Lizzie Borden (33 page)

Enid began to talk about her sons, which gave Lizzie time to compose herself. Lizzie had arrived, unannounced, unexpected, and found understanding, compassion, caring. Lizzie never wanted to leave. She never wanted to go back to that horrible house on Second Street. Ever.

Enid chatted on, and soon Lizzie was laughing with her, through stories of her boys, the family, the job. Such a family! Such a close family, where they talked about things, shared feelings, traveled together and laughed together. Such a feeling of life, of joyousness, Lizzie had never known. And it was sad for everybody when Charles died, but the boys had a strong mother to look to for strength. And look at Enid now! Not a mourning widow, but a woman still filled with life! Lizzie envied those sons who were off at college in Boston. She wished she were their younger sister, but of course she was far too old. The boys were nineteen and twenty, and Lizzie was thirty-two already. Old enough to have teenage sons of her own!

Enid made them both salads with fresh vegetables from her garden, refreshed the cold coffee and they ate in the sitting room with the salads on their laps and the drinks on stacks of periodicals. Enid continued to talk.

“There came a time,” she said, “not too long after Charles died, when I went through all his financial affairs and came to the realization that he left us in the exact condition I would expect. The house was paid for, there was enough for us to live until the boys left home, and then there was enough for me to survive, barely, I’m sure, the rest of my life.

“But that wasn’t enough for me. The boys wanted to go on with their studies. Charles didn’t allow for that, but I had to. I could never deny my boys something so important for their future. So I got a job with the law firm. And I work hard. And even that isn’t enough. . .” Enid looked off into the ether. Then she shook her head, smiled at Lizzie and came back to the moment. “So I do what I have to do to keep my boys in school. And I will do whatever it takes to see them through. Charles Junior is almost finished. And he already has employment opportunities.”

There was a long silence. Lizzie had nothing to say, except to voice her admiration, but that was somehow inappropriate.

“I guess the point is, Lizzie, that I’ve done some things that I’m not necessarily proud of, in the ruthlessness of providing for my sons. I have been ruthless. And cunning, I think. And not entirely aboveboard, if you know what I mean. But I would do it all again, and more. And more.

“And yet. . . I see Charles Junior’s education coming to an end, and I wonder if those things I did that weren’t very nice. . . were they really necessary? I mean, if I had refused to do those things, would other means of finding the money for him have come along?”

Lizzie picked at her cuticles, suddenly embarrassed by this revelation.

“Well!” Enid stood up, took Lizzie’s dinnerware and disappeared into the kitchen. “How about a piece of pie?”

Seizing the lighter moment, Lizzie said, “You baked a pie? In this heat?”

“No, I bought it. Apple. Want some?”

“Oh yes, please.”

Enid brought in two generous slices of pie. “I don’t generally indulge myself, but now and then, one must. Don’t you think so?”

“Now and then,” Lizzie said seriously, “one must.” And then they attacked their dessert.

They lingered, then, filled with good food and comfortable in the silence between them.

“Spend the night,” Enid said. “Whatever was making you so miserable at home will still be there in the morning. Stay here and put it off for a night.”

Lizzie thought about what was going on at home. Bridget was hiding in her room; she did that every time there was a disturbance with Emma. Emma was pacing or foaming at the mouth or raging at Father. Father was being confronted, probably by Abby, who was to tell him that some one of her kin was trying to kill him. Oh, she had no desire to go back there. None.

“All right,” she said. “That would be nice.”

“A nice, cool tub?”

Lizzie laughed. “Yes. Yes!”

Enid drew a tub for Lizzie, and poured a generous amount of fragrant salts in it for her. Lizzie disrobed, throwing her smelly, sweaty clothes into a pile in the corner. She stepped into the tub, one foot at a time, and the cool water surrounded her. This was heaven.

She heard Enid moving about in the kitchen and sitting room, and knew that she could take as long as she liked in this tub. It smelled so good, it felt so good. Lizzie wanted nothing more than to just stay in this house this night and then forever. Enid could go to work every day and Lizzie would clean house and cook and do the laundry for her, making sure everything was just right. . .

But it was a short-lived fantasy. Lizzie knew that Enid could barely support herself and her sons, never mind a hanger-on.

She could get a job.

Ha.

Lizzie splashed sweet water on her face and resolved not to think about it anymore. She was chained to her father for the rest of his life. Just as Kathryn Peters had said.

And yet, Enid had been ruthless, too. Enid had done things she wasn’t proud of, Enid had done whatever it took to get money for her sons.

Enid had the courage to do what she had to do; Beatrice had the courage to do what she had to do. . . Buying a small house of her own in town was not nearly the monumental task the other two women faced. Surely Lizzie could accomplish that little detail.

She splashed her face again and resolved not to think of it any more. Instead, she looked around the bathroom and saw Enid’s little pieces of jewelry, cosmetics, creams, lotions, perfumes. And the stack of magazines next to the tub. Lizzie picked one up.
Harper’s
. She opened it and lay comfortably back in the cool tub. This was good. This was very good. This is the way life was meant to be.

~~~

Dried, fully refreshed, smelling of fabulous oils and lotions and wearing Enid’s cotton robe, Lizzie again sat in the living room. Life at the Borden house could easily have been on the other side of the world. Lizzie was caught up in Enid’s completely unorganized way of living, and she loved it. She carried the magazine with her from the bathroom, and set it upon one stack of magazines in the living room, where it stayed. Later, when they talked about sleeping, Lizzie picked up another from a different stack and carried it to the bedroom. She could easily see how the piles could grow, disorganized and wanton.

Lizzie again donned the nightshirt she’d worn to bed with the headache the week before. Enid wore her nightie, and a sleeping cap. Lizzie just let her hair down loose.

“Your parents won’t be worried about you?”

“I don’t think so.”

They slipped between the covers, and Enid turned down the lamp. “This reminds me of when I was a little girl,” she said. “I used to sleep over with my cousins. Three of us in one bed, and we’d tickle each other’s backs and tell romance stories about the men of our dreams.”

“I have cousins,” Lizzie said, “but we never did anything like that.”

“No? Poor girl. Here. Lie on your stomach. Pull your nightshirt up, that’s a girl. Now I’m going to write a message on your back, one letter at a time, and you try to guess what it is.”

Enid’s fingers sent thrills across Lizzie’s naked skin. Goosebumps rose and fell in waves, and she felt her face flush in the dark.

“What’s that letter, Lizzie?”

But Lizzie couldn’t speak.

“C’mon.” Enid’s finger traced the same pattern again.

“L.”

“Good. And this one?”

“O. V. E.”

“That was our favorite word. And then we had to erase the word like this.” And Enid’s fingers gently caressed Lizzie’s skin, softer and softer, until finally, the fingertips just barely floated over her back and all Lizzie could feel was the heat from her hand.

Then Enid bounced on the bed, rolling over and pulling up her nightie. “Your turn.”

Pale moonlight shown through the bedroom window. They were to sleep with only a sheet over them, but the sheet was down around Enid’s thighs and her firm bottom showed smooth and round in the moonlight. The skin on her back was lightly dotted with moles. Lizzie’s mouth went dry. She poised her hand over Enid’s back, but could not think of a single word to spell. She put her palm down on the center of her back and rubbed lightly.

“Umm. That feels wonderful.”

Lizzie sat up so to use both hands, and soon she was rubbing Enid’s back, sides, neck, shoulders. The nightie came off. Lizzie worked her feet, her lower legs, her thighs, her beautiful, beautiful round butt, and then, she couldn’t help herself, she just had to, just had to. . . and she kissed it. “You’re so beautiful,” she said.

Enid turned and brought Lizzie to her in a warm embrace, and their bodies fit together as if they were molded for each other. Lizzie kissed Enid with raw passion, Enid finessed Lizzie’s  coarser moves with a practiced hand.

But this was not like Kathryn Peters. No. Kathryn Peters was selfish and greedy. Enid was giving and gentle. Understanding. Lizzie had never felt so wanted, so desirable. So loved.

After a time, they slept, entwined. And when she woke up, Enid was looking at her, their faces close, and Lizzie closed her eyes and kissed Enid’s lips, and soon they were dancing again, pleasing each other, learning about each other, and it was a glorious time, a glorious time.

Tuesday, August 2

When Lizzie opened her eyes, summer shone through the window, and Enid sat in front of it, wrapped in nightie and robe, chin on her fist, elbow on a stack of books. Lizzie stretched and yawned, feeling smiley and cozy, but when Enid didn’t even look around, she worried.

“Good morning,” she said.

Enid looked over at her, but her face was eclipsed by the bright light behind her. Lizzie could see no expression. “Hi,” Enid said, her voice soft. She stood up and stretched. “Well, I better get going.”

Something was definitely wrong.  Guilt surged through Lizzie and she jumped out of bed and blocked Enid’s way. Enid would not meet her eyes.

“What is it?” Panic began to rise. “God, what is it?”

“Nothing, Lizzie.”

“Please don’t do that, Enid,” Lizzie pleaded. “Please don’t say ‘nothing, Lizzie.’”

Enid’s small hand touched Lizzie’s cheek and her eyes flooded. “You’re so sweet,” she said. “You’re so wonderful. No, Lizzie, it isn’t you. It’s me. There’s something the matter with me, and it’s not you. You’re wonderful.” Then her eyes dropped again, and one tear fell down her cheek and she tried to get around Lizzie.

“Please tell me.” Lizzie wouldn’t let her pass.

“I’ve done some terrible things in my life, Lizzie,” Enid said, looking at the floor. “Somehow, when Charles died and the boys left home, I thought my life was pretty much over, except for church and the garden. So I never thought it mattered much what I did. And now I see that it does. That’s all.”

Reluctantly, Lizzie let her pass.  Enid went into the bathroom and closed the door. Lizzie went into the kitchen and poured two glasses of tea. It was already too hot to make a fire in the stove. She found a coffee cake and cut two pieces, and then quartered a pear. Her stomach burned. Why was there always something? There was
always
something! If not at home, then at Kathryn’s. If not at Kathryn’s, then at home. If not at Kathryn’s, or at home, then at Enid’s. God! And now, and
now
, there was something going on at home
and
at Enid’s,
and
at Kathryn’s, and more coming via Washington, D.C. tomorrow night!

Lizzie wanted to hide.

But the toilet flushed and the bathroom door opened and Enid came out, looking sheepish and apologetic. Her eyes were red-rimmed; she’d been crying in the bathroom.

“Come have breakfast.”

Enid sat down, smiling a small smile. She cut a forkful of coffee cake and washed it down with tea. “I’m sorry, Lizzie, I’m really not very hungry. She put her fork down. “But I want you to understand something.” She took both of Lizzie’s hands in her own. “Last night was more than I had ever dreamed would happen to me again. I’m not an old woman, Lizzie, I’m only forty years old. But life has a way of excluding you from things, especially in Fall River. The skeletons in my closet have nothing to do with you. I think you are the sweetest, most precious thing that has come into my life in a long, long time. And I’m just afraid that my past actions will hurt you.”

“There’s nothing you could do to hurt me, Enid,” Lizzie said.

Enid smiled sadly and sipped her tea. “I better be getting ready for work.”

Lizzie hated the thought of going home. She followed Enid into the bedroom, where the heat of the new day was already burning. Enid pulled the shades and let the draperies fall over them. Then they both dressed.

They kissed at the door. Then Enid opened it and they put on faces for the world, false faces, faces of happiness and composure, when both of them felt their insides being gnawed away by forces beyond their control.

~~~

Lizzie opened the door and Emma ran to greet her, a dangerous light in her eyes. “They
are
going to kill Father,” she said eagerly.