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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You’re wrong, you know: I don’t need your parties, your money, or even your smile—keep all that to yourself, and it makes no difference to me. I’ve never asked you to put on a show; if you’re unhappy, be unhappy and I’ll be right there with you, doing my best to change the situation. I lie for a living—I don’t need more lies cluttering up my leisure time. Even the gentle sort, offered with good intentions.
Your insistence that I should stay away from Fall River “for my own good” is nonsense. I’d like to say we both know that, but perhaps it’s only me, after all. Perhaps you honestly feel you’re doing me some favor, by sending me away like a nervous child to a boarding school, for my own protection and well-being.
Unfortunately for you (but of dear happiness to me!) I am not a child, and I cannot be dismissed so summarily. Therefore, let this letter serve as formal notice that I am coming to visit!
Not in this next week or two, but surely by the end of April. You may expect that I’ll stay a few days or more, and I won’t hear any protests to the contrary. You miss me. I know you do! I couldn’t possibly miss you so thoroughly as I do, if it’s all for naught and unreciprocated. I refuse to believe in a God so cruel as that.
(He’s plenty cruel enough as it is, don’t you think?)
Oh, Lizbeth, if you had any idea, these last few months . . . it’s been a nightmare. The whirlwind kind, where you’re tossed about from place to place, and can’t remember anyone’s name, or any of your lines . . . and the curtain is about to rise. They’re the worst nightmares of all, the kind you can’t wake up from—when it’s all too real, and I’m all too awake, and none of this is anyone’s fault but my own.
I could’ve taken the winter off, you know. I could’ve stayed in my apartment and rested, or I might’ve even sneaked into town to see you. For just one party, perhaps? Just a few short nights, and then back to New York on the train. You could’ve come with me, if you liked. They’re different about things, in the city. I could tell you I loved you, if I wanted, and not worry so much that someone might overhear.
But I didn’t take the winter off. And you didn’t come to New York. And now I’m stuck here by my own design. This season, all the blame can lie with me. I took the second play, when I should’ve thrown my hands into the air and pleaded exhaustion.