I left them talking in the sitting room, Lizzie telling him that Mrs Borden was out, and I went up the back stairs, my head and body aching, went up to my room, shut the door a little, and lay hot on my bed.
Last winter, we had snow and wind, right up against the house all night like a ghost knocking to be let in, like it wanted to bury us. I’d gone down the back stairs, my ankles clicking, and I knocked on Mr and Mrs Borden’s bedroom door until my knuckles purpled. Mr Borden opened the door. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m worried about the snow. It’s soundin’ like a blizzard’s comin’.’
He crossed his arms. ‘The house is secure. It will pass.’
‘Yes, but I’m wonderin’ whether . . .’
‘Bridget, leave us be. The house is secure.’
He shut the door, Mrs Borden calling to him, ‘What’s wrong with Bridget?’ She should’ve come to the door, talked with me. They both should’ve listened to me. I went back to my room, and in the morning I woke to Mrs Borden yelling, ‘The door will not open! Andrew, it’s blocking us in.’
I ran down the stairs, found her at the side door, frantic. ‘Bridget,’ she said, ‘something terrible has happened.’ We looked at the door. I’d tried to tell him. The house wouldn’t let us out.
Later Lizzie opened a shutter. Feet of snow compacted against the window. She pressed her hand against the glass, sweaty print on my clean window, and said, ‘It feels like it’s inside with us.’ The snow wasn’t white but was muck-sleet soot, pebbles and dirt, had little twigs from trees.
‘Close the shutter,’ Mr Borden said.
‘But I want to see how long I can keep my hand on the glass.’ A whine.
He sighed, said, ‘I told you to close the shutter.’ His voice a boom. Lizzie did what she was told.
‘Tea ta warm ya up?’ I asked.
Mr Borden turned to me. ‘Fine. Be sure to check all the windows are shut. I don’t want a drop of heat leaving this house.’
‘Yes, sir.’ I nodded, did what I was told as well. The house was closed up.
The beginning of days together. Lizzie and Emma kept to their side of the house, up in their rooms like mice. They would call for me, say, ‘Bridget, come and take our plates away.’
‘Bridget, bring us tea.’
‘Bridget, is there any cake left?’
They called out and called out, never left their rooms, made me work until I got a stitch. I’d have to fetch their slops pails, fetch their dirty underdrawers, fetch them news of what their parents were up to. Often they would fight among themselves, sister spats, fill the house with yelling and slammed doors, and I’d try to close my ears to them, block them out and get on with the day.
Then, after four days of snow, Lizzie and Emma were forced downstairs with Mr and Mrs Borden when the upstairs radiators gave out. The four of them in that sitting room, with that ticking clock, with their mouths shut tight, with Mr Borden sucking his pipe sliding between his teeth, with me bringing plates of leftover sliced meats, carving with dead cold hands, having the knife slip, my blood rising to skin surface every time, their body heat hitting each other, making them yawn. With that, my nerves were shot.
Lizzie and Emma plaited each other’s hair, Mrs Borden crocheted. They read, and I did what I was asked. One afternoon when we were all in the sitting room, rugged in blankets and the snow still thick, the Bordens fell asleep, their mouths wide, air coming in and out like an ocean tide, smelling of old meat and butter. I sat and bit my nails, thought of dropping my clippings into their mouths to see what would happen. The only thing for sure would be that they’d send me back to the agency, tell them I should never be hired out. I put the clippings in my apron pocket, watched them sleep, wondered what they dreamed. Oh, but I was bored.
I went to the photos on the mantel. There was Emma, there was Lizzie, one year to the next. In Emma’s photos, she always looked in pain, like she’d been told nightmare things. Then there was Lizzie, an opposite. I’d always thought they never quite looked related, instead like one little girl had been plucked from thin air and placed in the bedroom of the other. ‘Here you are,’ someone would’ve said. ‘We’ve found you a sister, someone to keep you company.’ Emma, as if she’d never been happy with the sisterly arrangement.
The blizzard kept on for five more days and we kept on in the house together, all close, all hot, until the weather broke, until the snow melted, and when it did, I was the first to open a window, let in the cold air.
I was thinking of the winter, wondering when Mrs Borden would come home from visiting her relative, wondering how soon I could leave the house, go back to my family, go back to best feelings, when I heard a chock, chock sound come from the bottom of the house.
I thought of Mr Borden and the pigeons. Chock. There was no bird sound. Chock. My heart got to beating fast and I gripped onto my bed, turned to look at my family. Chock, chock. A sound of grunting, like an animal eating. Chock.
Where was that coming from? Chock, chock.
A horse cart rolled down the street. Chock, the air was still, chock, the city bells struck, was much too loud. I gripped onto my bed, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. My bladder felt like bursting. The house went quiet. For a moment I wondered if I was in a dream. I didn’t want to open my door, didn’t want to go downstairs, didn’t want to know what was down there.
Then I heard Lizzie call out, ‘Bridget!’
PART III
FIFTEEN
BENJAMIN
6 May 1905
I NEVER FORGOT Fall River. Roaming town to city, puncturing faces, setting things straight, I never forgot that I had unfinished business. Over a decade and I never forgot. It was only ever a matter of time before I would go there again. On and off I’d think of Andrew and Abby, wonder who had broken them, wonder if I had got to Andrew first, would I have been gentler? Who could say what anyone would do in the heat of the moment? A few months after Fall River, I helped someone else with a problem, leaned in hard, broke a face, broke a neck, a twig, collected payment, then I helped another, and another, kept on helping until I raised enough to help myself, take care of my own problem.