See What I Have Done

‘Yes, of course.’ How much more could I give her?

My heart groaned and I thought of Father’s blindness to all my sacrifices for Lizzie: as a teenager devoted to her scholarly pursuits of God while my own diminished; giving up my bedroom; the constant attention; the lullabies at night; the tiring days of listening to her rants; abandoning the life that might have come with Samuel. All of it for Lizzie. My flesh heated. How could Father not have noticed? Always putting Lizzie first, always taking her side, never asking my opinion. It felt wrong to think of these things, to hold grievances while he lay in the sitting room.

The dining room door opened: feet shuffled, a grunt. My skin flushed then cooled to goosebumps. I was empty. I had wanted to tell Father so much. Maybe I should have been honest with him, told him my real reasons for going to Fairhaven.

The side door opened. John stood in the doorway, said, ‘Emma,’ and walked slowly towards me, his hands clasped. ‘It’s a tragedy. Just a tragedy.’

‘Hello, Uncle.’ I braced myself for his touch.

John placed his hands on my shoulders, didn’t notice the jump in my muscles, the drag of my feet. He smelled of sweat and chewing tobacco, of sticky pear, of a slight medicinal smell.

‘Emma, my condolences.’ John’s voice high-pitched.

‘Thank you.’ I began to tire of being the polite one.

‘You’ll be staying on, John?’ Dr Bowen said from behind me.

‘Of course. I wouldn’t dream of leaving them alone.’

I was no child. ‘I could manage . . .’

‘Nonsense. I intend to stay as long as I’m needed. This is all beyond comprehension.’ John’s head, back and forth in disbelief.

‘When did you get here?’ I caught the accusation on my tongue.

‘Last night. I thought I would visit your father and Abby while I attended to some business nearby.’ John was a pendulum on his heels.

‘Where was Lizzie?’

He was quick with answers. ‘I saw her at dinner and then she went to visit your friend, Alice. She seemed to be quite upset, actually.’

‘Why did you think so?’

‘I didn’t think it important to ask. She came home after I went to bed.’ John eyed me, a hawk.

Nothing was said for a time.

‘To think we all had such a lovely time together last night. Now this.’ John shook his head, his voice thick with quiver.

‘Yes, it’s hard to believe.’ I wanted to run away. Bile swirled. I was beginning to sink, waited for it all to be over.

‘I’m going to check on Lizzie,’ John said. ‘See if she’s alright.’

I straightened. ‘No, she’s sleeping. I’ll check her later.’

‘I insist. I need her to know that I’m here to take care of things.’ He ran his free hand over hair, smiled.

I bit my tongue until blood nearly burst. I didn’t want him anywhere near my sister. John headed for the back stairs.

Dr Bowen said, ‘I’ll leave now and come by tomorrow morning. If anything should happen during the night, send for me.’

‘Yes, alright.’

The sound of men leaving.

Upstairs slow-moving feet sounded across floorboards, the low rumble of John and Lizzie filled the house. I heard the clock on the mantel, the ticking slower than heartbeats. What was the last sound Father and Abby heard? I sat for a moment and listened: the house seemed to forget that they ever existed.

The sudden emptiness of bodies, the way the air felt cold, a void. I stood in the kitchen, wondered what I should do next, but all I could think about was what happened that morning: Abby struggling to hide as she was repeatedly hit; the sounds she made as she cried for it all to stop. Lizzie finding Father and then Lizzie calling me home. The police had told me to take comfort in knowing that the house remained a fortress.

‘Nobody is coming back for you.’ A voice in my ear. ‘We’ll make sure the house is locked right up!’

I looked at the officer. ‘Alright.’

‘And we have officers guarding everything.’

‘Alright.’

And then the officer walked away.

I stood still for the longest time, waited to hear Lizzie’s movements. I wanted to speak to her, to go over the events, to understand what it was that Lizzie had seen. What was the best way to console the unknown? I looked at my hands, flipped them over and over and I wondered what I should do next.

There was a time in my life when I believed I could have a place in the world, that I deserved bigger things than the average young woman because I could imagine an existence outside of Fall River, outside family life. Then I turned twenty-five and everything I knew about myself all but ended. It was the year Father tried to marry me off.

‘It’s time you became a wife,’ Father had said one morning, adjusting his black cotton bowtie in the mirror. It was as if the notion had only just occurred to him, that he had become aware that a daughter my age should be palmed off to another man. Up until then Father hadn’t shown a sense of urgency in the matter. Neither had I. I had liked the idea of marriage, liked that it would take me away from the family, from Father, but I wasn’t sure I wanted a husband in the way that I was meant to: living side by side, day in day out, having to abide by what they wanted versus what I wanted. I already had that with Lizzie. I needed something more. If I were to take someone I wanted to do the choosing.

Father would not allow it. ‘I know who is best for you. You need to wait until you’ve matured to make those decisions.’

‘You want me to wait until I’m thirty-six, like Abby did? By your own admission I’m old enough now.’

He shot a finger at me. ‘Your mother has nothing to do with this, Emma. You mind yourself.’

Father and his changing. Just like those times he wanted me in school then out. I could see through him, could see that he wanted me around to keep Lizzie in line, to make sure I didn’t live a life he did not approve of. I hated him.

Father put the word out that I needed a suitor. ‘We’re a fine family to join,’ he said. ‘There will be many fine men to choose from.’ We waited. As it turned out, nobody wanted to marry a Borden. Men didn’t come knocking at our door, did not bother talking to me at social engagements. I hadn’t realised how lonely a heart could become. I put all that behind me, concentrated on how I could make myself happy.

But Father became impatient. ‘I’ve made contact with associates outside Fall River who have eligible sons.’

He made me feel diseased. I suspected I would not have much say over who my suitors would be. The more he searched the more I disliked the idea of marriage. Months went by. Then replies to Father’s letters began to arrive, made him smile. ‘Emma! We’ve found someone. A wonderful young man from a respectable family like us. I think it would be good for all involved.’

I wondered if love would play a part in any of this. ‘What if we don’t get along?’

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