BooksBarbecue
Back Maplecroft
Chapters (206)
  1. Praise for Maplecroft
  2. Title page
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
  7. •   •   •
  8. •   •   •
  9. •   •   •
  10. •   •   •
  11. •   •   •
  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
  13. •   •   •
  14. •   •   •
  15. •   •   •
  16. •   •   •
  17. •   •   •
  18. •   •   •
  19. •   •   •
  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  22. •   •   •
  23. •   •   •
  24. •   •   •
  25. •   •   •
  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
  27. •   •   •
  28. •   •   •
  29. I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
  30. •   •   •
  31. Nance O’Neil
  32. THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
  33. •   •   •
  34. •   •   •
  35. •   •   •
  36. •   •   •
  37. AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
  38. •   •   •
  39. •   •   •
  40. •   •   •
  41. •   •   •
  42. •   •   •
  43. THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
  44. •   •   •
  45. •   •   •
  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  47. •   •   •
  48. •   •   •
  49. •   •   •
  50. •   •   •
  51. •   •   •
  52. •   •   •
  53. BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
  54. •   •   •
  55. CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
  56. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  57. •   •   •
  58. •   •   •
  59. •   •   •
  60. •   •   •
  61. •   •   •
  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
  63. •   •   •
  64. •   •   •
  65. •   •   •
  66. •   •   •
  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  69. •   •   •
  70. •   •   •
  71. Nance O’Neil
  72. •   •   •
  73. •   •   •
  74. •   •   •
  75. •   •   •
  76. •   •   •
  77. •   •   •
  78. •   •   •
  79. •   •   •
  80. •   •   •
  81. •   •   •
  82. •   •   •
  83. •   •   •
  84. Emma L. Borden
  85. •   •   •
  86. •   •   •
  87. •   •   •
  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  89. •   •   •
  90. •   •   •
  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  92. •   •   •
  93. RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
  94. •   •   •
  95. •   •   •
  96. •   •   •
  97. •   •   •
  98. •   •   •
  99. •   •   •
  100. •   •   •
  101. Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
  102. Emma L. Borden
  103. •   •   •
  104. Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
  105. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  106. •   •   •
  107. Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
  108. •   •   •
  109. DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
  110. Emma L. Borden
  111. •   •   •
  112. •   •   •
  113. •   •   •
  114. •   •   •
  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  116. •   •   •
  117. •   •   •
  118. •   •   •
  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  120. •   •   •
  121. •   •   •
  122. •   •   •
  123. •   •   •
  124. •   •   •
  125. •   •   •
  126. •   •   •
  127. •   •   •
  128. •   •   •
  129. •   •   •
  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
  132. •   •   •
  133. •   •   •
  134. •   •   •
  135. •   •   •
  136. •   •   •
  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
  138. •   •   •
  139. Emma L. Borden
  140. •   •   •
  141. •   •   •
  142. •   •   •
  143. •   •   •
  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  145. •   •   •
  146. •   •   •
  147. •   •   •
  148. •   •   •
  149. •   •   •
  150. Emma L. Borden
  151. •   •   •
  152. •   •   •
  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  155. •   •   •
  156. •   •   •
  157. •   •   •
  158. •   •   •
  159. •   •   •
  160. •   •   •
  161. •   •   •
  162. •   •   •
  163. •   •   •
  164. •   •   •
  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  166. •   •   •
  167. •   •   •
  168. •   •   •
  169. •   •   •
  170. •   •   •
  171. •   •   •
  172. •   •   •
  173. •   •   •
  174. •   •   •
  175. •   •   •
  176. Emma L. Borden
  177. •   •   •
  178. •   •   •
  179. •   •   •
  180. •   •   •
  181. •   •   •
  182. •   •   •
  183. •   •   •
  184. •   •   •
  185. •   •   •
  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  187. •   •   •
  188. •   •   •
  189. •   •   •
  190. •   •   •
  191. •   •   •
  192. •   •   •
  193. •   •   •
  194. •   •   •
  195. •   •   •
  196. •   •   •
  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  198. •   •   •
  199. •   •   •
  200. •   •   •
  201. •   •   •
  202. •   •   •
  203. •   •   •
  204. •   •   •
  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
  206. •   •   •

Maybe it was the noise, or the lightning, or just the timing that made every move feel so urgent, so necessary.

They were all small moves, the only motions I could manage, but I did manage them: one hand off the rail, one hand on the rail; use my free hand to grasp the divan; release the rail altogether, lean on the divan; make sure both feet follow, not just the one; hand over hand, foot beside foot, walk the length of the divan and then use one hand to grasp the low table beside it; steady self on the table, which rocks a little from that one leg being not quite the right length; extend one foot to the middle of the floor, to the empty space between me and the liquor cabinet drawer where the gun rested these days; feel the edge of the rug’s hem with my toe, and stretch for it.

Not too fast, now.

Pause. Pull myself together.

Another coughing fit. I hung my head between my hands, and flung more blood, this time on the tilting table and onto the floor; only a little splash reached the divan.

This was a bad one. None of them were good, but this was very bad—one of the worst. I should’ve been in bed. I should have been sitting down at the very least.

I should rest on the floor and wait for my sister or the doctor to return. They would return, surely. Eventually.

But I was within perhaps ten feet of the cabinet, and the gun. I would feel less helpless with the gun, assuming I had the power to lift and wield it, when I barely had the power to lift and wield myself. And outside, a new sound urged me onward, reassuring me that this was a night when I could not afford to be helpless. It was not a keening, precisely . . . it was lower than that. I thought it must be louder than the thunder, though it seemed to come from farther away, from out in the ocean.

It was not the cry of any creature I’d ever heard, and anyway, what throat could produce such a bellow? Nothing smaller than Fall River itself. Nothing smaller than Boston, perhaps. It was as if a whole city screamed in pain or longing.

•   •   •