard since the day I left Ireland. That tune, that silly folk song, did me in, and I slumped down right there on the sidewalk and wished myself back home.
“Why the tears, lass?”
I ran the back of my hand across my eyes and looked up, saw his smiling blue eyes staring down at me, daring me to answer. When I didn’t, he tossed his trowel aside and stooped down next to me, forcing me to meet his stare.
“Surely my singing ain’t that awful.” He did his best to look wounded, and I couldn’t help but giggle. He looked more like a sulking child than a grown man trying to make conversation with a pretty girl.
“Your singing is fine, sir.”
He laughed then, a full bellow that had everybody around us turning their heads. “I ain’t ever been anyone’s sir, lass, and I reckon I never will be. Name’s Liam. Liam Higgins.”
“Bridget Sullivan,” I replied.
He extended his hand, and I took it, glad for once to see a smiling face. Up on the Hill, people were polite, courteous how do you do’s greeted me as I passed through town. But nobody ever smiled like they meant it, asked me how I was faring, or invited me to talk. ’Til Liam.
“So if it ain’t my singing, then what has a beautiful lass like you crying?”
“It’s silly. It’s . . . my mum used to sing me that song.”
And Mum hadn’t sung it to me so much as to my sister Cara. It was the one thing that seemed to calm my baby sister when she was out of sorts, when the world around her became too confusing for her to bear.
“Aye, so you’d be missing home,” Liam said, and I nodded. “How long you been here?”
“Two weeks,” I said not bothering to mention the few months I’d spent in Newport with my cousin Harry. In my mind, that didn’t count. I was with kin there. Here, I was on my own. Completely alone.
“It’ll get easier, you’ll see,” he said as he stood up and motioned for me to do the same. “So tell me Bridget, what do you know about laying bricks?”
I shook my head. I could shear a sheep and make a stew out of nothing but a mutton bone and some potatoes, but when it came to men’s trades, I was lost. “Nothing.”
“Good, me neither, but the lad who usually does this is home tending to his ailing wife, so Father asked me to do it. He assured me the Holy Spirit would guide my unskilled hands.” Liam paused and rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about wasting the Good Lord’s time. “I could sure use some company while I try and figure it out, if you’ve got the time.”
Time was one thing I had. And almost two years later, I was still eking out every spare second I could find to spend with him.
“Bridget?” Liam snapped his fingers in front of my face, pulling me from my memory and back to the present, to a world where he was still my center. “You okay, love?”
I nodded and sighed. We’d been standing in the shadows on the edge of Second Street for the last ten minutes, but I had yet to take one step in the direction of my employer’s house. I didn’t want to, didn’t want to leave Liam just so I could be drawn back into the madness that seemed to surround the Borden house. The madness that seemed to surround Lizzie herself.
“How long until you think we’ll have enough to bring Cara over and get our own place?” I asked.
Liam turned me in his arms, his eyes speaking the truth his words never would. “Soon, Bridget.”
Soon could mean years here in Fall River. Years of scraping by only to see what money you’d managed to save vanish as one of your loved ones fell sick and you were forced to beg, borrow, even steal what you could to buy medicine.
“I know my sister is not your burden to carry—”
“Aye, that’s where you are wrong, lass. Your burdens are mine to bear.”
He’d said that a thousand times before, thought nothing of bringing Cara here when I’d first told him my plan. But he hadn’t met her, had no idea exactly how bad off my sister really was.
My baby sister was “touched in the head” or so our county doctor claimed. She hadn’t always been so. She used to run around, laughing and squealing as she rolled a lopsided hoop across the field as I tended to my chores. It was annoying then. Now, it hurt to recall.
I was supposed to be watching her that day. Mum had fallen ill and was tied to the bed, delirious with fever. I was tending to the wash, airing out what I could in the hopes that nobody else took sick. I’d long since sent Cara down to the loch to refill the pail, thinking nothing of the amount of time she’d been gone.
That’s where I’d gone wrong.
No one knew how long she’d been under the water that day; most were amazed she even survived. She lived all right, but Cara never was the same after that. She used to forget how to do the simplest things and was prone to violent shakes, ones that left her unconscious on the floor, curled into her own fluids. Even during the good spells, she was off, said things she shouldn’t and laughed at the dead air.
Mum did her best to care for her, but each night, when the house stilled with sleep and she thought no one was listening, her whispered words would fill the house. She’d curse me for not watching my sister better, then beg God to take Cara, save her from a life that would be unyielding and cruel.
Now I made my own silent vow each night, one that brought Cara here to America. One that had me tied to this house and the extra ten cents a week Mr. Borden paid me over my previous employer. If that meant staying at the Borden house and looking the other way when Lizzie did or said something odd or when she and her father fought so loudly that the house shook with their anger, then so be it. I could withstand the dark corners of the Borden house, its shadows and flickers of light that bled from one room to the next, if it meant keeping Cara cared for.
“When the time comes, I want to go get Cara myself. I don’t think she could handle the trip on her own.”
Liam nodded. It’d mean a bit more saving, but it was worth it. “I presumed you would, love.”
I took
a step out onto the street and turned to look back at Liam, committing every second of this day to memory so that I could recall it later on as I lay in bed, listening to the house settling into stillness.
Liam smiled and took a step towards me, misreading my hesitation for fear. “I can walk you to the door and introduce myself to Mr. Borden so he knows you’re spoken for, that you have someone who’d stop at nothing to see you safe.”
“Can’t,” I said, not bothering to give an explanation. Liam already knew the reason why. He made that same offer every time he walked me home, the same sparkle of hope that I’d say yes never dwindling.
Liam’s original fascination with Lizzie and the solitary life the Bordens lived had quickly dissipated as I told him about the discord in the house, the days . . . the months Mrs. Borden could go without so much as speaking a word in my direction. The loud disagreements between Lizzie and her father that would rage for hours. And the sounds. The creaking of floorboards. The perpetual chiming of the clock in the parlor. The sudden drafts of air that seeped in from the old windows. Even the wallpaper in my bedroom peeled in sheets with the rise and fall of the temperature, clinging briefly to the cracking plaster before dropping off like bits of drying skin. No matter how much I cleaned, no matter how often I dusted the windowsills or scrubbed the floorboards, it never felt better. Never felt right.
“Let me walk you to the front gate at least, make sure you get in safely.” Liam’s request didn’t stem from curiosity, rather his concern for me.
I shook my head. Mr. Borden had made it very clear he wanted no male suitors darkening his door. He’d gone as far as to make it a non-negotiable condition of my employment. “I’ll be fine,” I said.
Liam’s expression softened and he ran a hand down my cheek. “You have to be patient. I’ll get you out of that house, out of Fall River. You have my word.”
As people who didn’t have much to give, our word meant everything. “I know,” I said and squeezed his hand.
The night around us was black and silent, every tiny wisp of a sound making me nearly jump out of my skin. “I’d better get going; it’s certainly midnight by now.”
“Aye, that it is.” Liam dropped one more, quick kiss to my cheek, then stepped back into the shadows. I knew him too well, though. He wasn’t going anywhere. He’d stay hidden there and watch until I made it safely inside, until the click of the locks on the door drifted through the breeze and the lantern I carried to my room faded into darkness.
Chapter 4
I crossed myself, asking God for strength—or rather courage—before I knocked on Lizzie’s bedroom door. She’d been holed up in there all morning, had told her stepmother, Abigail, she’d eat after everyone had gone about their day. Mrs. Borden had speculated that perhaps Lizzie was falling ill, that the heat blanketing Fall River these past few days was causing Lizzie some trouble. I doubted Lizzie’s peculiar behavior had anything to do with the heat and everything to do with me.
“I know you are in there, Lizzie,” I said as I knocked again. I wasn’t concerned about drawing anyone’s attention with my raised voice. Andrew Borden was out tending to his morning business, and his wife was visiting her sisters across town.
“I shall get the key,” I threatened, knowing full well the door wasn’t locked. I’d tested the handle earlier, and it twisted easily in my hand.
I went to knock again, to pound on the wood for a third time, when she opened the door and caught my fisted hand. “Bridget Sullivan,” Lizzie said, her free hand melded to her hip as she glared at me. “Why on earth did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie,” I said and took a step back. I’d seen Lizzie angry plenty of times, but until then, her anger had never once been directed at me.
“Really? Because I spoke with Father and he said he’d given you the day off, something about spending time down by the river with your friends.”
I hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d finished my chores, left the evening meal simmering on the cookstove, and sought my employer's permission before I left. The only thing I was guilty of was wanting to spend time with my friends . . . time away from Lizzie.
“Yes, I did see my friends,” I said.
“So why didn’t you tell me that yesterday? Why don’t you trust me enough to speak the truth? Do you honestly think I would keep you from your friends?”
No, but knowing her, she’d insist on coming along.
I dug my hand into my apron pocket and pulled out a fresh spool of thread. Mrs. Borden had left me a generous pile of mending, and I didn’t have nearly enough black thread to let her dress out, never mind stitch the tiny hole in Mr. Borden’s trousers. “Besides, I stopped by Minnie’s. Your father asked me to mend his suit coat, and we were out of black thread. Minnie kindly gave me hers. So, it wasn’t truly a lie.”
Lizzie took the thread from my hand and tossed it onto her bed. “I don’t understand why Abigail can’t do her own mending. It’s not like I have anybody around here to do mine.”
I went to argue, to tell her that I was more than happy to tend to her clothes, that it was in fact my job. But all that would do was draw her into an argument that had nothing at all to do with what I actually wanted to know.
“Why were you following me?” I asked. She had the presence of mind to look offended, inciting me even more. “And don’t even tell me you weren’t. I saw you at the end of the alley, looking for me.”
She grabbed me by the arm and yanked me into her room, shutting and locking the door behind us before motioning for me to sit. I shook my head and planted my hands on my hips, mocking her earlier stance. I didn’t want to sit down and listen to her spin a tale. I wanted the truth. Now.
“You followed me all the way to Liam’s flat, and I want to know why.”
“I didn’t follow you anywhere.” Her answer was so plainly spoken that for a second I thought it was the truth. “I was here all day doing the mending,” she continued, her arm sweeping out towards her black dress and the needle sticking out from the fabric. Beside it on the bed were a pair of Mr. Borden’s trousers and an old corset of Lizzie’s I’d deemed beyond repair.
I quickly retraced the route in my head, clearly remembering being followed. The distant sound of footsteps, the eerie sensation of being watched, even the shadow of her face at the end of the alley.
May the Virgin Mother keep me safe, I muttered silently to myself. Surely, I hadn’t imagined it; this house couldn’t be driving me as mad as Lizzie. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time my mind had played tricks on me. There were the tiny voices I heard in the dead of night, the creaking of the floorboards when not a soul but myself was awake. The whispers that permeated my dreams. Even the hushed sounds Mrs. Borden made while she slept carried a sinister tone.
Chapter 5
I paused by the cookstove and listened, the soft clicking of Mr. Deen’s footsteps indicating the ice was finally here. Wiping my hands on my apron, I put the bread I was kneading aside and hurried to the back door, thrilled to finally be able to refrigerate leftovers. Mr. Borden had been cheaper than usual with ice lately, and we’d gotten down to nothing but moldy water in the icebox more than two days ago.
I’d just finished thanking Mr. Deen when I heard the front door being unlocked. I glanced at the clock, confused. Even if Mrs. Borden were up, there was no way she’d have left the house without first taking her morning meal. That was the one thing that woman never missed and always complained about—her meals.
I’d been awake and milling around since six. And Mr. Borden . . . well, I’d have heard him going. He would’ve made a big production of placing the keys to his and Mrs. Borden’s room on the mantel in the sitting room, silently daring Lizzie or me to touch them. Mrs. Borden was still asleep; I’d heard her snoring as I passed their room, so that left only—
The front door swung open with a fury, hitting the wall behind it with such force that it left a noticeable nick in the wallpaper. Lizzie burst in, a bundle tucked beneat
h her arm and a deep flush to her cheeks. The bottom of her skirt was soaked, leaving a line of muddy water behind as it dragged across the hardwood floor.
“Lizzie!” I breathed out, glancing at the stairwell in the hopes that no one but me had heard her come in. The last thing I wanted today was to deal with Mr. Borden’s anger. He’d berate Lizzie with questions as to where she could possibly go at this God-awful hour, only to have her fall into one of her fits again. He’d yell and then go his own way, tending to his morning errands while leaving me to deal with a distraught Lizzie in a stone-silent house.
“What in the world are you doing? Where are you coming from?” I asked.
I handed her a dry dishtowel and reached for the already warmed kettle. No matter how hot and dry this summer day would become, she’d catch a chill from the morning rain. “Whatever possessed you to go out in the rain?”
“Never mind, Bridget. It’s nothing,” she said as she slammed a paper-wrapped parcel onto the table and took the hot tea from my hand.
The cup shook as she drew it to her lips. I watched her curiously for a moment, waiting for an explanation, before my patience gave out and I lifted the package to my nose, breathing in the scent. Lately, she’d been unpredictable enough that I wouldn’t put it past her to come home with something bizarre, like perfume or one of those scandalous books I’d heard Minnie talking about to Seamus. But this wasn’t a book or even a new pair of stockings to replace the ones she had yet to darn. Whatever this was held an odor, sharp and raw. Lye.
“Washing soap?” I questioned, and Lizzie nodded.
“I was planning on washing Mrs. Borden’s dresses this afternoon,” I continued. “If you’d told me yours needed freshening, I would’ve done them as well.”
Sweet Madness Page 2
