The Revelation of Louisa May

by Michaela MacColl

  “Naturally.”

  “Through her purity and kindness, she charms an aristocratic English family and eventually wins the heart of a rich lord.”

  “Hmmm,” Fred said. “That’s your idea of a happy ending? She marries money?”

  “She marries for love, but he happens to have money. She’ll be happier that way. You don’t know how awful it is to be so poor, but I do.”

  Fred’s father was a lawyer, and he had enough money to send Fred to school but not much was left over.

  “So you’d never marry a poor man?” Fred’s joking manner had deserted him.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever marry,” Louisa said seriously. “I couldn’t give up my independence.” She allowed herself to think for a moment about all that she wished to do and see, all the stories she wanted to write.

  “But . . .”

  Louisa put her chin in her hand, staring down at her house. “Who else but me will take care of my family? I’m doomed to be an old maid, with a pen instead of a husband, and a heap of novels in place of children.”

  “Now, Louisa Alcott, that would be a tragedy,” Fred cried. “I’ll not let it happen.” He put his arms around her, bent his head to hers, and kissed her.

  Louisa’s mouth parted in surprise; Fred took advantage to kiss her more deeply. The bristles of his beard rubbed against her cheek, his firm lips pressed against her soft ones.

  She pushed him away with such force that he fell off the end of the bench. “Fred Llewellyn, don’t do that again!” she cried as she turned to flee down the hill.

  “But Louisa!” Fred’s words were lost in the darkness as Louisa sprinted down the hill and back into her room.

  Safely inside, she shut the door and leaned against it, panting, her heart thrumming.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “You won’t show the soft side of your character,

  and if a fellow gets a peep at it by accident

  and can’t help showing that he likes it,

  you . . . throw cold water over him, and get so

  thorny no one dares touch or look at you.”

  Louisa, is everything all right?” Beth asked as they set the table for breakfast with plain wooden bowls and flax linen napkins.

  “Of course,” Louisa answered. But she didn’t meet her sister’s eye. A thick lock of hair slipped free of Louisa’s hastily fixed bun.

  “You look as though you haven’t slept a wink and you’re as skittish as Goethe.” Beth deliberately slammed the milk pitcher on the table. Louisa jumped. “See,” Beth crowed. “I told you so!”

  “It’s nothing.” Louisa stirred the porridge on the stove, adding raisins as a special treat.

  Beth smiled. “Those are Fred’s favorite.”

  Louisa blushed, cursing Fred for his distracting presence in her thoughts. “Will you call Father and Fred to the table?” she said, more sharply than she intended.

  “Louisa,” Beth began. “I need to tell you something about Father . . .”

  “Later, Beth,” Louisa said sharply. “After breakfast.”

  Her brow uncharacteristically furrowed, Beth left without a word.

  Louisa stirred as the porridge thickened. The night before, Fred had remained outside for almost an hour. Then he had knocked quietly at her door. Pressed against the door on the other side, her heart beating so loudly Louisa was sure he must hear it, she had not answered. She had touched her lips, tender from her first kiss. It was a moment she’d not even dared to dream about. But Louisa wouldn’t fall in love with a poor man like Marmee had. Not for kisses, not for love, not for anything.

  Finally Fred had gone to his room and she had listened to his pacing, as regular as the ticking of a clock, until she had fallen asleep. When she woke, her dreams had left faint shadows of Fred, etched just below the surface of her thoughts. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember what she dreamed about.

  Louisa told herself she was not listening for Fred, but when she heard his deep voice talking with Beth, her stomach leaped. What would he say to her? Would he be cross? He had no right to be; he had acted the thief and stolen a kiss from her. Perhaps he would expect her to be angry? Or contrite? Would he understand if she told him that she was more confused than anything else? Did this dizzy feeling mean she cared for Fred as more than a friend? Was love like flying on the back of a leaf in a storm?

  “Ugh! I’m all discombobulated!” She threw the porridge spoon across the room, where it stuck to the wall next to the door.

  “This doesn’t bode well for breakfast,” Fred said, filling the doorway. His thick red hair was tousled about his head and his blue eyes were bright with mischief. He had to tug hard to pull the spoon away from the plaster, then he handed it to her. “Good morning, Louisa,” he said. “I hope you slept well.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice to respond. His smile was charming; his crooked teeth lent his face a dash of imperfection that was appealing. She wished she could look somewhere besides his mouth, but it was impossible. She recalled every detail of his kiss and felt the warmth color her cheeks.

  Beth followed Fred into the room and went to the icebox to get the milk.

  “I slept well, too,” Fred said. “Although I had the strangest dream of wandering out in the garden with a lovely sprite. She floated out of my reach and then disappeared altogether.”

  Louisa beamed. What a clever way to air the subject without any embarrassing details and in a way that naïve thirteen-year-old Beth wouldn’t understand. Louisa took up the challenge. “Isn’t it strange how one’s imagination plays tricks on one?”

  “Clearly.” His eyes glistening with mischief, he said, “Because I thought my sprite was a beautiful maiden—but it turns out she was just a tomboy in disguise.”

  Louisa couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Beth.

  “Nothing,” Louisa and Fred replied simultaneously.

  “Good morning.” Father came in and sat down. He looked well rested, and Louisa wondered that he had spent his first night away from Marmee with so little strain. Didn’t he miss her at all? With a pang of remorse, Louisa remembered how miserable he had looked before dinner the night before.

  He took a spoonful of the porridge that Beth put in front of him. “Raisins? Your mother never puts raisins in the porridge. And so much sugar.”

  Louisa bristled. “We’re celebrating Fred’s first morning with us.” She put a pitcher with cream on the table.

  “And cream? Louisa, it’s unnecessary. Fred didn’t come to us for gluttonous meals.”

  Fred brought his bowl to be filled by Louisa and whispered in her ear, “Gluttony would be the last reason to come to the Alcotts’!”

  With Fred at her side, Louisa felt as though her father’s scolding was bearable. Father went on, “He came for reflection and high thinking. It’s a waste of time dressing up plain porridge.”

  “Father, it’s breakfast, not a philosophical conundrum,” Louisa said. He glowered at her and she met his gaze defiantly. However were they to find their way to peace if they fought over porridge?

  Beth began to chatter, filling the awkward silence. “Father, what will you do today?”

  “I’ll till the lettuce beds and then I must work on Emerson’s gazebo.”

  Louisa noticed Beth shoot her father a puzzled look, a crinkle appearing above her fair eyebrows.

  “Emerson’s gazebo?” Fred asked.

  “Mr. Emerson liked Father’s gazebo so much he asked Father to build one on his property, too. I think he’s getting more than he bargained for,” Louisa explained. “Father calls it the Sylvan, but Mrs. Emerson calls it the Ruin.”

  “Mrs. Emerson doesn’t understand Father’s architectural ideas,” Beth hurried to say.

  “I’d like to see it,” Fred said.

  With a mischievous grin, Louisa said, “The townspeople visit regularly and wager on when it will collapse.”

  Bronson stroked his chin. “I thi
nk they’ll be surprised.”

  “Louy, what are you doing today?” Beth asked.

  “Housework and more housework.” Louisa began ticking her chores off on her fingers. “I must clean up the breakfast dishes, dust the parlor, beat the rugs, and set the bread to rising and the peas to soaking.” On any other day, she wouldn’t mind the chores so much. The work was only for her hands, not for her mind. She used her housekeeping time to dream. But today an adventure with Fred beckoned.

  Fred said plaintively, “That will take forever, Louisa! I thought we could go for a long walk as we used to.”

  “We don’t have any servants; it all takes time,” Louisa answered. “And then I have to go convince the store to give us more food on credit, and . . .” She stopped suddenly, aware too late of her father’s stormy look.

  Her father shoved his chair out from the table and stood up abruptly. “Your mother managed this house and all of you without the need to bore us with the tedious details. It is unfortunate she didn’t teach you the same.” He stalked out of the room, leaving Louisa red-faced and furious.

  Once again, Beth’s chatter filled the silence. “Louy, I’ll help with the chores so you and Fred can get out sooner.”

  “I’ll help, too,” Fred said. “So we have time to find Henry Thoreau if we can.”

  “I don’t know where Henry is,” Louisa said, squeezing Beth’s hand in gratitude. “With Finch looking for him, I think Henry made himself scarce rather than lead him to our ‘package.’ ” Henry had avoided her, she thought, ever since she had learned about his feelings for Lidian.

  “I’ve often thought about him while I was away,” Fred said. “He told me once that an early morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.”

  “And so do you walk every morning?” Louisa asked, cheering up.

  He turned up his palms and shrugged. “No, but I think about it while I lie abed!”

  Everyone laughed. Louisa laughed loudest, mostly from relief. Fred’s stolen kiss wasn’t going to ruin the easy give-and-take of their friendship.

  “What are you doing, Beth?” she asked. “I think you should plan to rest today.”

  Beth shook her head. “I want to pick lots and lots of strawberries.” She held up a finger to stop Louisa’s protest. “And then I’ll lie down and do some sewing. I’m making a shirt and a set of handkerchiefs for George. He’ll need them when he’s free.”

  “That sounds restful. And I’m sure George will be eternally grateful,” Fred said. “What is it your father calls you? Little Tranquillity? As for Louisa, she’s . . .”

  “A hurricane! And don’t you forget it!” Louisa said, handing him the breakfast bowls.

  He followed her to the sink. “What can I do to help the Misses Alcott?” Fred asked.

  Beth and Louisa exchanged glances and said in a single voice, “The rugs!”

  While Louisa finished up in the kitchen, Fred manhandled the bulky carpets out of the house and into the garden. Beth brought him a broom to beat them clean. When he returned, he was dusty but the rugs were not. Fred mopped his perspiring face with a handkerchief supplied by the helpful Beth.

  While Fred tidied himself up, Louisa tucked her long hair up in a net. Beth watched from her customary spot on the sofa. Watching Beth in the mirror’s reflection, Louisa asked in her most casual voice, “Beth, why did you seem surprised by Father’s plans for the day? It sounds like any other day.”

  Beth caught her lower lip between her teeth, looking anywhere but at her sister. It was very unlike her, thought Louisa. “Beth! You can tell me.”

  “This morning I was brushing Father’s coat—the one he wore yesterday. This fell out of the pocket.” Beth reached into her sewing basket and pulled out a visiting card. “It’s Miss Whittaker’s. And on the back she wrote only ‘Tomorrow. The gazebo. One o’clock.’ ”

  “Oh my,” Louisa said, her mind working frantically. What would Marmee want her to do? “I’m sure it’s just about Miss Whittaker’s new magazine.” Although Louisa didn’t entirely believe this, she didn’t want to worry Beth.

  “Louy, I don’t like Miss Whittaker. And I wish Father didn’t seem to enjoy her company so much.” Beth hesitated, and then with her cheeks pink with embarrassment, she added, “Especially with Marmee away.”

  “I don’t care for her, either,” Louisa said. “But Father adores Marmee and would never do anything to hurt her.”

  Beth raised a hand to her lips. “Oh, I know, it’s terrible of me to even suggest such a thing!”

  Louisa rushed to the couch and knelt at Beth’s side. “But you aren’t suggesting anything about Father—it’s Miss Whittaker you don’t trust. And neither do I.”

  “What should we do?” Beth asked, her voice almost a wail.

  “Darling, don’t worry,” Louisa said, giving her a quick hug. “Fred and I will stop by the gazebo at the appointed time. Any tête-à-tête that Miss Whittaker has planned with Father will quickly become a quartet!”

  One of Louisa’s last tasks was to assemble a midday meal for George. She asked if Fred would like to meet George. He agreed eagerly.

  “Check the road and garden,” she told Fred as she stuffed a paper sack with apples, bread, and a jug of apple cider.

  “What am I looking for?” he asked as he obediently went to the garden door.

  “Anyone who is too curious about us. But especially a big man with fair hair. That’s Finch.”

  Fred soon returned and said, “There’s no sign of anyone there who shouldn’t be.” He looked at the sack. “Are those his provisions?”

  Louisa nodded. “These are to feed his body. But I think he’s dreadfully bored.” She went into the parlor, examining the bookshelves. Fred followed, holding the sack. “Ah, here it is.”

  “Robinson Crusoe?” Fred asked. “So it’s true that George can read and write?”

  Louisa nodded. “He’s very intelligent. I’m not surprised his former owner wants him back so badly.” She tucked the book in with the food. “Let’s go.”

  They quickly crossed the road and entered the barn. Louisa went to the corner and knocked once, paused, then knocked three more times.

  “There’s a secret room here?” Fred asked. “We’ve spent hours here doing your theatricals and playing games and you never let on?”

  “Father and Marmee never even told me!” Louisa assured him. “Not until they decided I was old enough to help with the Railroad.”

  The door opened just wide enough for them to enter.

  “Good morning, George,” Louisa said cheerfully as she slipped through the doorway. “Did you sleep well?”

  “To tell the truth, Miss, I don’t sleep well at all,” George said. Even though there was plenty of room to stand up straight, he stooped, as though confinement was shrinking him. “I worry that every noise I hear is that slave catcher come to take me back.” He caught sight of Fred and looked expectantly at Louisa.

  “George Freedman, this is our dear friend Fred Llewellyn. He’s like a member of the family. I wanted you to meet him so you would know you could trust him if something goes wrong.”

  Fred stepped forward and held out his hand. “Mr. Freedman, it’s an honor to meet you.”

  George took the outstretched hand, and seemed to stand a little taller. “No, I am honored, Mr. Llewellyn, sir.”

  “I’ve got to feed the chickens and collect the eggs,” Louisa said. “Fred, why don’t you and George talk a little and I’ll come back and fetch you.”

  “If Mr. Freedman will permit me to stay, I would enjoy that,” Fred said very formally. His courtesy was a compliment to George and Louisa was proud of him. She left them alone to become better acquainted.

  As she emerged from the henhouse, the last chore complete, Fred was waiting for her. He was full of praise for George.

  “I know. He’s very sweet,” Louisa agreed. “I’ll put these eggs inside and then we can go.”

  “Finally!”

  Before they set out on the
ir ramble, Fred wanted to put on his hat, but Louisa dissuaded him. She preferred his head bare. To match, she pulled off her hair net and shoved it in her pocket. As they walked, Fred complained to Louisa for setting such a quick pace.

  “Your stamina has declined at college,” she teased. “I’m not walking any faster than I have in the past.”

  “I think you are trying to stay ahead of me so I cannot kiss you again.”

  Louisa laughed. “Don’t be silly.”

  His face lit up. “So you do want me to kiss you again?”

  In an arch voice that she barely recognized, Louisa said, “Not in broad daylight, sir. Think of my reputation!”

  “As if you cared what anyone thought!” Fred laughed. But he seemed content with the half-promise in her words.

  Louisa slowed her pace and they walked together, their steps evenly matched.

  “Do you remember that time you put on the pirate play in the barn?” Fred asked.

  “Of course. I wrote it, didn’t I?” Louisa said.

  “And played most of the parts as well,” he laughed. “It would have been useful to have known about that secret room. We could have used it for the costume changes.”

  “Do you remember how the first time I performed it I had to wear my plain shoes?” Louisa tugged her skirt up to reveal a pair of much-mended laced leather shoes. “And I said that I would only perform the play a second time if I had proper pirate boots! And a few days later I went to the post office, and jammed into our little box was a pair of the most excellent pirate footwear I’d ever seen.” She looked at Fred with a speculative air. “No one ever admitted to giving me those boots.”

  “I really wanted to see the play again,” Fred said. “So I went into Boston and found you a pair of seaman’s boots.”

  “I still have them and write at least one character in every play to wear them.”

  “Watching you be a pirate is one of the reasons I came home,” Fred said. “You are utterly adorable.”

  “That’s the most foolish thing you’ve ever said,” Louisa said. “And that’s saying a lot.”