Free Lizzie Borden by Elizabeth Engstrom Page A

say, “Please, Lizzie, make an old man and an old woman happy in their last years. Please.” But the words were not there. This was a discussion between Andrew and Lizzie, and while it affected her entire life, she was not to have a say.
    Pictures came to Abby’s mind. Pictures of Lizzie following Emma around like a puppy. Pictures of Lizzie copying everything Emma did. Pictures of a little girl idolizing her older sister, and an older sister who took advantage of that position. Emma had been jealous of the plump baby Lizzie since the day she was born, Abby was sure. Emma treated Lizzie poorly, always telling her she had no worth, and Lizzie believed every word. Abby would spend all day with Lizzie, talking to her, making her laugh, being friends and playmates, and as soon as the front door opened with Emma home from school, gaiety vanished in the household and Lizzie was once again Emma’s.
    Lizzie and her father were close, but there would be nothing to break the tie that held Lizzie to Emma.
    “Just think about it over night.”
    “As you wish, Father.” Lizzie folded her napkin and rose. “Excuse me.” The icy exterior had returned. For some reason it had melted during the day, this frost that had covered Lizzie for the past few years, and now it was back, horrible and cold, yet. . . yet. . . Abby hated to admit it to herself, but the coldness was familiar. It was safe. It was comfortable.
    She looked at her husband and the look on his face touched her soul. Such a good man. Such a good man. She hated to see his heart break over his daughters. Again. She touched Andrew’s arm and he moved it away from her.
     

MARCH

    Andrew Borden looked into the mirror and carefully combed what sparse white hair the Lord had seen fit to save for his declining years. He checked his shave with a hand that trembled and then straightened his bow tie. He didn’t care much for mirrors; mirrors had a way of attracting one’s scrutiny, and the more one gazed upon one’s self, the more attention one paid to one’s appearance. Vanity was employment for the foolish, he had always believed, and so there were only the necessary mirrors in his house; hand mirrors in each bedroom and a small one downstairs, on the wall in the foyer. Especially women, he thought. Give a houseful of women a houseful of mirrors, and there will be trouble. Serious trouble.
    He finished his inspection, placed the mirror face-down upon Abby’s dressing table and laid his towel over the bowl filled with cold soapy water and gray whisker shavings. The warm smell of fresh biscuits baking wafted up from the kitchen. He knew there would be gravy leftover from the evening meal to enjoy with them.
    He patted down his pockets. He had the rent bills, his keys, his wallet, his money clip. He left the bedroom and locked the door behind him.
    It was Saturday. Andrew liked Saturdays. They were a change of pace. They bore the fruit of his labors. On Saturdays, Andrew Borden collected his rents. It was usually one of his favorite tasks. Sometimes one of the tenants could not pay, and eviction made not such a pleasant day, but he hadn’t had to evict a tenant for some time.
    The thought of his pockets filled with money as he came home today brightened his outlook. Almost everyone paid in cash. He’d probably even come home with a treat or two from one or another of the farms. Some fresh butter—how Abby loved that freshly churned sweet butter—or maybe some milk or eggs. The very thought of his pockets full of money and his hands full of fresh food for his wife sparked his appetite. He went downstairs ready to enjoy a full meal.
    He was right. Fresh biscuits were in the warming oven. He took two, cut them open and laid them on his plate, then ladled warm gravy from the pot over them. He took his plate to the dining room, where Abby and Emma were breakfasting. Abby poured him a cup of tea.
    “Good morning.”
    “Morning, Father.”
    Andrew tucked his napkin into the