Lizzie Borden (15 page)

They shared a cup of tea and talked first about the good work the WCTU was accomplishing, then gossiped politely about some of the members. Lizzie became more and more relaxed. When Kathryn left the room to check on the progress of dinner, Lizzie had the profound realization that Kathryn had invited her to her home for no other reason than she enjoyed Lizzie’s company. There was no committee work to be done, there was not a dinner party with an odd number of guests, there was no other reason. Kathryn had invited Lizzie because she wanted to share a dinner with her.

Lizzie blushed in spite of herself and sipped her tea.

Kathryn returned and they talked of art, a subject Lizzie knew as little about as Kathryn was well-versed. They talked Fall River politics for a moment, then general Fall River news and personalities, and then it was time for dinner.

Kathryn had roasted two squabs and served them with an orange sauce, small freshly-dug carrots that she’d overwintered right in the ground, and a portion of goat cheese that she’d purchased last Saturday at the market. This spawned a discussion of cooking, another thing in which Kathryn was accomplished and Lizzie not.

But the holes in Lizzie’s training did not confuse her this night with holes in her personality. Kathryn’s life had taken different directions, and had led her down different paths.  Lizzie did not feel more or less fortunate (except in looks and body) for once. She just felt different, and for the first time, instead of dwelling on her own insufficiencies, she reveled in Kathryn’s accomplishments and queried enthusiastically about her life.

After dinner (Lizzie ate her entire bird down to the bones; Kathryn barely ate a half breast), Kathryn gave Lizzie a thorough tour of her kitchen, and then her artworks, which spread about the house. Lizzie had long admired the art which hung on Kathryn’s walls, but as she’d only been at the house during a meeting, she’d never had opportunity to view each one in its glory. Each painting, sketching and drawing had a little story about where it came from, the artist, and how and where Kathryn had acquired it. Lizzie was totally charmed with this little tiny, beautiful woman and her enthusiasm.

Eventually, the tour landed them back in the sitting room, where Kathryn sat on the settee next to Lizzie.

They talked about Europe, and compared notes on what they had seen in common, and as Kathryn poured a fresh cup of tea, her hand touched Lizzie’s, and it stayed there.

Lizzie was surprised at how warm it was, how soft and warm, and without thinking, she took Kathryn’s tiny hand in both of hers. Emma’s hands were harsh and bony, Abby’s hands were fat and bloated, Father’s hands were horny and hairy. This little perfectly manicured hand was warm and gentle. Tender. Lizzie turned it over to look at the palm, ran a finger down the center of it, and when she looked up, Kathryn had a most peculiar look in her eyes.

The expression on Kathryn’s face reminded Lizzie of days long ago when she would sit in the window seat at the farm and look out the window, dreaming of things to be when she finally became an adult. She longed to be a housewife with a dozen children. She longed to have a protector, a provider, one she could kiss and hug, one she could sleep next to on a cold night. She longed to make her own decisions and not be driven instead by a ruthless older sister, she longed. . .

That was the expression in Kathryn’s eyes. Longing.

Lizzie flushed and looked again at the tiny hand she held in her own.

“Lizzie?” Kathryn spoke so softly, that even in the silent room, Lizzie was not sure that she had heard. She was suddenly shy, and almost afraid. Her heart pounded louder than Kathryn’s tiny word. Eventually, she looked up into that beautiful face, and Kathryn’s lips were gently parted, and she moved closer and closer, until Lizzie could smell her hair as well as see right through it, and she could smell the closeness of Kathryn, freshly bathed and powdered. She could smell Kathryn’s breath, warm, scented with tea and cinnamon, and then Kathryn’s lips were on her own, soft, so soft.

Then she was gone, and Lizzie found her eyes closed, so she opened them, and saw Kathryn, who was flushed and laughing, both of them embarrassed, and the small hand slid out from between Lizzie’s and helped the other hand hold the trembling teacup.

But that wasn’t right. It wasn’t something to be laughed at. It was something to be explored. Once was not enough. Lizzie had to taste that again, she had to know that feeling, that sensation that had burst upon her senses and then fled before she really knew what had happened.

She moved closer to Kathryn on the settee, feeling like an elephant trying to capture a mink. But Kathryn was all too ready to be captured, and their kiss this time was lingering and sensitive.

Lizzie’s mind reeled. She could feel her pulse in her panties. She wanted to get closer to Kathryn, closer and closer still, until they were of one body.

With a hand that seemed to have a mind of its own, she pulled the pins from Kathryn’s hair and fluffed it as it fell around her face.

She broke off the kiss and stared into the other woman’s eyes, eyes that held love and desire. Lizzie had never seen that before in anyone’s eyes and it was hypnotic. It was intoxicating. She felt overheated. She felt foolish for wearing such warm weather clothes on such a balmy spring evening.

“You are so beautiful,” Kathryn breathed, and Lizzie was sure she had heard wrong.

Again she neared Kathryn, brushing her nose along Kathryn’s cheek, taking in her perfume, but their positions were not right, they were both uncomfortable on the settee, and Kathryn kissed Lizzie lightly on the lips, then stood, holding her hand, and guided her through the house to the bedroom at the back.

And there, she proceded to tenderly undress Lizzie, and then bed her, showing her the fascinating ways one woman can love another.

~~~

“Of course, discretion is all,” Kathryn said quietly.

Lizzie, snuggled down in the soft, soft covers of Kathryn’s bed, nodded. She couldn’t take her eyes off the extraordinary profile. What Kathryn had just done to her, with her, for her, was the most amazing act of love Lizzie could ever even imagine. It was far beyond her imagination. In fact, she still couldn’t believe it had happened.

The clock in the dining room chimed eleven.

“Eleven o’clock, Lizzie,” Kathryn said, still staring straight ahead. Then she turned to look at her and their noses touched. “As much as I’d like you to stay, I think you best be going now.”

Lizzie knew it was true, and reluctantly and shyly arose and dressed. She dared not meet Kathryn’s eyes, as she donned clothes that were wrinkled, inappropriate and too tight, knowing that Kathryn watched every move. Then she was dressed and without knowing what to say, she just looked at Kathryn, and smiled.

Kathryn seemed old, somehow. She smiled back at Lizzie, but it was a wan smile, a tired smile. “’Bye,” Lizzie whispered.

“’Bye.”

Lizzie left by the front door and walked through the chill toward home. The night air felt fresh and wonderful. It tingled her skin with an icy touch.

A shocking wave of unreality stopped Lizzie in the middle of the road in front of the Anderson house. That couldn’t have happened, she thought. It hadn’t been real. It was something she had dreamed, some terrible sinful dream. It could never have happened that she and Kathryn Peters had just. . . No, never. She walked on. In the cold air of reality, what they had just experienced together seemed as foreign and as distant as her trip to Europe, or Beatrice coming. . .

But Beatrice
is
coming, she thought, and anxiety began to pull on her.

Then she turned the corner onto Second Street, and the overwhelming brown feeling fell on her shoulders. Emma. Father. Abby. This house.

This house
.

She opened the front door with her key, locked all three locks once she was inside, blew out the lamp and took a candle with her up to her room.

Inside her room, her dingy, dark, boring little cell, Lizzie undressed, throwing her rumpled clothes in a pile on the floor.

She slipped under the covers and tried to believe that what had happened with Kathryn had truly happened.

It was unmistakable. Her scent was still in Lizzie’s nostrils; neither the cold of the night nor the moldy stench of this house could mask that wonderful smell. The taste of her was still on Lizzie’s tongue. The touch of her was still on Lizzie’s skin, and she would never forget Kathryn’s rippling shudders at Lizzie’s touch.

Lizzie began to plan when she could see Kathryn again. Soon. Very soon. Lizzie could never bring her here, of course, but she had to see her again, soon. Very soon. Tuesday, in fact, Lizzie thought with a leap in her heart. There was a WCTU meeting on Tuesday.

~~~

The town hall was packed with Women’s Christian Temperance Union members. Lizzie knew all the ladies present, of course, she had been a member in good standing for several years, but she felt not at all like socializing. She kept looking about for the one person she came to see. She wandered incessantly, superficially greeting other members, not friends, just acquaintances, but not stopping long enough to get involved in anyone’s conversation.

And then, as soon as Mrs. Tuttle had struck the lectern with her president’s gavel, Lizzie saw Kathryn come in the room, lit from within with the love of life, and she laughed and chatted and made her way to a seat in the back. She looked wonderful. Lizzie felt her face flush as she watched. She wanted to sit next to her, she wanted to touch her, she wanted to see that Kathryn still liked her, admired her,
loved
her, and she needed to see that look in Kathryn’s eyes.

But she was stuck. She was already at a seat in the center of the hall, and it would be a bother, and a noticeable one, to return to Kathryn’s section. She would have to wait for the break.

The Reverend Buck said the opening prayer, and Mrs. Tuttle called the meeting to order. Lizzie found it hard to concentrate. She felt Kathryn’s presence behind her. She wanted to turn to look to see who she was sitting next to, who she was talking to. She wanted to know what they were saying, she wanted to know what Kathryn did after Lizzie left the night before, she wanted to know what Kathryn was planning to do tonight after the meeting.

Lizzie remembered the touch of her small fingers as they smoothed the hair from the back of Lizzie’s neck, and goose pimples rose up on her arms. She smoothed them down with a shiver.

Lizzie had waited anxiously since Saturday night for this meeting. She got nothing accomplished at home. She sat around and thought about Kathryn and thought about doing her Pathways exercises. She actually got them all done, but got little out of it. She hoped she was receiving the benefit of them anyway. She could do little but think of Kathryn and her mysterious, wonderful touches in the dark. Lizzie could still taste her kiss. Lizzie could still smell her breasts, could still feel the soft, silky stroking of her tongue.

She fidgeted through the meeting, wondering if it would ever end. Finally, she could stand it no more and stood up, made her way between the rows of benches and walked to the back of the hall. Kathryn smiled benignly at her, not giving her a second glance. Lizzie’s face flushed a deep crimson, and she made her way quickly, head down, to the W.C.

She stayed in there until the break. She felt as if a knife had twisted in her stomach. Kathryn didn’t even give her a personal smile. It was as if Kathryn didn’t even know her. She heard the noises of voices approaching, so she patted at her hair and clothes and put on a brave face. She would seek Kathryn out one more time and see if there were perhaps a chance they could talk. Lizzie could not believe that Kathryn didn’t want her. She could not imagine that Kathryn didn’t feel exactly the same way she herself did. After the way they had loved each other. The way they had trusted each other.

Lizzie felt weak at the thought of it.

She pushed out through the approaching throng of women, and saw Kathryn in the hall foyer. Kathryn excused herself from talking with Margaret Reid and came over to Lizzie.

Lizzie felt immobilized by her presence. She felt her blasted face heat up again, felt her tongue tied as firmly as it had ever been.

“Lizzie!” Kathryn came and reached up for Lizzie’s face, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “Nine o’clock,” she whispered in Lizzie’s ear. Then she stepped back and said, “How are you?”

Lizzie caught on quickly. “Fine. You look wonderful, Kathryn.”

“Thank you.” Then Kathryn saw someone else, and flitted away.

Lizzie had always envied that ability to flit at a social gathering, and as her spirits soared at the thought of what she first assumed was a snub was in reality nothing more than mere discretion.

And “discretion is all,” just as Kathryn had said.

Nine o’clock! Lizzie tore her eyes away from her lover, reluctantly, and wondered how she would ever pass the time until she was able to hold Kathryn again.

She made small talk here and there among the crowd, then slipped out the door just before the meeting was reconvened. She walked around the town in the rapidly growing dusk, then finally went home, agitated and restless. She went directly to her room, where she freshened up, changed her clothes and paced.

At eight-thirty, the minute hand began to crawl ever slower. Finally it was eight forty-five, and Lizzie left the house, walking briskly through town toward Kathryn’s.

By the time she arrived, her breath was coming hard from the exertion and again she vowed to take a little more fresh air and exercise, so as to be a little more appealing to Kathryn and a little less fleshy.

She knocked on the door, and it opened almost immediately.

“Come in quickly,” Kathryn said. “Did anyone see you come?”

“No,” Lizzie said, and then Kathryn’s mouth was upon hers, and her hands were inside her clothing. It was not gentle, it was not loving, but Lizzie felt the overwhelming need as much as Kathryn.  She returned the hard embrace, the brutal kisses and her knees failed her. They tumbled to the ground together, groping, tasting, ripping, their passions too great to be withstood any longer.