The Other Alcott

by Elise Hooper

  John stomped his boots on the ground to shake some of the caked mud off and peered at the paper. “Now I’m no socialite, but I’ll bet this is one of the most coveted invitations of the winter social season.”

  May began to laugh, but her heart stopped as she saw Louisa’s name listed below her own. Could she go anywhere without people being interested in Louisa these days?

  John’s narrow, angular face crinkled into a kind smile. “And now you’re meeting the fella’s family? That’s a big step.”

  “Yes, it is.” May bit her lip and felt her face flush. Excitement and uneasiness spun around inside her head. What exactly, she wondered, was she stepping into?

  Chapter 4

  May’s valise quivered in the overhead rack as the train jostled along to Boston. The early December snow had prompted people to stay off the roads, so the train was crowded with coughing passengers and the smell of wet wool. May sat next to Louisa and eyed her battered old luggage, running an inventory of what she would need over the next few days in her mind. She had expected Louisa to complain about attending the Bishops’ Christmas ball, but her sister’s enthusiasm over the party had been genuine. No doubt she could use a lark after being immersed day and night in writing the sequel to Little Women since October.

  May rubbed her chilled hands together. “Do you think this cold snap will continue?”

  “How the deuce should I know?”

  “I should’ve brought another set of woolens. I hate being cold.”

  “We’re heading to the city. You can replace anything there.”

  “I have a perfectly good set at home. The last thing I want to do is spend money on a boring ol’ pair of woolens.”

  “For Pete’s sake, if it’ll get you to stop fussing, I’ll give you the money for some.”

  Louisa yanked a portfolio filled with correspondence from her satchel and sifted through it, pausing to glower at a letter tucked in with the other papers.

  May stretched her neck to catch a glimpse of the letter, and her suspicions were confirmed. For as long as she could remember, due to limited resources, Father wrote his daughters letters for their birthday gifts. These letters were usually filled with praise for their virtues but also words of advice for future growth. Compared to what her sisters received, Louisa’s birthday letters always weighed conspicuously heavier on advice than praise. Louisa and Father shared a birthday on November 29, and the family had celebrated them both a few days earlier.

  “I wish you would stop taking Father’s birthday letters so hard.”

  “I don’t.” Louisa ducked her nose deeper into the portfolio.

  “Every year you’re in a sulk on the day after your birthday.”

  Louisa drooped toward the steamed-over window and rubbed a small circle to look out at the bleak, snowy landscape sliding by. “He’s never satisfied with me. After all I’ve done this year, I expected him to be pleased.”

  “He’s never satisfied with anything. He’s always dreaming of perfection that none of us can possibly achieve. You know this.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  Louisa was right; it was easy for her to say. As the youngest of the family, May somehow managed to dodge her father’s attention, and this suited her just fine. According to family legend, Anna’s babyhood had fascinated Father, and he’d spent hours cataloging every giggle and wiggle, filling notebook after notebook with his observations. A year and a half later, Louisa’s squalling arrival had not only interrupted his study of Anna’s placid nature, but it threw a number of his theories out of alignment. His second daughter emerged into the world a headstrong and impulsive personality from the beginning. Father was baffled as to how two children could be so markedly different, despite sharing the exact same origins. Anna could sit and play with a pot and a spoon for an entire morning, whereas Louisa would grab the pot and promptly hit her sister over the head with it. Anna and Father would hunt hand in hand for alphabet letters in the signage scattered throughout Abbot’s General Store, yet Louisa disappeared whenever he turned his back on her. Father never gave up attempting to curb Louisa’s temper and independent streak, and it put the two of them on a lifetime trajectory of frustration with one another.

  ON THE EVENING of the ball, there was no missing the location of the party, for the Bishops’ block was backed up with a line of hackneys, hansom cabs, and coupe carriages. Women festooned in the latest winter fashions, and men in formal black suits and tall beaver hats lined up outside the front doorway which was bedecked in garlands of evergreen. May bit her lip and nudged her shaking hands deep into her ermine muff. The sound of a violin beginning a Viennese waltz floated past them. A maid took their outerwear and the women were ushered along the black-and-white tiled foyer into the great hall pulsing with activity. An orchestra played next to the staircase which rose along one wall, leading upstairs to a gallery mobbed with partygoers looking down on the dancing below.

  Surrounded by delicate, swanlike women gliding around the room in glittering jet beads and seed pearls, May felt too tall, her shoulders too broad, her nose too wide, her skin too freckled. Gowns, unwrinkled and crisp from the ateliers of the city’s most sought-after dressmakers, brushed past. She edged a look down at her robin’s egg–blue gown, checking all traces of white tailor’s chalk were gone. She had spent hours resewing the flounces of her older dress’s voluminous skirt into a basque to achieve the latest bustled silhouette.

  Joshua, debonair in a black evening dress jacket, appeared at May’s elbow. Every inch of him looked perfectly pressed and polished. Aware that people were watching them, she stood tall and threw back her shoulders. After all, he was grinning at her, not at the fawning, powdered faces encircling them.

  Like the figurehead at the prow of a great ship, Mrs. Bishop plowed through the center of the room toward Joshua, steering Mr. Bishop alongside her. There was no mistaking Joshua’s father, for the resemblance was obvious, except for a faint looseness of the jowls on the older man, a thickening around the waist, and a ruddiness to his complexion—telltale signs of years of fine dining and smoking cigars late into the night.

  “Miss Alcott”—Mrs. Bishop directed her comments toward Louisa—“our daughter Nellie cannot stop talking about your book. She has read parts to me aloud. I must say it’s a joy to hear a novel that demonstrates such a profound understanding of New England’s values. It’s a shining example to our young women of the importance of duty and family.”

  Guests strained their necks to observe Louisa.

  Mrs. Bishop shifted her gaze and coolly appraised May up and down. “And you must be the lovely reason why Joshua travels all the way out to Concord.” Her lofty tone implied the Alcotts might as well live in the Yukon. The older woman nodded slightly and then turned back to Louisa to begin introducing her to the other guests standing nearby, wielding Louisa’s literary fame as though it were her own.

  Joshua eased May out of the circle. “I hoped Louisa would distract everyone and allow me more time with you,” he said into her ear. Her head swam in the smell of cloves and roasting goose, the press of bodies, and the clamor of voices and music. She had not expected to be eclipsed by her sister so quickly. Normally Louisa lurked on the fringes of parties, avoiding idle chitchat while May circled in the center of the action. She had worked hard over the years to ensure her spot on guest lists by knowing the latest dances and being a lively conversationalist. After all, paying attention to social graces cost her nothing, and she needed a line of defense against the girls whose allures were buttressed by promising dowries. But now the unavoidable beam of Louisa’s rising star drew the crowds to her through no charm of her own, and May realized she needed more than a few graceful chassés to keep up with Louisa.

  “Care to dance?” Joshua disrupted May’s thoughts by raising her arm to give her a twirl. The brightness of his Delft-blue eyes made her take a deep breath, smile, and step into his arms to begin a waltz, their feet easily gliding into the familiar steps of “The Bl
ue Danube.”

  They spun around the dance floor for ages it seemed. When May’s heel burned from a blister, Joshua smuggled her out of the crowd and into his father’s study. There, within the dry smell of leather-bound books and tobacco, away from the sounds of voices and music, she pulled off a glove and reached out to straighten his pale green cravat. Her fingers lingered on the silkiness of the fabric. With the two of them alone, the small gesture felt headier than when they were crushed together moments earlier in the great hall. She realized she was holding her breath and let out a nervous gasp.

  Joshua smiled and removed her fingers from his chest, holding them in his own. Without saying a word, he pulled May to him and kissed her. A deep, languorous kiss that tasted of brandy and felt like summer sunshine. Everything outside of them blurred as he pulled her deeper into his chest. Deeper into that kiss. She eventually pulled back, but the lace at her neckline caught on one of his waistcoat’s pearl buttons. They stood, tied together, faces inches apart.

  “Let’s not tear your dress.” His voice, low in May’s ear, made her lean in close enough to see the softness of his freshly shaven cheeks and smell lemon verbena soap on his skin. She refocused on the knot between them.

  “Yes, that would certainly raise eyebrows.” Her hands rose, quivering, to work at the snarled lace. Resting her forehead against his chin, she tried to ignore his breath tickling her ear as she worked to free her dress from his suit, though it tempted her to remain knotted together. She stepped back and looked up at his solemn expression. A blast of French horn blared in the distance. Laughter warbled outside the door.

  “Everyone must be wondering where you are,” May whispered.

  “Let’s hide out here,” he said, reaching to bring her close again.

  “No, I don’t dare.” She giggled, wriggling from his arms. “I don’t trust myself to stay.”

  The two exited the library into a horde of servants darting in and out of the path to the kitchen. They continued into the throngs of the great hall, but a small blond woman moved into their path to block the way. Joshua laughed. “Why, Alice Bartol—what a pleasant surprise! I haven’t see you in ages. Do you plan to challenge me to a snowball duel?”

  Alice shook her head in consternation at his jesting. “You always were the neighborhood menace. And now it appears you’ve tricked someone into thinking you’re respectable.” She smiled and gave May a friendly nod. “I live around the corner and have known this ruffian for as long as I can remember.”

  The woman possessed a head full of curls, a plump appealing figure, and the smooth complexion of a china doll; in fact, her petite size made her seem a bit like a doll. She had a perky narrow nose that would have been perfect—May, always feeling her nose was too broad, kept a lookout for perfect noses—except the line of it shifted slightly at a small bump on its bridge. May felt drawn to her for reasons she could not have readily explained.

  “How do you know the Bishops?” Alice asked.

  “Joshua and I met at a badminton competition at Harvard College—”

  “—that we won,” Joshua cut in with a smug grin at Alice.

  May laughed, for it still felt as though their meeting at the tournament was yesterday, not several months before. They had proven to be a formidable pairing and were still contenders in the tournament late into the sweltering August afternoon. Their crisp badminton whites had become increasingly grass-stained and damp as the matches continued, yet there was an unmistakable energy between the two that didn’t waver, even as they tired. Joshua displayed a knack for placing the shuttlecock just out of reach of their opponents. He was quick to compliment a good shot but also shrugged off any disputes over line calls graciously; his gallantry impressed May. She smiled at the memory of how they had linked arms and bent toward one another, toasting their victory over sweating coupes of chilled champagne.

  “Well, three cheers and a tiger for you.” Alice laughed at Joshua’s boasting. “I see nothing’s changed. You’re still an incorrigible braggart.”

  “True. So, let me guess the reason I haven’t see you lately,” said Joshua, folding his fist in mock seriousness underneath his chin. “Hmm, some lucky fellow has swept you off your feet, and you’re absorbed with planning the wedding of the season.”

  Alice’s eyes tightened around the corners, but her smile remained unchanged. “Hardly. I’ve been taking art classes.”

  “Well now, another aspiring artist. I had no idea studying art had become so fashionable amongst the lovely ladies of Boston.”

  Alice flushed. “I’ve been taking them for a couple of years now.”

  The woolly-headed feeling that had descended upon May since her kiss with Joshua evaporated. She tried to steady herself; she didn’t want to frighten this woman off with too much enthusiasm, not that Alice seemed like the type to flinch from enthusiasm. “I’ve been drawing and painting for years too, but I need lessons. Where do you take them?”

  “There’s a man in the Studio Building in Park Square who gives classes to women—Dr. Rimmer. You should join us.”

  BY THE TIME cigar smoke drifted overhead and the crowd thinned, Alice had made May promise to join her at Dr. Rimmer’s class in the new year.

  Joshua escorted May and Louisa outside and insisted on hailing a hackney. “When will I see you next?”

  May’s breath caught somewhere in her chest as she looked up at his face, backlit by the glow of the street’s lanterns. “Soon. With the holidays, I shall return to Concord, but I’ll be back.”

  He held on to her arm a beat longer than was required to help her step up into the carriage and slipped something into her gloved hand. May folded into her seat and opened her fingers to reveal a tiny pearl button gleaming in the light of the lantern hanging from the carriage. From his spot outside her window, he pointed to his vest where the button should have been, where they were tangled together earlier. Ears ringing with the sudden quiet of the late-night city street, she tightened her grip around the button as the horses carried them away.

  “What a tip-top evening. It’s funny—I used to detest parties. I had no interest in discussing ball gowns or promising pairings, but now people want to discuss more substantial things with me. People see me as a figure of reckoning. I like it.” Louisa tucked herself under the carriage blanket before a quizzical look passed over her face. “I lost you for a bit in there.”

  May swallowed and leaned her head back against the carriage seat, turning her face to the blackness of night outside the window to hide the delight she knew was stamped all over her face. “I sat out some of the dancing because of a pesky blister. But I recovered.”

  “Yes, Joshua’s a fine tonic for any ailment, I imagine.” Louisa closed her eyes and rested her head on May’s shoulder. “He’s a lucky find. What an evening.”

  What an evening indeed. Since they were children, Louisa had complained of her young sister’s luck, but now it wasn’t that simple. May peered down at her fist again. She made her own luck. Without taking off the glove, she knew the button had already left an imprint on the center of her upturned palm.

  Chapter 5

  January 2, 1869

  Boston

  Dear May,

  I’m not surprised Dr. Rimmer has invited you to attend his class—you have a knack for getting what you want. Although it’s a good deal fancier than what I usually look for in my living quarters, I’ve taken the sky parlor at the Bellevue Hotel so the two of us can lord over Beacon Hill together. I’m partial to being able to order sorbet from the Marble Café at any hour, but the passenger elevator is my favorite luxury here. Yesterday I found myself stuck at a place in my manuscript, so I spent several hours riding up and down in the contraption, trawling for story ideas by eavesdropping on the conversations of fellow passengers. The saucy things people discuss in public never fail to amaze me.

  I don’t see how Mr. Niles expects me to spin 400 more pages of this “Little Women” hokum, but I suppose I must. He vexes me to no end w
ith all of his suggested titles—“Wedding Marches” is the latest stupidity. He thinks it’s clever since all of the sisters pair off. Obviously, I don’t approve one bit, but I’ve become quite the mercenary. As long as these publishers keep writing me checks, I’ll keep writing what they want. But I’ll be getting the last laugh—I’ve given in to perversity and have made a quirky husband for Jo March.

  Be sure to bring my favorite heating pad from Apple Slump. My joints have been acting up dreadfully. See you within the week.

  Yours,

  Louisa

  Snow had been falling since May’s arrival in the city at the turn of the new year, but it finally stopped. The sky emptied out to a bright blue. Sun cleaved through the clouds. A perfect day for a sleigh ride around the Common. Since receiving the invitation from Joshua earlier that morning, she couldn’t count how many times she had checked the clock. When would it be three o’clock? Near the entry to the Bellevue, porters in smart red jackets called out room directions while May waited for Joshua’s arrival by the lobby’s fireplace.

  A gust of biting January cold air billowed through the lobby as he burst through the hotel’s doors. He loosened a dark crimson muffler from around his neck to reveal an open smile that looked so unguardedly pleased to see her, it split her in two. “Ready?”

  “Yes, I’m sick to death of being cooped up inside.” Outside the building, the cold air made her lungs ache, but after weeks and weeks of gray gloomy weather, the sun felt glorious.

  “Careful, I’ve just greased the runners. She runs like a hot knife through butter,” he said, helping her under several layers of woolen carriage blankets. Once they were settled, he gave a snap to the reins, making a merry tinkle of bells ring out as his white, shaggy horse kicked up its hooves. The sleigh was just big enough for the two of them, and May nestled deeper into the seat, closer to Joshua’s warmth. The sleigh swerved slightly; its runners sank deeper into the snow. The pace of the sled increased, causing clumps of snow to spit into the air. She clutched the seat for balance. They reached the Common, and acres of untouched whiteness stretched before them while a lacy filigree of snow-covered tree branches arched overhead.