The trial of Lizzie Borden for the double axe murders of her father and mother began today on June 5, 1893 at the New Bedford Courthouse.
Chapter Seventeen
Those who saw Miss Borden
for the first time were very much astonished. Her newspaper portraits have done
her no justice at all. Some have made her out a hard and hideous fright, and
others have flattered her. She is, in truth, a very plain-looking old maid.
—The
Boston Daily Globe, June 5, 1893
|
L
|
izzie held her head high as she rose and
addressed the court to formally enter her plea. “Not guilty,” she stated, her
voice and conscience clear. “If you please, I will rely on my attorney, Mr.
Andrew Jennings, to speak for me from now on.”
With
that, she sat down to the sound of pencils scratching across paper as the court
artists faithfully replicated her every feature and article of clothing. As the
reporters wrote about the least of her reactions during the legal proceedings,
she took care to keep her face emotionless. She ducked her head to stare at her
hands clasped firmly together in her lap. How long she could maintain such
behavior was yet unknown, though she knew her very life depended on her looking
calm—not like the prosecution’s image of a crazed killer.
That
didn’t mean it came easy. She smoothed the front of her plain black brocade
dress, a fashion some would call rather schoolmarmish; even old-fashioned.
True, maybe, as she was never a slave to the latest fashion trends, though she
did appreciate looking presentable. What she did resent was one newspaper’s
description of her as “a plain old maid” and detailing a look of wear on her
face. Well, given what she was going through and the night’s horrific
encounter, she suspected anyone would look tired and far from their best.
Of
course, this was only the start. Lizzie tried not to fret, especially as the
daily barrage of newspaper reports and speculations kept on. Add to this the
stress from the nightly noises of the other inmates housed near her, the
taunts—Chop-chop, Lizzie, they’d yell—and the undead
creatures parading outside the cell, and it all took its toll. Even the
carriage ride to a larger cell in New Bedford, normally used for the ill and
infirm, offered its stresses. She felt like a museum specimen, but remained
stoic and outwardly calm. It all amounted to pretty good reasons for having
perpetually dark circles under her eyes.
Interestingly,
despite the jailhouse noises, the curious eyes peering at her window from
outside, and the way some jail staff eyed her though they tried not to show it,
Lizzie felt almost glad for the semi-privacy her cell offered after a day in
court. At least she was away from the public and the newspaper writers’
constant prying.
As
she spent another grueling morning in court, listening to her attorneys haggle
with the district attorney over appropriate jury choices and such, her mind
wandered in illogical directions. At one point she wondered—would any women in
the temperance union, or her church associations, sit on her jury if they
could? What did they say about her as they talked with their husbands at home?
Of course she’d seen enough cold stares and unfriendly faces to guess the
answers to both questions. She decided not to dwell on that further lest she
fall deeper into the black hole of melancholy beckoning her.
Back
in her dreary cell, Lizzie walked aimlessly in a circle as exercise and tried
fluffing the rock-hard pillow in an attempt to use up her nervous energy.
Minutes later, the jingle of the matron’s keys let her know she had a
most-welcome visitor, likely John or Emma, the only two besides Mr. Jennings
she could count on these days.
She
stepped back and waited, hands folded primly in front, as the door swung open
to the mood-lifting sight of her sister.
The
matron relocked the door with her usual warning, “I’ll be back in half an
hour.”
Lizzie
reached out and gave Emma a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
Of
course, when she glanced over the courtroom each day, she saw Emma faithfully seated
in the first row. But being able to converse with her sister and touch her, to
feel like someone cared, was much different. To Lizzie, it felt wonderful to be
in contact with someone who would offer cheery conversation, even if was often
one-sided. It still helped to hear about some bit of news; anything, besides her
grim situation.
Emma
returned her hug and after a minute pulled back, waving the woven basket in
front of her. “So, what do we have for today’s special?”
Lizzie
crossed the room in a few steps, patted the bed, and urged Emma to sit down.
She eyed the basket with a big smile, followed by a grimace. “How about
cranberry-apple-prune?”
She
laughed and removed the cloth napkin cover from the basket, revealing a pile of
nicely browned cookies. Even if she could eat just about anything at this point
other than what passed for meals here, nothing equaled Emma’s homemade oatmeal
raisin cookies. She grabbed one and bit into it, savoring the sweetness and the
chewy texture.
“Emma,
these are wonderful, thank you. I never thought a cookie could taste so good.
Do you have any news? Find anything of interest in the papers from the
warehouse?”
“I
have some names.” Emma offered a paper covered with neatly written rows. “Well,
they’re mostly the initials and first names of persons I found in the papers. I
also listed the activities or goods linked to them if it was included. Most
involved office supplies or unspecified items.”
Lizzie
looked at what Emma had carefully recorded. Her hopeful feeling soon turned to
disappointment. “Yes, I see here, SS, wooden crates. BC, shipping containers.
Well, more initials, not much hope there, I fear, unless we can positively
identify the person.”
Letter
after letter flew past her eyes. She saw nothing but initials, until she turned
to the other side. “This looks more promising. Adelaide, typewriting.” Lizzie
glanced up at Emma. “No surname, no initial. Did you look at the class list I
had in my drawer, or the potential applicants list from the church? Maybe there
aren’t many Adelaides who expressed interest.”
Emma
shook her head. “Not yet. I haven’t had a chance. I hope to do it next if I
can. With everything going on…”
Nothing
more needed to be said, of course. Lizzie went back to the list. “Wait, here’s
one thing. Bottles, Samuel S. The other warehouse we were at…” She paused and
tried to remember. “Yes, Samuel Smith. He was listed as the owner of that
dreadful place. We’ll have to look through the rest of the papers, see who else
he’s connected to. Father bought a lot of bottles, I see. I can’t imagine why.”
“He
must have used these bottles for something particular at his business,” Emma
stated.
But
what? Lizzie wondered. An image of all the papers and boxes in that abandoned
warehouse, especially one box with the word BOTT on it—for bottles, she realized—flit through her mind. The thought gnawed
at her. She shrugged and pushed it away to figure out later. “I suppose.”
Emma’s
departure left her with plenty of time to sit and think about her case, not
that she wanted to do more of that. She shifted through the stack of papers
half-heartedly, noting page after page of mundane supplies. The actions made
her feel more discouraged and disheartened, not the kinds of sentiments that
would help her get through this ordeal, she knew.
To
her surprise, the jangle of keys announced another visitor. She stood and
waited for the matron to open the cell door, her eyes widening in surprise to
see John again so soon. He nodded to the matron. “Thank you. I should be done
in about ten minutes.”
Once
the matron disappeared down the hall, Lizzie let all caution go and rushed to
give him a hug. “I miss you.”
To
her chagrin, he gave her arm an almost brotherly squeeze and stepped away. What was going on? Her shock at his
unexpected coldness left her almost breathless, but she forgot that as his next
bit of news unnerved her even more.
He
lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Liz, I don’t have much time. I wanted to let you
know what’s been happening before the matron returns. I suppose you have heard
what seems like more disturbing sounds at night?”
She
agreed and whispered back, “Yes, I do try to get used to it, but it does seem
like there are more of them out there wandering around. I can usually hear them
somewhere outside my window.”
He
shook his head and raked a hand through his hair. “We’ve observed a new pattern
in the last week. Remember I said we think someone is keeping these monsters
confined and letting them out?”
At
her nod, he continued, “Our crews are seeing triple the number of creatures out
on the streets during the day. We’ve doubled patrols, but the danger is
spreading. A woman downtown just missed being attacked when one of the
creatures lurched out of an alleyway. Two of the Society members intervened
before it could do any harm. We told the woman we were police and the man was
sick. A fortunate turn is she didn’t get a good look at him.”
“That
is alarming.” Lizzie gasped, fearing for Emma’s safety. She wrung her hands,
her worry levels rising. “Have they harmed anyone?”
John
shrugged and went on. “We can’t be sure. Police have been checking on several
recent incidents of missing persons, but they can’t say with certainty what
happened. You may not view it as such, and I regret saying this, but the press
is too busy with your trial to bother with much else.”
Lizzie
gave him a sour look. “Yes, how ironic.”
He
shrugged. “All I can say is any reports have mostly been ignored. The police
did issue warnings about being alert, isolated attacks, and being aware of
suspicious, ill persons roaming about. They were buried in the back section of
the papers.”
--(c) 2018 C. Verstraete. More information on the murders can be found at the author's website.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comment Here Unless You're a Spammer