"And," I asked, "just what do you propose we do now, Emma?"
"Do? Why, nothing. We need never speak of any of this ever again."
"I am not at all sure about that," I told her. "Can you not understand how I feel right now? I was arrested and held in jail for ten months, tried for my very life, shunned by the people I grew up with. Why, I was even very nearly arrested for robbery a few years ago."
Emma wore a puzzled look, and shaking her head, asked, "What are you talking about?"
I told her of my afternoon with the police and Mr. Jennings.
She still just stared at me, saying, "This was the first I heard about the porcelains. And you consider all that my fault?"
"Yes, Emma. Oddly enough, I do. Of course, I did not mention the porcelains to you. I have always tried to do what you wanted and keep unpleasantness from you."
Chapter Thirty
Emma gave me a saccharine smile. "As well you should." She calmly poured herself another cup of tea, and gestured to me. When I shook my head in refusal of more tea, she shrugged her shoulders and drank hers down in one long gulp. Then she went to the icebox, and pulled out the ham and a wedge of cheese.
I watched in silent fascination as she fetched the bread, cut herself a rather thick slice of it, and buttered it thinly before she piled on thin slices of ham and cheese. She neatly put everything away, placed her food on a plate and carried it to the table. She sat down and nibbled at the edges of her open-faced sandwich as a child might do.
I was suddenly struck by the paradox of all she had admitted against this simple, innocent action. My sister had to be inside this odd creature before me -- somewhere. There must be some way to reach her and to lead her out of herself. I needed to find it, or at least try.
"Emma," I said, in the gentlest of voices, "I am really doing my best to understand all this. But, you must see it is not an easy thing to do. Is there some way you could explain it to me -- in a way to help me understand your thought processes?"
Her entire demeanor changed in a mere moment. She let her food drop onto her plate, as she glowered at me. "How dare you patronize me!"
I was afraid.
"You should grovel before me, for all I have done for you! Do you really believe anything in our lives would have changed, if I had not taken action? Even if Father had died peacefully in his sleep, do you think we would have escaped that hellhole? No! We would have been forced to stay there until Abby died, and knowing that old cow, she probably would still be alive."
She snorted. "Can you imagine her, even more fat and senile, drooling on herself as we cared for her. Oh, no! That is not how I intended to spend the rest of my life. And even after she died, we would be saddled with her relatives, for you know Father would have left her control of the estate. She, in turn, would make sure we had to care for them if we wanted any of our rightful inheritance."
"Why would you think we would have been forced to care for her? She had her mother and sister. Her own people would have cared for her. Father was seventy. How much longer do you really think he would have lived?" I asked her.
"Was it actually necessary for you to murder them? And, why then? Emma, I am truly doing my best to comprehend all this. Why not when Father first married Abby? Or, at least once you were grown. You would have had the money and control of me."
She sat in quiet contemplation for a moment. Finally, she spoke, "Well, I did consider it. But, remember, there was the matter of the money. I do not believe Father had very much when he married Abby. He was just beginning to make his mark.
"I found his actions confusing. I mean, we still lived in that shanty on Ferry Street, but he was able to afford to send me away to boarding school. No, I decided I needed to wait until I was sure he had acquired a decent amount of money. After all, the longer I waited, the richer he would be," she answered, with an evil smile, "Which means, more money for me... I mean 'us,' of course."
Now it was me who let out a loud laugh. "Us? You have already admitted to me you never believed you would need to split your inheritance. So, why ever should I believe that?"
She scowled at me and said in a brittle tone, "You know, you are most unattractive and unlikeable when you act so petulant and peevish. Do you realize that, Lizzie?"
"Oh, I am so sorry, Emma -- so very sorry!" I responded in the most sarcastic tone I could manage.
However, it was lost on my sister, who answered, "As well you should be. After all, everything you have, you have because of me."
I was aghast. I could hardly believe all she had been telling me, but I knew she had done everything for me. As horrifying as I found it, I knew she told me the truth.
However could I have ever been so blind? Looking back on everything, I saw it all laid out before me. I saw quite clearly how she had always manipulated me -- as if I were a marionette. By getting me to say things and do things throughout my life, I had been made to emerge as the troublesome daughter. It was I who had always appeared discontented -- the one always asking for something more.
It had been me Father had done his best to indulge, so as to keep peace in the household. I had been her dupe, her pawn.
"How is it," I asked, "that you can justify all of this? Not only the murders -- of most of our immediate family, but you used me -- even when I was still a child."
"I have already pointed out how tiresome you can be when you get petulant," Emma said, demurely.
"Yes, you have. Now, I suggest you pour yourself another cup of tea, because I am about to become very tiresome and most petulant."
I leaned toward her. "It mortifies me that you have always presented yourself as this meek and mild woman, always kind and compliant. It was nothing more or less than a mask you wore. That upsets and shames me enough -- that I do not even know my most beloved sister. But what astounds me is, after tossing aside this mask of yours, you act as if I should simply forget about all that has happened."
She looked over the table at me. "And your point would be..."
"Emma, do you even recall why I followed you up to your room today?"
"Of course, I do," she snapped, "I am not in my dotage as yet."
"Well, first, I am going to address this little epiphany of yours -- then we will discuss what set you off earlier.
I leaned back again, and leveled my gaze at her. "Unfortunately, you are right, I would never reveal any of this. That is for you to do. And I believe you should do so -- to someone -- immediately. However, I am willing to let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak. I suggest if you do not wish to actually 'speak' to someone, that you write all this out and leave it with Mr. Jennings office, to be opened after your death. Or, after both our deaths, if you would prefer."
She laughed at me. "You cannot be serious?" She shook her head and smiled, "I have absolutely no intention of doing any such thing."
"I see. Well," I took a deep breath and continued, "that brings me to our current dilemma. While I would never tell anyone what you have admitted to, I am not at all sure I wish to continue to live with you without establishing an understanding. I will continue to do what I wish, see whom I wish, and entertain when I wish. I am a forty-five year-old woman and well able to make my own decisions."
"No, Lizzie," Emma said, sitting up primly, "you will not. I have forbidden you to do so."
"Well, to use your own words, "You cannot be serious? I have absolutely no intention of doing as you say.
"This is my home, too. And, whether you like it or not, I will decide who my friends are and if and when I shall invite them here -- to my home -- whenever I please."
"No Lizzie! You will not! Not ever again! I forbid you!"
"And, I repeat, Emma, I will see whom I please, when I please, where I please. I am a grown woman with a mind of my own. Your 'iron-fisted' rule has ended. I will not be directed by you any longer.
"Now, I have asked you to look into your heart and do the right thing -- albeit, it a good deal too little, much too late -- and confess all that you h
ave told me. If you will not even write it all out and leave it for after your death, then I must respectfully ask you to leave."
I sat forward in my chair, pulled the teapot towards me, poured myself a cup of now-cold tea, and waited for her response.
Chapter Thirty-One
Not only could I feel my sister's anger and disbelief, I worried she might be about to have a fit of apoplexy, for her face had regained the livid tones she had developed when she came home and discovered my guests.
Still, I remained quiet and calm. After all, it was her turn to speak.
"This is my home too, Lizzie. Who are you to tell me that I must leave?"
"I am Lisbeth Borden, and..." I paused when I saw the look of scorn and derision cross her face. So, I started over. "I, Lizzie Andrew Borden, am telling you you will either do as I ask, and first write out a full confession of your past deeds, and stop haranguing me about my friends, or I will expect you to leave this house -- tonight. And, I shall pay you a fair price for your half as soon as we are able to take care of the legalities.
"Even if you were to agree, I am not at all sure I am willing to have you here any longer. You are nothing more than a cold, heartless murderer. Sister or no, you are an abomination. And you are a hypocrite and a humbug."
"And, what if I say no to both of your ridiculous ultimatums? Just how, exactly, do you propose to force me to leave here? After all, half of this house, and all that is in it, is mine. I would think you would want to move away. You can move to Boston, or Washington, D.C., or San Francisco -- where ever you want."
She sneered at me, and hissed, "Go live somewhere where everyone feigns polite ignorance of who you really are. Go somewhere people are willing to pretend you are 'Lisbeth Borden,' not the infamous Lizzie Borden -- the wicked bitch who hacked her parents to death and got away with it!"
"I have told you I would not reveal anything you have told me. I will keep your secret. However, I am warning you, should you refuse to leave, I will constantly hound you about repenting. I will keep your secret, but I will give you no peace."
I had a final thought, and added, "And, if you do not leave now -- tonight -- I will not buy you out. You will be legally responsible for paying half of all the bills, yet you will enjoy not one moment of quiet comfort."
"I could kill you as well."
"Of course, you could. But, that would leave only you. Perhaps other people would begin to put things together. Maybe they would finally see you for the truly wicked person you are."
I folded my hands in my lap to stem their trembling. "To be honest, I am not at all sure I would care. You have destroyed me -- exploded all I have believed throughout my lifetime. In effect, you have already killed me. You murdered me on August 4th, l892 -- when you killed Abby and our father, and let me be accused."
Emma's lips tightened and she stared at me for an uncomfortably long moment. Suddenly, she straightened up and leaned slightly forward. "I must say, Lizzie, you have waited rather late in life to grow a spine. But, in some bizarre way, I admire you. I not only admire you, but believe you. So, I suppose I should go finish packing." She gazed vacantly across the kitchen. "I wonder where I should go?"
"If you would only confess all that you have done -- if only to your minister -- and let me live my own life, you could stay here, with me."
"I think not. I would find life under your disapproving gaze most unpleasant," Emma stated.
With that, she rose and made a catlike stretch. Then, she demurely carried her dishes to the sink and left the kitchen, leaving me in the semi-darkness alone with my thoughts.
Chapter Thirty-Two
For a moment, I placed my head on my hands on top of the table and silently wept: for tiny baby Alice and Mother, for poor Abby and Father, and for Emma and myself.
I was sure Emma felt absolutely no remorse for any of the awful things she had admitted she had done, and I found this most difficult to comprehend.
I was fearful I was going to break down in loud, wet sobs, but this was something I did not want to do -- at least, not while Emma was still in the house. So, I gathered myself and struggled to stand up. I climbed the backstairs, upset and wobbly, but made my way to Emma's bedroom and knocked on the door softly.
I received no answer -- or at least, I heard none. The door was not latched and slowly swung open when I knocked. Emma stood at the side of her bed, folding things and layering them into suitcases. I walked in and sat in a delicate little chair near the door.
"Emma, will you not please reconsider everything. I am not asking you to confess to the police. There is no point to that. After all these years, what good would that do? Just speak to your pastor. Surely, you could trust his discretion. Are not ministers the same as priests? Are confessions to Congregationalists sacrosanct?
I waited, but she did not act as if she had even heard me, so I pressed on. "Perhaps, my first thought of writing it all out would be better and safer. You could lock it in a safety deposit box."
She looked over at me, but her gaze stared through me. "I told you downstairs I was not going to abide by any of your stupid ideas. So, you might as well just stop talking about it. I am leaving your house. Is that not enough? It is, after all, what you ordered of me."
"Emma, you are my sister, and I love you. I have always loved you. And, even after all these horrible revelations, I still love you. So, I really do not think it is fair of you to act as if you are the injured party."
I paused, hoping she would respond, perhaps tell me she loved me. But, she remained mute. So, I continued, "While you were mowing down anyone you felt was an inconvenience to you, I tried to do as you expected of me. I always thought of you as my mentor -- a mother to me. And, whether you believe it or not, I have done my best to shield you from things I thought would hurt or distress you.
I dropped my gaze to the floor. "You have no idea of what I have secretly endured to spare you pain. I have kept silent -- not seek solace from you, just to save you unhappiness. And, I am not referring to those porcelains, either. I have been haunted by a secret horror since I was still a young girl. And, not once did I speak to you of it. Never!"
She stopped, stood up straight and turned slowly to face me. I saw her placid little smile grow until her face glowed with an evil malice. It was in that awful second -- with a palpable tension hanging between us -- I knew that she knew. She had always known.
And even then, I simply was not able to bring myself to broach the terrible truth with her. I could not tell you why -- but, in my heart of hearts, I knew she understood completely as to what I alluded to.
My chest ached from the knowledge that she, too, had been so ill-used, and by someone who rather than serve as the instrument of our torment, should have protected us from such evil.
I fixed my gaze on hers and waited. I did not have to wait long.
"I am going to assume that you are referring to dear Uncle John's... ah... shall we call it... affection. Of course I knew. Have I not already told you that was one of the major reasons Father needed to die? He knew what his friend had done to me -- done to me on a regular basis. So, while he did put an end to my physical abuse, he held his brother-in-law close to him.
"Father should have killed him for what he did to me. Instead, he kept Uncle John as his good friend and compatriot. And, by doing that, not only did he increase my mental torment, but showed me exactly whom he cared for best." My sister had turned back to her packing, and shoved articles into her bag as if punctuating each point. "He chose his friend over his first-born child. And that was something I would never forgive or forget."
"Emma, why did you not warn me? If he had abused you so, why ever would you not be watchful -- vigilant? Why were you not always looking for any sign, that I too, was being so ill-used? After all, it was you who had made us motherless. You had taken on her role. Why would you not protect me from that man?"
"Protect you?" she said, with a lilting laugh, "I sent him to you. I gave you to him. That is how
I managed to control him when I needed his help."
She paused, studying a shirtwaist she held motionless in her hands. "I did, however, make him wait -- so you were not molested as an infant, as I had been. I made it very clear to him that he was not to touch you until you were at least ten. I told him if he did anything before then, I would go to the police myself -- and nothing Father might tell them would erase the fact that they knew of his predilection."
Just when I thought there was nothing more she could possibly tell me to cause me more pain and distress, she somehow managed it.
"He truly enjoyed you. He actually thanked me for making him wait to take you. Even after he had moved out west, he would write me about you. It turned out that you were the one thing he truly missed about home."
She frowned at me and pursed her lips. "You were his favorite. Of course, you were. You were Father's favorite as well, were you not?" She made that sour-milk face of hers and snorted, "You would think I would have gotten used to it. I mean, after all this time. But, I did not. Indeed, I still have not."
I felt the blood drain from my face, and my hands and feet grow as cold as ice, as I sat and absorbed this latest insult.
"Emma, please stop this. Stop and consider what you have been telling me as this awful afternoon has progressed. You have yanked out the very foundations of my world. Yet, I suppose to a great extent, we have always been living on quaking ground -- because of you, and your jealousies and insecurities."
"Oh please," she said with scorn, "stop being so melodramatic. One would think you were one of your degenerate theatre friends."
"I am being melodramatic? I am so very sorry. Please, accept apologies. Now, what about you doing the same?"
"Be overdramatic?" she asked, in a guileless, innocent voice.
Sisterly Love: The Saga of Lizzie and Emma Borden Page 16