Lizzie Borden Read Online Free PDF

course, if you watch your weight.”
    Lizzie felt like a child. She felt as if she’d never break out of the icy igloo that having four parents had built around her. She was never allowed an opinion, she was never allowed her own taste, she was never allowed to express herself in any manner, if it were the least bit unconventional.
    “I’m going to stop by the dry goods store and buy some yellow and pink cottons,” she said to Emma. “At least I can stitch myself a couple of dusters.”
    Emma nodded her approval.
    She would sew them, Lizzie knew, but she had neither the patience nor the talent for needlework that Emma and their stepmother had. Abby Borden created masterpieces at the sewing machine, and Emma did intricate work by hand. Lizzie did adequate work, but it was rustic, and the result usually ill-fitting.
    The sisters parted ways in town, Emma going to stop by the post office before heading back home, Lizzie going to the dry goods store for her little calico symbol of rebellion.
    That evening, when Emma’s two quiet knocks came at her door, Lizzie went down to take up her supper before Andrew and Abby were called to the table. Supper consisted of crusty bread spread with salted lard and a bowl of stewed cabbage. Lizzie wondered if the household budget had really expired this early in the month or if Emma had made a meager meal in order to spite Father. She ladled her bowlful and took it up to her room. She was glad she’d pilfered the cakes from yesterday’s tea, because she had no appetite for the meal.
    As always, she was glad to have slipped in and out of the kitchen without meeting anyone else; as far as she knew, Father was in his room, Bridget in hers, and Abby was out.
    She dipped her spoon into the stew and blew across it to cool. It didn’t taste bad, but Emma’s culinary expertise had clearly gone the wayside for this meal.  Then her bedroom door opened, and Emma came in, her eyes downcast.
    “Emma. What is it?”
    “I am at my wits’ end with that old man, Lizzie.”
    “Emma, he’s our father.” She looked at the door that separated her bedroom from his. “And he might hear you.”
    Emma lowered her voice. “You may call him Father if you like. To me he’s a miserly, mean old man. And I don’t care at all if he hears me. He’s heard it all before.”
    Lizzie set her bowl of stew aside.
    “I’m going to leave.”
    “Emma, no.”
    “I cook for him, I clean for him, and he cannot even speak to me with a civil tone. The household budget makes allowances only for swill. We are ordered to wear very few dresses made of inexpensive fabric. We are never allowed to entertain. In fact, we have no friends, Lizzie.”
    “That’s not true, Emma. . .”
    “It might as well be. I’m going to ask the wretched old man for my inheritance, and I will leave.”
    “Leave!” Lizzie was stunned. “Where will you go?”
    “We have cousins. Mother has many relatives in Fairhaven. I can be in touch with them, surely there are opportunities for a woman of my talents.”
    “Oh, I’ve no doubt about that, Emma, but whatever shall I do here without you?”
    “You could come with me.” She took a deep breath, “if only you didn’t have to be a nursemaid to him.”
    “Oh, no, no. I could never leave Father like that. I couldn’t go. . . to another town, I don’t think.” Please don’t make me choose between you, Emma.”
    “Why? That might force his lovely wife to start washing his underwear and drying his pots and pans. She might have to start earning her inheritance.” Emma’s face began that tight redness again. “That farm belonged to our mother, you know, Lizzie. He has no right to deed it to that woman.”
    Lizzie knew there would be no talking to her in this state. “You talked with him again, didn’t you? Why didn’t you just let it rest for a while, Emma?”
    “I got nowhere.”
    “Let him think about what you’ve said for a couple of days. Maybe what you said will make him