What Really Happened At Second Street?
A narrow house on Second Street sits close to the pavement in Fall River, Massachusetts.
Inside, doors divide rooms from corridors, staircases separate parts of the building, and the family has developed a habit of keeping entrances locked.
It is a house in which movement matters: who can enter, who can leave, and who can move from one floor to another without being noticed.
On the morning of August fourth, eighteen ninety-two, thirty-two-year-old Lizzie Borden is at home with her father Andrew, her stepmother Abby and the family’s Irish domestic servant, Bridget Sullivan. Lizzie’s older sister Emma is away.
Her maternal uncle, John Morse, has spent the night but leaves during the morning. Nothing about those bare facts supplies an answer to what is about to happen.
The strange power of the Borden case comes from what happens next. Within a relatively short period, the ordinary geography of the house becomes extraordinarily important.
A sofa, a guest bedroom, a barn, several locked doors and an assortment of household tools are suddenly parts of a question investigators have enormous difficulty resolving.
More than a century later, the folklore is easier to remember than the evidence.
There is the rhyme, the axe and the name Lizzie Borden.
The real case is considerably more complicated. To understand why suspicion settled where it did — and why suspicion ultimately failed to become legal proof — the place to begin is not with the rhyme.
It is with the family inside number 92 Second Street.