Chapters (206)
- Praise for Maplecroft
- Title page
- Copyright page
- Contents
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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- A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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- I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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- Nance O’Neil
- THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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- AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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- THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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- CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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- HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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- A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Nance O’Neil
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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- Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
- Emma L. Borden
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- Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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- DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
- Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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- Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Emma L. Borden
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- FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Inspector Simon Wolf
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Lizzie tried again, and then reached for her—but the girl’s arm lashed out and threw the other woman backward, crashing into a fallen table. It was too light a gesture for such a magnificent blow, too quick and flippant to have cast her across the room, but there it was. Lizzie gasped and clutched her stomach, but I could see she was not badly hurt. She was stunned, and this was not the first time Nance had cast her aside. I could see that, too.
“Nance, what are you doing?” I asked, thinking a question might prompt more response than a mere call of her name.
I was right.
“Fighting,” she whispered.
“You’re . . . you’re fighting? Fighting what?”
“Him.”
Lizzie climbed to her feet; I heard her behind me, gathering her wits and hauling herself upright. But my eyes were fixed on this girl, bare as the day she was born. Tall, and I don’t suppose I’d ever really noticed it. Sturdy, like she’d grown up with manual labor. Had they mentioned something about it? A farm girl, I wanted to say, but wouldn’t have sworn to it.
“Nance, don’t listen to him,” Lizzie pleaded. “Stay here, for the love of God!”
“I’m trying,” she replied.
Lizzie began to cry. Not a delicate cry that could be conquered with a handkerchief, but more of a manly, racking sob that was so full of rage and sorrow that I felt it like a wave, pushing me forward.
I let it push me one step, then another. I was not within arm’s reach of Nance, no—not quite that close. But I was closer, and she hadn’t moved to evade me, or attack me. “Lizzie’s right,” I told her. “You mustn’t listen to him.”
“I know,” she said. It came out bubbly, like she’d said it underwater, or perhaps her lungs were full of slime.
I commanded her, “Back away from that cooker. It’ll be the death of you, and you know it.”
She agreed, and seemed curiously at peace. “That’s what he says. He says it will kill me.”
“Then back away.”
Her head turned, slowly, a slick pivot on her neck that made all the bones look loose beneath her dolphin-wet skin. She looked me in the eye, and for a span of seconds, I saw her wrestling with something. It flickered back and forth, a white milkiness behind her pupils—and the sharp knowledge of the woman whose soul must somehow remain inside.
She was fighting, yes. Just as she’d said.
I said it again: “Step away from the cooker.”