“Once this incident runs its course, I want you to leave, return to Ireland, and never come back to this city.”
I watched as he pulled open the envelope and placed a stack of money on the table. It was more cash than I’d ever seen. More than I could even fathom. “This is the money Lizzie spoke with you about. Her proceeds from the sale of the house on Ferry Street. I’ll take care of your passage personally, but this should help you start over.”
I didn’t need anybody to buy my silence. I wouldn’t turn on Lizzie. I’d already vowed to her and to God that I would never breathe a word of what had really happened in this house.
“I don’t want your money, sir.”
“It’s not his. It’s mine,” Lizzie said. I hadn’t heard her come down the back stairs, hadn’t known she was listening. “And I need you to take it. I owe you that and more for the friendship you have offered me. Take it. For you and Liam. For Cara.”
Lizzie drew closer and collected the money from the table. She tucked it deep into the envelope and then pressed it into my palm. “Please.”
Just as I’d been caught off guard by her tears, so was I by her begging. Lizzie never begged anyone for anything, let alone gave away money when it seemed that was all she ever wanted. Then again, I’d been blind to more than the true Lizzie for a long time. Andrew Borden was more than a miser; he was a madman. And Abigail Borden wasn’t the frail, feeble-minded woman I always presumed. But John Morse . . . to me, he is still the mysterious brother of Lizzie’s long-dead mother, the strange, uninvited guest who, to this day, I still can’t quite figure out.
Epilogue
It’s always the same. The click of my boots echoing off the hardwood floors. The light streaming in through the dingy, lace curtains. The smells drift back into my nose, thick and deathly, and for whatever reason, I am climbing the stairs. They moan beneath my feet, and I pause as the clock in the parlor sounds, warning me.
I’m halfway up the stairs now, and I can see them. Mrs. Borden’s shoes. They stick out at a strange angle, what little bit of leather I can make out streaked in blood. I turn to scream, to escape down the stairwell that seems to be closing in on me, but find myself face to face with Andrew Borden. His flesh is rotting, falling in strips from his battered skull. His eyes are those of the dead pigeons, black and staring at me, daring me to tell the truth.
“Wake up, love.”
I startle awake. The blankets are twisted around my body, and I’m drenched in sweat. My body shivers as the cool night air filters in through the open window. No matter how many miles I put between me and Fall River, no matter how many years pass, the dream never changes. The memories never fade.
Liam gets up, and I know he’s going to close the window. We have this argument every time he wakes me in the throes of a nightmare, my body inconceivably cold.
“Leave it,” I beg. The windows in that house were always closed, locking the darkness inside. Here they are always open, the cool, untainted air filtering through the house. My house.
“All right, lass,” he says as he settles in next to me and drags my still shaking body into his arms. His strong hand wraps around my shoulder, his wedding band shining in the early morning sun.
“You’re safe here with me and Cara.” He breathes out, tightening his grip and dropping a kiss to my forehead.
Cara. I stare out the window, focusing on the mountains in the distance, to remind myself of how far I truly am from Fall River. From the smell of the river and the steam from the streetcars. From rancid meat and gossiping shopkeepers. From Lizzie Borden. And yet, I can never quite purge myself of it. I can never completely lose the dark bits that seem to tarnish me.
“I’m going to go wash up,” Liam smiles, the bright blue of his eyes reminding me of that very first day we met.
I slip my night coat on and move into the hall, hovering outside Cara’s door. She’s still asleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest telling me she’s in a peaceful place. It took us months to get her here. There was the trial and then the journey back to Ireland. We’d also needed time to buy my parents a new farm and get them settled, followed by what seemed like an eternity of searching for somewhere we would fit in. Somewhere the news of Fall River’s murderous spinster had not reached. Somewhere the name Lizzie Borden meant nothing.
Searching for some warmth, I slip my hand into the pocket of my night coat, my fingers curling around the envelope. The letter came over a month ago, and I’ve yet to open it.
The handwriting on the front is distinctive and the postmark is from an address in Fall River that I know well—a sizeable mansion with room for a dozen families. When Liam first handed it to me, I could smell the jasmine lingering on the thick, white paper. Now, after weeks of sitting unopened in my pocket, it bears the faintest hint of mountain air.
I feel Liam’s warm breath on my neck, his hands tangling around my waist. “She’s happy now, Bridget. She’s got the house she always wanted on the Hill. She’s got servants, a coachman . . . she’s even got another maid.”
Another maid. The words pierce my heart. True, she’s got another maid, but if my instincts are right, she hasn’t got another friend. According to the newspapers, Lizzie is a free woman. Free to live on the Hill. Free to entertain whomever she likes and to live the life she’s always wanted. But I can’t shake the feeling that as lonely as her life was when I lived there, it’s worse now.
Liam pulls me in close and kisses me once more, before moving towards the kitchen and the chatter I can hear building behind the door. Saturday is the only day all four of us have off from work, and Seamus and Minnie are already awake. If I don’t get myself straightened out, they’ll tear apart the kitchen looking for food.
I pull on a dress and draw my hair up into a tight bun. Opening the door into the kitchen, I see Seamus laughing over a cup of coffee. Minnie is tucked close into his side. The grin on her face stretches wide as he leans over to kiss her, and I can’t help but smile myself.
Seamus locks eyes with me and gives a tight nod. No doubt he faces the same set of dark feelings each morning, the same cycle of nightmares each night. But if he had to do it all over again, if he had to stand by Liam, by me, and by Lizzie, I know he would. We all would. It was the only way.
About the Authors
Trisha Leaver lives on Cape Cod with her husband, three children, and one rather irreverent black lab. She is a chronic daydreamer who prefers the cozy confines of her own imagination to the mundane routine of everyday life. To learn more about Trisha’s books, her upcoming shenanigans, and her quest to reel in the perfect tuna, please visit her website at http://trishaleaver.com
Lindsay Currie is the coauthor of Creed and Hardwired as well as the author of the young adult contemporary novel Jammed. She lives in Chicago, Illinois, with one incredibly patient hubby, three amazing kids, and one adorable, but irreverent, bullmastiff named Sam. She's fond of coffee, chocolate, and things that go bump in the night. Learn more about her at http://lindsaycurrie.com
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