Lizzie Borden
Authors: Elizabeth Engstrom
Tags: #lizzie borden historical thriller suspense psychological murder
Books by Elizabeth Engstrom
Fiction
When Darkness Loves Us
Black Ambrosia
Nightmare Flower
Lizzie Borden
Lizard Wine
The Alchemy of Love
Candyland
Suspicions
Black Leather
The Northwoods Chronicles
York’s Moon
Baggage Check
Nonfiction
Word by Word
(with John Tullius)
Something Happened to Grandma
Edited
Imagination Fully Dilated
(co-editor, with Alan M. Clark)
Imagination Fully Dilated vol. II
Dead on Demand
Pronto! Writings from Rome
(editor, with John Tullius)
Ship’s Log: Writings at Sea
(editor, with John Tullius)
Lies and Limericks
(editor, with John Tullius)
Lizzie Borden
By Elizabeth Engstrom
IFD Publishing
Eugene, Oregon
LIZZIE BORDEN
IFD Publishing, P.O. Box 40776, Eugene, Oregon 97404 U.S.A. (541)461-3272
Discover other titles from IFD at
www.ifdpublishing.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
All persons in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance that may seem to exist to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction.
Cover Art, “Mr. Borden’s Time,” Copyright © Alan M. Clark 2011
eBook Design, Eric M. Witchey
First hardcover edition, Copyright © Elizabeth Engstrom 1991, Tor Books
Hardcover ISBN: 1-58767-031-3
First trade paper edition, Copyright © Elizabeth Engstrom
August 1997, Tor Books
Trade Paper ISBN 1-58767-135-2
First eBook edition, Copyright © Elizabeth Engstrom 2011, IFD Publishing
eBook ISBN: 978-1-4524-6256-1
Originally Printed in the United States of America
For Melissa Singer and Anna Magee
Contents
Chapter 1: Prologue, April, 1865
Chapter 9: Wednesday, August 3
Chapter 10: Thursday, August 4
Chapter III: Connect with Elizabeth Engstrom Online
Chapter IV: Other eBook Titles from IFD Publishing
Foreword
There is an astonishingly tiny universe of knowledge about Lizzie Borden, her friends and family. Most of what is known comes directly from trial transcripts and newspaper articles, both of which are filled with conflicting information.
This is a work of fiction, written within the framework of an actual incident. As such, personalities and character traits have been assigned to those who played a part in the great Borden mystery. Some of these are not flattering, and I apologize in advance to any descendants of those with whom I have taken liberties.
My purpose is not to offend; it is to justify.
Elizabeth Engstrom
Eugene, Oregon
Prologue, April, 1865
“Come over here, Lizzie. Sit beside me. That’s my girl. Your worm still on the hook?”
Little Lizzie Borden, age five, sat down on the stream bank and lifted her fishing stick to show the pale worm to her father.
“Good girl. Put it back down there now, and we’ll wait for a big trout to come and eat it.”
Slowly, feeling sorry for the worm, Lizzie lowered her stick. Her papa had whittled the stick for her the day before up at the farmhouse. Tied onto the end of the stick was a length of black fishing line, and tied onto the end of the line was a hook. Stuck onto the hook was a worm, a big one they’d dug out of the stream bank. But then it was happy, fat and red, and now it was kind of skinny, shriveled and white. Lizzie didn’t think too much of fishing.
“Isn’t this peaceful?”
She looked up at her father. Then she looked downstream for sight of Emma. Emma was squatting at the edge of the water, looking intently into its depths. She’d been like that for what seemed like hours. Lizzie was always amazed at the way Emma could be absolutely still for the longest time. Waiting was something Emma could do very well. Lizzie had no patience at all. But then Emma was fifteen. Emma knew everything, and Lizzie was sure that when she turned fifteen, she would be able to wait, too.
The country, at first, seemed silent, but then Lizzie heard the stream running, the flutter of the reed that had been caught in the water. She heard birds clucking and chirping and a sudden flutter of wings, she heard the underlying hum of all the insects as they went about their business.
Maybe Emma wasn’t waiting after all. Maybe she was listening.
It felt odd to be away from home, out in the country, all the way out at the farm. It was odd to have Papa home all day long, but that’s what they called a vacation. Lizzie loved the farm. She loved being out here with Emma and Papa. Mother was back at the farmhouse baking wonderful fruit pies. Lizzie had helped pull stalks of rhubarb with their gigantic green leaves. She wiped the dirt off one of the red stalks and took a bite. Just the right kind of sour that tasted good and made her mouth wrinkle up and go dry. With lots of sugar, Mother would turn that into a glorious pie. Then, Mother said, when they came back with their mess of fish to fry up, she’d be cooling those sweet pies on the windowsill. Lizzie had grabbed her fishing stick and was the first one ready to go. She wanted to get back home to those pies.
She looked down at her shoes. They were new, a pretty brownish red leather, but she was sure she’d get them dirty here and vacation or not, Mother would be cranky about it. She lifted up her fishing stick again to look at the worm.
“You have to leave the worm in the water, Lizzie. The fish won’t bite it if it keeps flying out of the water like that.”
“He’s cold.”
“He’s not cold. He’s a worm. Put him back.”
She let the worm go back down into the water. She leaned over and watched him disappear into the green.
“Isn’t this nice,” Papa said, and leaned up against a rock “Spring is my favorite time of y ear. The sun is hot and the air is cool. Everything is green and fresh—” he put his arm around her— “and I’ve got my best girl right here by my side.”
Lizzie leaned into his side, resting her head against his chest.
He stroked her hair. She closed her eyes.
“We have a nice mother, don’t we?”
Lizzie nodded. Her eyes felt sleepy.
“Yes,” he said, smoothing her fine blonde hair from her forehead. “We have a nice mother now, and Emma is old enough to take care of herself as well as you, and things are back to being normal.”
