Sherry Chapmanby Sherry Chapman
First published in August/September, 2007, Volume 4, Issue 3, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.
Dear Abby,
I was on a horsecar the other day and, well, I have thought about it a good deal before writing and decided that you should know. I accidentally overheard two ladies talking. I am not one to eavesdrop, but I could not help hearing your name mentioned. I listened intently, even getting up and moving to be near them, cleverly blaming my seat change on the sun. One said that your youngest, Lizzie, is talking pretty rough about you around town. The other asked what did she mean. And the woman said that Lizzie said that you are the kind that never dies. I just thought you should know, is all. —A Concerned Citizen
Dear Concerned,
My dear, my dear. I assure you that the conversation was not spoken in the sinister tones you relate. A friend had told me this very same story earlier, and I confronted Lizzie with it. She explained it so simply. “Why, no, I did not mean it like that at all,” she said. “What I did mean was you are in good health and it’s good that you will probably live for a very long time. It must be—the mutton.” Do not rush to judgement. There is always another side to the story.
Dear Mrs. Borrden,
It seems as if I cannot talk to you about anything when you are working on your newspaper collum. So I am slipping this note under the door to you. A most peculiar thing has just now happened. When John left this morning, ‘twasnt ten minutes before someone came to the door. Surprized I was to see it was Mr. Winward. I was about to go see what he wanted, when Miss Lizzie called from an upstairs window to him. “You’re too early!” she says. “Try noon.” To which Mr. Winward tipped his hat and walked to his carriage. Why would Miss Lizzie have told Mr. Winward to come over today? Feels like somebody just walked across my grave. —Bridget Sullivan—your servant girl? The one who is washing windows now?
Dear Bridget,
Thank you for not disturbing me. I am told by my editor that I must answer each and every letter that I get, so I will not risk my job and answer you here. I won’t make you wait until this is in the paper before you get an answer from me. I will show this to you as soon as I am done here in the guestroom. As to your question, it beats the slop bucket contents out of me.
Dear Abby,
If you were to be suddenly killed, would you or would you not want to see it coming? —A. Brown Sr.
Dear A,
What an interesting question! Of course I would want to see it coming, so I could tell the police who did it.
Dear Abby,
I want you to know that I despise you. I have hated you for many years. Although I am not one of the Borden girls, I have heard how you got Father—their father I mean—to buy you that half house for your sister, Bertie. You are an interloper. You are not our—their—mother, but merely a replacement for a mother that your husband thought the household needed. For years you have been pulling at Baby Lizzie, trying to get her to love you and trying to take care of her. That was Emma’s job. They didn’t need you. It is good to know that Baby Lizzie finally saw the light and now dislikes you. It was not easy to turn her around. I had to go to a playwright to give me some good lines to feed her until she bit. “Entertain! Who would you entertain?” “We know how Miss Lizzie twists arms. And how she took over Emma’s room, so she could have the big airy one all to herself!” “It didn’t stop you from going on the Grand Tour, and using half of Emma’s money to boot!” I laughed when Baby Lizzie said she would take your arm and pull it out of its socket—when I heard from someone that she said that. I had to get this off of my chest, because I don’t think I will have the chance to later on. —E.L.B. currently in Fairhaven
Dear ELB,
What an evil, just plain nasty letter. I’m certainly glad you don’t live in my house. I’m not going to take this lying down. I shall see Marshall Hilliard this afternoon.
Dear Abby,
My teachah figured it out it was me that asked you for the answer to a homework question. Sos she punished me by making me write anudder question to you that has nuttin to do wit Math. Uh, how much is that Doggy in the Window? —Tommy Barlowe
Dear Tommy,
I am glad to know you have seen the error of your ways. However, I cannot answer your question. The answer would involve numbers which technically are math, I think, of some sort.
Dear Abby,
Could a person who is downstairs hear it if you fell upstairs? —Hosea Knowlton, New Bedford
Dear Mr. Knowlton,
As usual, you ask the silliest question. No, Mr. Knowlton. A person could not hear it if I fell upstairs. I’ll have you know that my Andrew tells me all the time that I am as light as a ton of feathers.
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