ONE LIZZIE August 4, 1892 HE WAS STILL bleeding. I yelled, "Someone's killed Father." I breathed in kerosene air, licked the thickness from my teeth. The clock on the mantel ticked ticked. I looked at Father, the way hands clutched to thighs, the way the little gold ring on his pinkie finger sat like a sun. I gave him that ring for his birthday when I no longer wanted it. "Daddy," I had said, "I'm giving this to you because I love you." He had smiled and kissed my forehead. A long time ago now. I looked at Father. I touched his bleeding hand, how long does it take for a body to become cold? and leaned closer to his face, tried to make eye contact, waited to see if he might blink, might recognize me. I wiped my hand across my mouth, tasted blood. My heart beat nightmares, gallop, gallop, as I looked at Father again, watched blood river down his neck and disappear into suit cloth. The clock on the mantel ticked ticked. I walked out of the room, closed the door behind me and made my way to the back stairs, shouted once more to Bridget, "Quickly. Someone's killed Father." I wiped my hand across my mouth, licked my teeth. Bridget came down, brought with her the smell of decayed meaty-meat. "Miss Lizzie, what . . ." "He's in the sitting room." I pointed through thick, wallpapered walls. "Who is?" Bridget's face, prickly with confusion. "I thought he looked hurt but I wasn't sure how badly until I got close," I said. Summer heat ran up my neck like a knife. My hands ached. "Miss Lizzie, yer scarin' me." "Father's in the sitting room." It was difficult to say anything else. Bridget ran from the back stairs through the kitchen and I followed her. She ran to the sitting room door, put her hand on the door knob, turn it, turn it. "His face has been cut." There was a part of me that wanted to push Bridget into the room, make her see what I had found. Excerpted from See What I Have Done by Sarah Schmidt All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.