The Revelation of Louisa May

by Michaela MacColl

  Fred stepped back, holding up his hands to show Louisa he had regained control of himself. Relieved, she turned to Finch. “Do you want to speak to my father or not?”

  Finch shook his head. “You seem a bit too eager for me to leave. I’ll keep looking around here.”

  Pretending it didn’t matter, Louisa said, “Please yourself. Let’s go, Fred.” Before they could start walking, there was the sound of earnest conversation on the path behind them. Louisa’s heart sank. Henry and Lidian, hand in hand, were talking intently and hadn’t noticed them.

  Lidian saw Louisa first and with a quick movement, she took back her hand. Henry spied Louisa and stopped short, eyes darting, searching for a way to escape.

  Louisa jerked her head, trying futilely to warn Henry about Finch. Before her message could be understood, Finch stepped forward, blocking the path. When Henry saw Finch his face went pale.

  “Finch,” Henry said grudgingly, as though the name tasted bitter to his tongue.

  “You’ve been hard to find, Thoreau,” Finch replied. “I thought it was because you were harboring a fugitive slave . . .” His eyes lit upon Lidian, whose blush spoke volumes. “But now I see it was something else entirely. Won’t you introduce me to your friend?” His tone was oily and made Louisa feel as though a thousand insects were crawling over her skin. Lidian’s eyes were wide and frightened.

  “Her name is none of your business,” Henry said. “What are you doing here?” He looked at Louisa with such hostility she took a step back. “Did you bring him here?”

  “Of course not!” Louisa said, her face pinking. “This loathsome man is looking for a slave and followed me.” She turned to Finch. “You’re welcome to search the length and breadth of Walden Pond. You won’t find anything. Or anyone.”

  “The slave can wait,” Finch said, watching Lidian. “I want to become reacquainted with my old schoolmate. And his lovely companion.”

  Lidian placed her hand on Henry’s arm. “Henry, who is this?”

  “Never mind him, Lidian,” he said, his eyes darting from her to Louisa to Finch and back again.

  Finch’s tiny eyes widened a fraction. “Lidian Emerson? There can’t be two beautiful women in town with that name.”

  Lidian’s gasp was as good as a confession. “I can’t . . . Henry, don’t let him . . . I have to go!” She broke off and pushed her way past Henry and Fred. Giving Finch a wide berth, she ran away, stumbling over obstacles on the path. Henry’s eyes followed her, and Louisa’s heart ached at the pain in his face.

  Finch watched too until Lidian was out of sight, then slowly turned back to Henry. “Shame on you, Henry. Isn’t her husband your best friend? I could have warned him that you would try to take what was his. You’ve done it before.”

  Henry started forward, his fist cocked back to strike Finch.

  “Henry, don’t,” Louisa said quietly. “He’s armed.”

  Finch drew back his coat to reveal his pistol tucked in his belt.

  Henry’s eyes rested on the pistol and his hands fell to his side. “Is that what this is all about?” Henry said. “You’re still angry that a woman preferred me fifteen years ago? Abigail’s married to another now and has five children.” As if he hadn’t a care in the world, he sat on a large boulder and pulled out a small block of wood and his knife. He began to whittle. For an instant, despite all the tension in the present, Louisa was transported to her childhood, watching Henry make marvelous animals out of wood.

  “You weren’t even interested in her, Henry, but that didn’t stop you from charming her with your strange ideas.” For the briefest moment, Louisa caught a glimpse of a suffering that drove Finch to want to hurt others, and she felt a pang of sympathy. “I can see now that Abigail wasn’t nearly pretty enough for you. Lidian Emerson is quite the catch—even if she’s married to someone else.” Finch’s gleeful spite made any sympathy Louisa had for him disappear like a drop of water on a hot frying pan. “I’ve always wanted to meet Mr. Emerson. I’ll have to stop by and introduce myself.”

  “As you wish,” Henry said. “A meeting with Ralph Waldo Emerson cannot help but be uplifting. Especially to a man in your profession. But you’re out of luck in Concord; you won’t find any fugitive slaves here.”

  Louisa appreciated Henry’s purpose, but she wished he wouldn’t use George to distract Finch.

  “Oh, I’ll find him,” Finch promised. “Despite you and your friends. But there’s no reason I can’t enjoy myself in the process.”

  Henry stared down his long Roman nose, examining Finch with his quiet blue-gray eyes as though Finch was a hitherto unknown bit of flora. A poisonous plant, Louisa thought.

  “Finch, what will it take for you to go away and leave us in peace?” Henry asked quietly.

  “Henry, you can’t give in to the scoundrel,” Fred said, his face filled with anger. “We should trounce the fellow here and now.”

  “Fred, please be quiet,” Louisa entreated, not taking her eyes from Henry’s face.

  “Tell me where the slave is,” Finch said. “Then perhaps I’ll leave town without visiting Mr. Emerson.”

  “Henry, no,” Louisa protested in a whisper that faded into the air.

  “Even if your slave was here, none of us would tell you a thing,” Henry said. “How much is the bounty? Perhaps we could make it worth your while to abandon your search and leave Concord?”

  “Henry, that’s extortion!” Fred exclaimed.

  Henry held up his hand to silence Fred, all the while watching Finch’s face closely.

  Finch chuckled. “Unless you are a great deal richer than I remember, you can’t afford to pay me off. I’m due a fifteen-hundred-dollar reward for this slave.”

  Louisa drew a quick breath. Her father had purchased their house and twelve acres of farmland for not much more than that. None of them had that kind of money, except, she acknowledged, conscious of the irony, Mr. Emerson. The one person they could not ask for help.

  Finch kept talking. “I’ll get what I came for. And before I leave, I’ll ruin you.”

  Henry stood perfectly still, but his busy hands carved an animal’s shape out of his block of wood.

  Finch turned to Louisa. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your family, either. I’ll see you all in jail for abetting the theft of property before I’m finished.”

  Louisa sucked in her breath. Next to her, Fred was only just keeping himself in check. Amused by their response to his threats, Finch smiled as he pulled out his watch. “It’s later than I thought. I’ve an appointment in town I must attend to. But I will return.”

  Finch turned and walked away. Louisa sank down on a log at the side of the path and put her head in her hands. Fred stood next to her, shifting from one foot to the other. Henry stared down at the ground.

  After a few minutes of silence, Louisa looked up and asked, “Henry, what are we going to do?” There was no reaction. Fred put his hand on Henry’s shoulder.

  A small tremor went through Henry’s body and his attention returned to Louisa and Fred. He put the knife in his pocket.

  “You’ll do nothing, Louisa, do you hear?” Henry said. “Nothing.”

  “But . . .” Louisa began to protest.

  “You’ve done enough,” Henry said bitterly, his callused fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Me?” Louisa could barely get the word out.

  “Louisa, I know you didn’t do it deliberately,” Henry went on, “but nonetheless you led Finch here. You’ve wrecked everything. He’ll destroy Lidian.”

  “Henry, you’re not being fair!” Fred said. “Louisa tried to lead him away from you and Mrs. Emerson. She was protecting you!”

  “I don’t need protecting. Especially from you.” Henry let his head fall back, his eyes closed.

  “You blame me?” Louisa spat the question. “You have compromised yourself and Lidian. You have humiliated Mr. Emerson. All the fault is on your shoulders, Henry Thoreau. There’s hardly any left for me.�
��

  Henry stared at her as if he had never seen her before. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed that Louisa was no longer a hero-worshipping child, but a woman with her own opinions. After a moment of staring at her, he gave a little nod. “Louisa,” he said, “I beg your pardon. What I said was unforgivable and you are right to take me to task for it.” He turned and began to walk away.

  “Henry!” Louisa called, taking a few steps after him. Fred hung back. “Where are you going?”

  “To my cabin. I have some serious thinking to do.”

  “But what should we do about Finch?”

  “Louisa, your job is to protect George. Keep Finch away from Hillside. Don’t let my problems interfere with your duty.”

  “But what will you do?” Louisa asked.

  “Whatever I have to,” Henry said. “But you can depend on me not to betray you or George.”

  “I know that,” Louisa said, trying to convince herself as well as him that she had confidence in him. She was sure of Henry’s inherent decency and kindness, but lately she questioned his good judgment.

  As Henry trudged away, Fred took her arm. Wiping his brow, his eyes met Louisa’s and he smiled ruefully. “And I thought Concord was a dull little town,” he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I’m neat and cool and comfortable,

  quite proper for a dusty walk on a warm day.

  If people care more for my clothes than they do

  for me, I don’t wish to see them.

  What do we do now?” Fred asked as he and Louisa retraced their steps toward home.

  Louisa didn’t answer, too preoccupied to reply.

  After a moment, Fred said, “Louisa, what are we going to do about Finch?”

  Louisa stopped without warning in the middle of the path and Fred swerved to avoid running into her. He opened his mouth to complain but shut it again. Louisa’s eyes were fixed on an imaginary horizon, her brows pulled together and her mouth working as though she was having a serious conversation with herself. Fred had seen her in this state before. It was where her mind went when she was inventing her stories or had a serious puzzle to solve. She called it her vortex.

  “The problem is, we have too many problems,” she pronounced finally. “Fred? Fred?” Her eyes darted up and down the path and found him sitting on a boulder about twenty feet away.

  “Oh, you’re back?” he said with a teasing grin.

  Louisa put her hands on her hips. “Yes. As I was saying, we have too many problems. But Finch is at the center of most of them. He has to go!”

  Fred lifted an eyebrow. “Will you shoot him or should I?” Louisa gave him a sharp look. The edge to his joking words reminded her of the humiliation Fred had suffered at Finch’s fists.

  “Why is Finch in Concord?” Louisa asked rhetorically.

  “Well . . .”

  “Because his fugitive slave is here,” Louisa finished triumphantly. “If George left, then Finch would follow him. All the spite in the world wouldn’t weigh more with him than that fat reward.”

  “But Louisa,” Fred said gently. “George has nowhere to go. That’s why he’s in your barn.”

  “I have to talk to Mr. Pryor.” She glanced around the forest path to be sure they were alone. “He’s the Conductor,” she said in a hushed voice. “It’s his decision if George has to change hiding places.”

  “You said he had problems with Finch, too,” Fred said. “I’d think Pryor would want to lead him as far away and astray as possible.”

  “Exactly.” With a sharp nod, Louisa started walking. Over her shoulder she said, “I’ll need your help; you have to go to the tavern.”

  “If you insist,” Fred said with a grin.

  “Finch already suspects Pryor’s involvement in the Railroad, and he’d be sure if he saw me go there. But he won’t pay any attention to you,” Louisa said.

  “Because he doesn’t think I’m a threat,” Fred said sourly.

  “He’s wrong, Fred, but I for one am grateful if he underestimates you. I’ll wander by the shops and generally make myself obvious while you tell Mr. Pryor what I propose. Hopefully if Finch is watching, he’ll watch me, not you.”

  Fred nodded. “It’s a good idea, even if it depends on Finch thinking me a fool. Do you still want to go home or go straight to town?”

  Louisa glanced up at the sun. “What time is it?”

  Fred pulled out his watch. “Half past twelve o’clock.”

  “Let’s just make sure that Beth is all right.” Her forehead crinkled in worry.

  “What’s wrong?” Fred asked.

  She shrugged. “I just want to be sure that Beth is home and George is still well hidden.”

  When they arrived at Hillside, Beth wasn’t there.

  Fred pointed to Beth’s sewing basket abandoned on the sofa. “Didn’t she say she was going to be sewing all day?” Fred asked, fingering the handkerchiefs in the basket.

  “She might have gone out visiting or to the shops,” Louisa said, anxious but trying not to show it. She checked the rack where their shawls were hung. “Her shawl is gone.” Growing more concerned, Louisa sent Fred to check on George.

  He came hurrying back. “George isn’t there, either,” Fred said. “Perhaps they’re together?”

  “Why would they be?” Louisa snapped. “George is a fugitive and Beth is so delicate. They should both be home and safe.”

  She looked around the empty parlor, reflecting on how rare it was that no one was in the house. Any other time she might enjoy some time to talk with Fred alone, but today she had too many worries to think about herself. “Let’s not get diverted from our plan. First things first. You go talk to Mr. Pryor and I’ll look for Beth.”

  Fred held the door open for her. As she hurried through to the garden, she added, “And Fred, if we see Finch, then I suggest we turn the tables on him.”

  “How?”

  “I’m tired of not knowing when he’s going to show up and make mischief. This time we’ll follow him instead of the other way around.”

  By the time they had walked to the Wright Tavern it was one o’clock. Louisa peeked in the window. The tavern was filled with men, mostly clerks and farmers eating the main meal of the day, but Pryor was nowhere to be seen. “He must be in there somewhere,” she said.

  Fred lifted her chin up and gazed at her steadily. “You look exhausted. Let’s meet in the hotel restaurant in twenty minutes or so and have a cup of tea.”

  For a moment, Louisa let herself enjoy his soft hands, a scholar’s hands, on her skin. “I have no money to spend on tea,” Louisa reminded him. But her stomach growled. It had been a long time since breakfast.

  “I have enough.” He gave her a gentle push in the direction of the hotel. “Now go.”

  Louisa first visited the grocer, the bookbinder, and the stationer’s shop. No one had seen Beth, and she had to fight down a rising sense of panic. She was ready to cross the street and visit the baker when she saw Miss Whittaker climbing the wide steps to the porch of the Middlesex Hotel. Louisa followed close on her heels.

  The hotel was brand-new, rebuilt after the old one had burned down the year before. This was the first time Louisa had gone inside. She hurried past the long oaken counter where guests checked in and some uncomfortable-looking armchairs that were scattered about the lobby.

  “Oh, Miss Whittaker!” Louisa called.

  Miss Whittaker froze, then turned slowly. Her wary expression faded when she saw Louisa, leaving only disdain. “Miss Alcott,” she said in a flat voice.

  Louisa blinked at her appearance. Miss Whittaker’s toilette was normally impeccable, but her pale skirt was marred by green stains flecked with spots of red. Long tresses of hair had escaped her perfect hairdressing and her forehead had a sheen of perspiration.

  “Have you seen Beth?” Louisa asked urgently.

  Miss Whittaker frowned. “Who on earth is Beth?”

  “My sister,” Louisa said, pushing down her irritation. “Yo
u’ve met her several times.”

  “I can’t be expected to remember all the Alcott brats.”

  “No, you are only interested in my father,” Louisa countered. “Weren’t you supposed to spend the afternoon discussing business with him?”

  “We no longer have any business to discuss,” Miss Whittaker said flatly. “I’ve decided to abandon my magazine project.”

  “Really?” Louisa’s eyebrows lifted. “Just yesterday you spoke as if it was well under way.”

  “Circumstances have changed,” Miss Whittaker said.

  “Does my father know?” Louisa asked.

  “Of course he does. Now, good day, Miss Alcott. I’m going to my room now.”

  Disliking Miss Whittaker more than ever, Louisa’s curiosity drove her to ask, “Are you feeling well?”

  “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Miss Whittaker snapped.

  “You always look so elegant; it’s quite a shock to see you so . . . untidy.”

  “I’ve had an upsetting day and now I want to lie down,” Miss Whittaker said. “I trust you’ll excuse me.” Lifting her skirts, she practically ran up the stairs.

  Her mind working frantically, Louisa watched Miss Whittaker disappear. Louisa would wager all her pocket money that Finch was involved in Miss Whittaker’s change of plans.

  She touched her fingers to her dry lips, realizing how parched she was. Fred’s idea was a good one, even if it was extravagant. She headed for the small restaurant in the hotel where a waiter in a black suit blocked her way.

  “I’d like some tea,” Louisa said.

  His eye traveled from her messy hair to her dirty boots. Louisa looked down as well. Her dress was soiled with grass stains and dirt. She quickly piled her thick chestnut hair back into her hair net, dusted the skirt futilely, and stomped her boots to get rid of any mud. Louisa turned back to the waiter. “I’d like some tea,” she repeated.

  “Follow me, Miss,” the waiter said, his face pinched and disapproving. He seated Louisa in a dark corner near the kitchen.