The Revelation of Louisa May

by Michaela MacColl

  Emerson went on, “Tell Lidian about your slave and that Mrs. Alcott is going away. She will help all she can. Especially if there are children.” A brief shadow crossed his face then flitted away. But Louisa knew he had been thinking of his own little boy, Waldo, who had died of scarlet fever six years earlier. Waldo was never far from his thoughts.

  He waved his hand toward the back of the house. “Queenie is somewhere about. I’m sure she’ll be of great help to you.” Despite his irreverent nickname for her, Emerson was very proud of his regal second wife.

  Taking his words for her dismissal, Louisa left the study by the door to the dining room. It was empty, as were the kitchen and the parlor. She listened and thought she heard a rumble of voices upstairs. She hurried up the narrow back stairs. As Louisa rounded the landing where the stairs doubled back on themselves, she stopped short.

  Lidian Emerson stood at the top, her back pressed against the wall. A man leaned over her, his hand braced on the wall above her head. They were talking in low voices, his lips near to her ear. He was dressed in clothes the color of the woods. It was Henry Thoreau.

  When Lidian saw Louisa, she pushed Henry away, almost as if her hand completed the action without her willing it. She stood in a patch of sunlight coming in from a window set high in the wall. Although near fifty years old, she was considered a beauty, with wide-spaced brown eyes and porcelain skin. She was the kind of person who couldn’t tolerate any untidiness and even the part of her thick dark hair surrendered to her quest for order.

  “Louisa!” Henry said, stepping away from Lidian.

  “Louisa,” Lidian said in the exact same moment. “I wasn’t expecting you.” She smoothed her already perfect hair, and turned away from Henry to face Louisa.

  Louisa’s eyes traveled between the two, wondering at their odd behavior. They were acting as if Henry shouldn’t be there. But when Henry wasn’t writing he earned his living doing odd jobs, including tending the Emersons’ garden and minding their chickens. When Emerson had gone to Europe the year before, he had asked Henry to stay in the house and take care of Lidian and the children.

  “A ‘package’ arrived by rail last night,” Louisa said, relishing the conspiratorial language. “Mr. Emerson said I should tell you.”

  “What kind of package?” Lidian asked.

  Since Louisa didn’t actually know any other Railroad terms and there was no one to overhear, she answered straightforwardly. “A solitary man, but there are more to come.” Louisa explained about George’s circumstances. “Mr. Emerson thought you would be able to help with the children.”

  With a sharp nod, Lidian said, “I’ll put some clothes aside and start gathering the supplies they’ll need.”

  “Where is he staying?” Henry asked. “In the barn?”

  Louisa nodded.

  “I’ll come back with you and meet him.”

  “You were my next stop.”

  “Be careful . . . both of you.” Lidian warned.

  “Of course, my dear,” Henry said. His hand started toward her but she moved away.

  Louisa frowned and turned to hurry down the stairs. Henry followed her outside, moving as effortlessly as she did. They had always had that in common—neither was happy sitting still for long, unless they were writing. It would have been better if she had found him some distance away so they would have longer to talk. Her best memories of childhood were of following Henry into the woods around Walden Pond.

  “Louisa,” Henry began. “About what you saw earlier . . .”

  “What?” Louisa answered, brow slightly furrowed. “I didn’t see anything.”

  Henry’s face was flushed and he ran his hand through his thick black hair. “I was talking with Lidian . . . Mrs. Emerson.”

  A twinge of unease stirred in Louisa’s stomach. She didn’t want Henry to be confiding any secrets to her. “You’re very kind to her. I think she’s had a hard life. It’s not easy to be married to a philosopher if you aren’t trained to it,” she said, thinking of her mother.

  Although he clearly had intended to talk about something else, Henry couldn’t resist ribbing her. “You think you’d be a suitable wife to a philosopher? You’d never stop pacing around the house or having arguments for the fun of it. There’d never be a moment’s peace.”

  “That’s not true,” Louisa shot back. “I understand the need for conversation and high-minded thought. And you forget, I’d be writing, too. Lidian told me once that she thought of writing, but she’s forgotten that in her quest to be the perfect housewife.”

  “You’re unfair to her. She is a great help to Emerson in his work as well as managing the house and children. He doesn’t appreciate her. Louisa, her life is harder than you think.”

  Louisa patted Henry’s arm, as if patronizing him would keep him from admiring his best friend’s wife. “I’m glad she has a friend to sustain her through her struggles.” Her tone lightly underlined the word “friend.”

  “You make her sound pathetic. She’s really very joyous,” he said, tugging at his necktie. “And very lovely.”

  “For a woman of her age,” Louisa conceded.

  “She’s only fifteen years older than I am,” he said, starch in his voice.

  Louisa felt the heat rush to the roots of her hair. If Henry wanted to confide in her, she was going to tell him exactly what she thought.

  “She’s Mr. Emerson’s wife,” she said. “Our patron, your friend.”

  “I know,” he moaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose furiously. “I’ve admired her for so long. From a distance,” he insisted. “She is Waldo’s wife and must be above reproach. But today she was all of a sudden approachable and so kind to me. . . . I don’t know why I’m talking to you like this. Sometimes I forget how young you are.” He gave Louisa a sharp look. “You must say nothing!”

  “I don’t gossip,” Louisa said, bristling at the suggestion. After an excruciating minute, she trusted her voice enough. “Why are we talking about Mrs. Emerson?” she asked. “We have so many more interesting topics to discuss.”

  Henry was at a loss for words. Finally he spread out his callused hands. “You choose, Miss Alcott.”

  For the first time, his rough manners failed to charm Louisa. But there was something he needed to know, she decided. “There was a stranger asking for you not long ago, on this very road.”

  “What manner of stranger?” Henry brought his eyebrows together in a scowl. Louisa smiled to herself. There was a reason he was called the most cantankerous man in Concord: He did not like unexpected visitors.

  “Do you mean was he a naturalist, a philosopher, or a curiosity seeker?” Louisa teased.

  “Well?” Henry asked.

  She chewed on her bottom lip, recalling every moment of her meeting. “He was rude and he knocked me down with his horse. And when I refused to admit knowing you . . .”

  With a theatrical smack of his head, Thoreau said, “What, denied by Louisa Alcott? How shall I bear it?”

  She glared at him, but within herself she didn’t mind. “He galloped away without so much as a thank you. His name was Robin. No, Hawk. No . . . Finch! That was it. Russell Finch.”

  Henry stopped dead in the street. “Finch is in town?”

  “You know him?”

  “We were at school together. We had a falling-out.” His tone warned her not to ask any questions.

  “If he had a falling-out with you,” Louisa said, “I’m glad I was impertinent to him.”

  A smile touched Henry’s lips and disappeared. “He left town years ago.” His deep voice dropped another half octave. “I heard he’s done quite well for himself in a new career, which is troubling for us . . .” His gaze focused on a distant horizon and his voice trailed off.

  “Henry?” Louisa demanded. “Henry, you should give up your essays and start writing stories—you are very good at creating suspense! Why is his new career so alarming?”

  His eyes caught hers and she could see the warning and the
worry in them. “He’s a slave catcher.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “It’s always so. Amy has all the fun

  and I have all the work.

  It isn’t fair, oh, it isn’t fair!” cried Jo passionately.

  Beth, please may I borrow your gloves?” May asked. Her small trunk was open wide and there were clothes strewn pell-mell about the small bedroom. Beth sat on May’s bed, retrieving dresses and nightgowns and folding them neatly. “I’ll need them more than you because there will be social occasions at the resort,” May went on. “Marmee says the guests are ever so smart.”

  At eight, May was the pet of the family and had the enviable knack of always getting what she wanted. The youngest Alcott girl shouldn’t be the one traveling while her elder sister packed for her, Louisa thought. “Don’t give your gloves to her,” she warned Beth from the doorway. “After May uses them for the whole summer you’ll never get a day’s wear out of them again.”

  “You’re just jealous, Louisa,” May retorted. “Because Marmee picked me to go and not you!” May tossed her blond curls and sniffed. She had read in a romantic novel that this was ladylike.

  “Jealous?” Louisa laughed out loud. “You little ninny. You’re only going because you couldn’t stay at home without Marmee!”

  As if Louisa had stuck May with a pin, May started howling.

  “Louisa!” Beth interrupted May’s wail. “May, take them. I won’t need them.” She passed her little sister a limp pair of white cloth gloves. “And while you’re away, Louisa and I are going to have a lovely summer; she’s going to finish the novel she’s been so secretive about and I’m going to play the piano, and we’re both going to take care of Father.”

  “That sounds very nice, Beth,” May said graciously, nodding with the manners of someone much more mature. “I promise I’ll think of you often. When I have the time, of course.”

  Louisa growled, “Fine, let her have the gloves. Otherwise she’ll just charm Marmee into buying her a new pair that we can’t afford!” She turned on her heel and ran down the stairs, her toes barely touching the steps. She couldn’t stay to help others pack for their adventures. Not while she remained at home in the dullest town in the world.

  “Louisa!” Marmee emerged from the parlor, carrying a small pile of books. Louisa stopped short on the third stair from the bottom.

  “Yes, Marmee?” she asked, just barely keeping her frustration out of her voice.

  “Is May ready yet? The boy will be here to fetch our trunks any minute now.”

  Glancing longingly at the door, Louisa said, “Not yet, Marmee.” She looked back to the anxious expression on her mother’s face. “But almost.”

  “Tell her to hurry. These are the last of what needs to be packed in my trunk.” She handed the books up to Louisa. “Then buckle it up, please,” Marmee said, already turning away, consulting her list. Over her shoulder she said, “I’ll ask your father to carry it downstairs.”

  Louisa trudged back up to her parents’ bedroom. The trunk stood in the middle of the worn carpet, its open top like a crocodile’s mouth. She tossed the books inside and fastened the leather strap. Pulling hard enough to leave a mark on her hands, she told herself that her tears were from pain and not envy.

  After checking that May was in the final stage of her packing, Louisa went downstairs to find Marmee. She followed the sound of voices to her father’s study. Glancing about the hall to be sure she was unobserved, she sidled up to the study door, pressing her body close to the wall.

  “So now you need my help?” Louisa heard her father say in the voice of a petulant little boy.

  “Bronson, please, let’s not argue again. We’ve been through this already.” Marmee’s voice was exasperated but cajoling. Louisa moved closer so she could peek through the slightly ajar door. Marmee stood close to Bronson, his back to her. Pressing her cheek against his broad back, Marmee circled his torso with her arms.

  His neck and shoulders stiff, Bronson said, “You are making a fool of me. Everyone thinks I can’t support the family and must send my wife out to work.”

  Louisa’s eyebrows lifted high; why shouldn’t they think that?

  “Dear heart, I am going to earn money for the family, yes, but who else could I trust to take care of our daughters? I rely on you,” Marmee assured him.

  Louisa sighed for Marmee’s mild response. Why didn’t she scold him? Tell him that it was his fault that the family would be split up?

  Marmee gently turned Bronson around to face her. “I will miss you quite terribly.”

  It was the right thing to say. He drew her close to him. “The summer nights won’t be the same without you,” he murmured, smiling down at Marmee. In a flash, Louisa appreciated how good-looking her father was. Perhaps that was why her mother put up with all his failings. He pressed his lips to Marmee’s in a long kiss; she leant against him as though her knees wouldn’t support her.

  Suddenly embarrassed, Louisa started to back away. A knock at the door was a welcome distraction. She darted down the hall, away from the study, calling, “I’ll answer it!”

  The house had eight doors to the outside, but this knock came from the main door facing the road. Henry had warned her to be especially careful while Finch was in town, so she stopped herself from flinging it open as she usually did. Bracing the door with her booted foot, she opened it just a crack.

  A boy waited on the steps. “I’m here for the baggage, miss.” He gestured to his cart parked next to their gate.

  The next few moments were chaotic. May had to reopen her trunk twice to put in her special colored pencils and then her favorite doll.

  “What have you been doing all this time?” Louisa asked, not hiding her irritation. “Those are your favorite things. They should have been the first things packed.”

  “But then she would miss them too soon,” Beth laughed.

  May threw herself at Louisa’s waist and hugged her tight. “Louy, I’m sorry for being so rude. Don’t be cross with me, please? I wish you could come, too.”

  Over May’s head, Louisa glared at Beth. Louisa knew perfectly well who had prompted this charming apology. But it required a harder heart than Louisa’s to rebuff May.

  “I love you, May.” Louisa adjusted May’s bonnet and tugged on the hem of her dress.

  “Do I look pretty?” May asked.

  “As pretty as one of your pictures,” Louisa assured her.

  “That’s very pretty indeed,” May said complacently.

  “Don’t be vain,” Louisa said automatically. She scowled at the smile on Beth’s face.

  Downstairs, Marmee looked fine in her burgundy traveling suit with a black bonnet trimmed with ribbons to match. It was a hand-me-down, as were all their clothes, but it had been little worn by its previous owner, Marmee’s sister-in-law. When she pulled on her thin gloves, Louisa and Beth nodded in approval. “I have to look respectable for my new position,” she told them.

  “You look lovely, Marmee,” Beth said, her lower lip trembling and her eyes filling with tears. “But I’m feeling too selfish to give you up. ”

  “Beth, dear, give me a hug.” Marmee held Beth close and whispered in her ear. Whatever she said, Louisa noted, cheered Beth enough that the tears disappeared. “Now lie down. I heard you coughing last night. I want you to promise that while I’m away you will rest.”

  Her voice muffled by Marmee’s bodice, Beth promised.

  “Good,” Marmee said with an approving nod. “Louisa can walk me to the train.”

  “What about Father?” Louisa asked, just then realizing that her father had disappeared once he brought the trunks downstairs.

  “We’ve said our farewells already.” Marmee’s eyes went anxiously toward the study.

  After settling Beth comfortably on the sofa with a book at hand, Louisa followed Marmee out the door. May was already running ahead toward town. They began walking, passing the Emersons’ house on their left. Marmee checked the watch she wore
on a chain around her neck. “We have just enough time to meet with Mr. Pryor.”

  “The tavern keeper?” Louisa asked, surprised. Except for some medicinal brandy, the Alcotts forbade any alcoholic spirits in the house.

  Marmee nodded, her face solemn. “He’s the Conductor for Concord. We take our orders from him.”

  “But I’ve never seen you ever talk to him,” Louisa said.

  “As members of the Temperance Society, we wouldn’t be likely to, would we?” Marmee answered with a twinkle in her eye. “No one would suspect that we are working together.”

  “Does Mr. Pryor know about the slave catcher?”

  Marmee nodded. “I sent him a message. He replied that we should keep George well hidden.” She snorted, “As if we need to be told that!” She tucked Louisa’s hand under her arm and they turned onto the Common, skirting the obelisk, a monument to the Revolutionary War’s Battle of Concord. “But he needs to meet you. Any future messages will come to you.”

  “Not to Father?”

  “I don’t want you to bother him unnecessarily,” Marmee said, blinking rapidly as if to hold back tears. “Of course, if George is in danger, go to your father. Otherwise, I am certain you can handle any situation.”

  Louisa’s eyes were fixed on the skipping figure of May ahead of them. She thought of all the things that might go wrong. How could Marmee leave her with so much responsibility? Marmee’s confidence in Louisa didn’t make what she was asking any fairer.

  “You can count on me,” Louisa said. Her measured tone seemed to please her mother.

  May came running back. “Marmee, may I have a penny to buy some candy for the train ride?”

  Opening her small purse, Marmee put a penny in May’s outstretched hand. “Go buy your candy and we’ll meet you there.” Marmee watched May run down the street, dodging pedestrians, until she entered J. W. Wolcott’s. The general store was a favorite destination for every child in town.

  Marmee’s steps slowed as they approached the Wright Tavern, a sturdy red clapboard building with black trim on the edge of the common. The tavern had been an important rallying point for the Minutemen back in 1775, but not much had happened there since.