Things You Don’t Say To Lizzie Borden

Things You Don’t Say To Lizzie Borden

By Maureen Mancini Amaturo

My Dear Millicent,

            I am sorry you are away during this very social season and do hope you will return soon to join me at the many gatherings still to come. I particularly wish you could have been with me at William’s most recent event. Such a disturbing affair it turned out to be. Quite happy that evening is behind me.

William had introduced me to a short, glacier-eyed woman in a lavender dress that evening, a Miss Borden. The name was unfamiliar to me. He did warn me to be cautious with my words, inasmuch as Miss Borden was a bit sensitive. Since William said she attended many affairs in his circle, I thought, well, how sensitive could she be? Then, before I knew it, William, had disappeared, and I — left standing with this frumpish guest who seemed to be under the influence of a good dose of laudanum — found myself in the awkwardly painful position to make small talk. As it turns out, she is Andrew Borden’s girl. Shame on me for not making the connection. I cannot say I have seen Mr. Borden around town lately, but it seems his daughter, Lizzie, has become quite social. A new development, apparently, as we have never seen her at affairs previously. Well, she made her way to William’s that night.  

Naturally, small talk can be harmless, but should, nonetheless, be spoken after clear thought. As we know, like a sharp tool, the art of conversation should be honed and handled with care. Saying the wrong thing to the wrong person might well mean social death. Remember Amelia Barstow’s indiscretion? But as we in our circle abide by propriety, of course, I am sure no one among us would say anything less than respectful. So, for the life of me, I cannot explain why this Lizzie Borden took offense to almost everything anyone mentioned to her at William’s that evening. We were all rather nonplussed. 

Not knowing this Miss Lizzie Borden, I exercised caution. You know what they say about first impressions. Well, I may not have known much of her, but I learned a few things soon enough. Since you, like myself, are relatively new to Fall River, let me share some advice should you have the misfortune of being placed in my position at a future gathering.

What I came to discover from personal experience, and conversation with others after that evening at William’s, is that there are topics and phrases that have proven troublesome with Miss Borden. So, you should not think for a moment I have done or said anything inappropriate to put Miss Borden’s corset in a pinch, may I tell you it has come to light that many have had a rather disquieting experience with the woman. 

I abhor gossip. You know I do. What I tell you is not in the spirit of wagging tongues but in friendship. With Miss Borden moving among several of our circle’s affairs now, a disquieting confrontation could befall any one of us. Millicent, you should know conversation with that woman calls for strict awareness. 

At William’s event, Bertha asked, “How is your family?” and Miss Borden walked away with not so much as a by your leave. It pains me to tell you that was not the worst of it. Lizzie Borden slapped dear Bertha before turning away. Oh, the impudence! How embarrassing for Bertha, the little lamb. I was in another room during this unfortunate encounter so didn’t see it myself. However, it was the talk of the evening and the day after. 

Of course, we all have our preferences when it comes to the food table, but it is the height of effrontery to disclose to a host when the food served is not to one’s liking. How many times have we been subjected to Violet Ames’ indigestible beef and peas medley? And did either of us show even a smidge of distaste for the meal? Of course not. However, on that evening at William’s, he had arranged a variety of hors d’oeuvres in the parlor and then pointed to his dining room and announced, “There is mutton on the table.” Well, I was embarrassed for him when Lizzie Borden made no effort to conceal her gag reflex. She then patted her midsection and produced a small Papoid tablet pack from her purse. Quite the scene. Appalling, nothing less than appalling. Poor William. Let us be sure not to offer Miss Borden mutton at any of our gatherings.

Margaret Dunleavy–you know her. She is the thin woman who hires our Bible school instructors, the one whose husband went bankrupt last year and took to drink and to the widow Henley. And yes, Mr. Dunleavy and that hussy are still spotted together around town. Such a scandal. Poor Margaret. Well, at William’s party Margaret asked Miss Borden, “Are you going to the father-daughter dance?” An innocent enough question, one would think, and certainly not funny. That Borden woman never stopped laughing long enough to answer. I, for one, was sorry to have missed the humor in that exchange. The tension in the room at William’s that evening was thick. We all could have done with some levity.

At a pre-theater event two nights after William’s gathering, I came upon Miss Borden again. While I should like to tell you that she most certainly was not dressed in a style befitting the evening, her style was the least of it. What I will tell you is the private exchange we shared. I invited her to step aside with me, and with genuine concern, suggested she may not be aware of a dark, red stain just below her bodice. I simply said, “Miss Borden, perhaps you spilled some cranberry juice on your dress. You are welcome to borrow my shawl for the evening to cover it.” Her face became as red as that stain, and her eyes looked absolutely murderous. Lesson learned. I will mind my own business and not mention any potentially embarrassing situation to Lizzie Borden again. 

Just a few days later, I saw Emerson Fitzgerald at our fire brigade parade. He said Lizzie Borden had visited his store recently to purchase several yards of broadcloth and was not prepared to pay for her purchase. He asked, “Can you borrow the money from your parents?” Emerson said she pounded the counter, and the smile on her face may have suggested that she already had. Personally, I thought his question audacious the moment he told me, but, naturally, I kept my thoughts to myself. Why anyone would be so bold as to discuss personal finances is beyond me. Such a vulgar topic. But there are some, like Emerson Fitzgerald, who just let curiosity speak for itself without regard for social propriety. By the way, he is now engaged to Ruth Barnes. I was surprised to hear that news since she is hardly half his age. You’ll likely agree with the rest of us that it is probable Ruth is more attracted to his holdings than to him.    

I caught a bit of a chill at the parade and took to my bed for several days, which caused me to miss Clara Prior’s party. Since I was not there myself, mind you, what I am about to share came to me from Mary Josephson, who was there. She phoned to tell me that at the party, one unfortunate chap, whose tongue had a mind of its own, said to Miss Borden, “You are just like your father.” Lizzie tossed her claret punch in his face with vigor. I do wish we had both been there to see that. Should you note a similarity between father and daughter when you meet her, and if you feel compelled to comment on this yourself, and you should not, you may want to step aside.

While I was recuperating, Helen Sullivan came to call with her chicken soup. She told me of the whispers throughout the neighborhood concerning another Lizzie Borden outburst. At a fundraiser for our local councilman, it seems Constable Hanrahan casually mentioned to Miss Borden, “I hear you’ve been called to jury duty.” Lizzie Borden spat and left the building. Imagine that. The talk now, though, is what has become of Constable Hanrahan? He has not been seen since, and the town has filled his position with a replacement while they investigate his disappearance. So, I say should the topic of juries, or for that matter any court topic, arise, don’t speak of it with Lizzie Borden, just to avoid any unpleasant circumstances. Certainly, her reaction to that statement and the good Constable’s disappearance may not be related at all. One does wonder, however, and I can tell you I am not alone in wondering. Helen, for one, is quite on edge about that Borden woman. 

My first day leaving my sick bed, I went straight to Johnson’s Pharmacy. I was not prepared at all for what he had to say. Lizzie Borden threatened him. Mr. Johnson said she has threatened several local pharmacists when they told her, “Sorry, we are all out of Prussic Acid.” Also, she uttered an obscenity, took her money back, and stomped out of the store bumping into other customers on the way. Quite rude.  

Thankfully, I did not have a relapse after venturing out, and I was able to attend services last Sunday. After services, I overheard Reverend Macauley say to Miss Borden, “You should be more like your sister, Emma.” That set the bees from Lizzie’s bonnet. All of us who witnessed Miss Borden’s outburst at the good Reverend have been talking about this since. I wish I knew what she had done to cause Reverend to say it in the first place. As soon as I find out, I will write again. But honestly, I am sure he never expected Miss Borden to insist she does not have a sister. Well, from what I heard that day, others–and obviously Revered Macauley–know she most certainly does. Some of our town’s long-time residents say they had watched those two Borden girls attend church together for years. I heard that Lizzie’s sister is quite the opposite than she in disposition. Margaret Dunleavy said that before Emma moved away it was always a pleasure to see her at the Christian Endeavor Society coffee-and-donut socials. Mary McPherson, my neighbor across the way, said she wrote to Emma, who now lives in New Hampshire–no wonder neither you nor I have met her–but Emma never replied. How those two girls adopted such uncouth behavior I will never know with their father holding such impressive positions in business. When I see him again, I just might mention, in a subtle way, of course, that his daughters have a bit to learn about manners. Perhaps the next time Lizzie is away from the house seeing to her charity work at the Fruit and Flower Mission or the Hospital of the Good Samaritan, I will pay a call at their home.

Miss Weatherly told Margaret and Margaret told me that on Monday, Miss Weatherly was discussing with Lizzie the long-standing spat between George, our grocer, and Edward, the delivery wagon driver while outside the market. All was fine until Miss Weatherly suggested it was Edward who justifiably had an ax to grind. As Margaret tells it, Miss Weatherly feared the look on Lizzie’s face to a degree that prompted her to excuse herself and leave immediately. Curious. That is such a casual phrase. You know how we all use casual phrases from time to time. It is just part of being neighborly. The ladies and I were discussing this at our Wednesday lunch, but we just don’t know what the issue could be with such a familiar phrase. Naturally, we would discuss this further with Miss Weatherly, but we have not been able to contact her. No one has seen the poor dear. Since Miss Weatherly has no husband, no children, and no family in town, it is impossible to ask after her. Wonder what became of her.

If you want to be ignored by Lizzie Borden, just say, “I have a gentleman friend I would like you to meet.” What is so wrong with that? Is it not natural to want to see love bloom? I mean, if you knew a nice gentleman who was looking for a wife, I am sure you would mention that to a suitable single woman, would you not? At lunch Wednesday–and I do wish you were there, we talked of so many things that I can barely strain my memory to retell half of them–we found out from Bridget O’Malley that several ladies in town have tried to arrange meetings for Lizzie with local young men in the past and have all experienced the same thing. Dead silence. No reaction at all. There is a woman–a woman no one seems to know–that Miss Borden is often seen with around town. Strange thing. They say it is this unfamiliar woman who reacts–with anger, may I say–to the idea of Miss Borden meeting a gentleman.  

Remember those neighborly phrases I mentioned earlier? I heard Lily Buffsford say “Over my dead body” to Lizzie at a council meeting just yesterday when Lizzie suggested Lily be replaced as Treasurer. Many casually utter this phrase. I say it myself. However, Lizzie hit the purse right out of Lily’s hand. Well, with the inappropriateness of the whole situation, I could not look away. And poor William. He made the mistake of saying that to Lizzie at his own party that night, and I thought Lizzie’s face would burst into flames. William, the poor dear, has since moved away, right after his unfortunate gathering that evening. We assume he has moved, though we have not seen a for sale sign on his home, which remains empty, nor has he bothered to say good bye to any of us. No one knows where he went to. I do miss dear William. 

For such an irascible woman, Lizzie Borden is present at many of our town’s affairs these days. No doubt you will have the opportunity to meet her yourself. Lizzie Borden may be one of the wealthiest women in town, but she is certainly not one of the most popular. She is rather unpopular, to tell the truth. But far be it from me to utter unkind words about anyone. Perhaps, I have just gotten off on the wrong foot with Miss Borden. I would certainly like to bury the hatchet and give it a new start. When you return, the three of us can lunch. 

The moral here is mind what you say, especially in a small town like ours. Take after me and keep to your own business, don’t spread gossip. Of course, you are a dear, and I know you would never prattle on.

So much has come to pass since you have been away this past month. Hopefully, your dear sister’s health is improving so you can come back to Fall River. I am anxious for your return. Enough for now. I must get to our Ladies Auxilary meeting. I imagine there will be more to share in my next letter.

Your friend,

Prudence

P.S. When was the last time I saw Andrew Borden? Now that I think of it, I have not seen him nor his wife in quite some time.