The Revelation of Louisa May (8 page)

“I saw the whiskey, but then I asked myself another question. Do all those cases of whiskey have the proper tax stamps?”

Pryor was quiet, but his sudden stillness spoke the truth.

“If Miss Alcott will excuse us, shall we discuss it further?” Finch said.

Mutely, Pryor nodded and let Finch go ahead of him into the alley. Pryor held back for a moment and whispered for Louisa's ears only, “I told you not to talk to him!”

“I didn't have a choice,” Louisa retorted. “And at least the only dangerous secrets I have are about our package. Can you say the same?” Pryor glared at her but followed Finch down the alley. Louisa wondered if Mr. Pryor was quite safe. If Finch threatened him with exposure, would Pryor keep their confidences?

Louisa started purposefully toward the general store to rejoin Marmee when a voice called her name from the porch of the new Middlesex Hotel. Reluctantly, Louisa halted and watched Miss Whittaker come down the front steps. Dodging a carriage and a farm wagon laden with straw, she made a beeline for Louisa.

Miss Whittaker was slender, with the graceful neck of a swan. Her dark hair tumbled down her back in ringlets that appeared loose but were actually carefully arranged. Her traveling dress was of a royal blue and was corseted to make her waist appear tiny. Louisa envied the rich fabric, if not the corset. She smoothed her own skirt, wishing the scorch marks from when she stood too close to the fire didn't show up so much on the pale cloth.

Louisa plastered a fake smile on her face. “Good morning, Miss Whittaker.”

“Dear Louisa!” Miss Whittaker gushed. “Is it true? Your mother is leaving us?” Her arms were as outstretched as the tight sleeves of her dress allowed. Louisa imperceptibly stepped away from the possibility of any embrace. A furrow appeared between Miss Whittaker's eyebrows, then disappeared. Miss Whittaker dropped her elegant hands to her sides. “When does Mrs. Alcott leave?” she asked.

“In less than an hour,” Louisa said. “She's doing some last-minute shopping. So if you'll excuse me . . .”

“Of course. And please be sure to tell her that she needn't worry about dear Mr. Alcott. I'll drop in every day to make sure he is coping without her.”

“I'm perfectly capable of taking care of my father,” Louisa said sharply, ignoring Miss Whittaker's lips pursing. “It's not necessary for you to bother him while he is writing.”

Miss Whittaker tried another tack. “And he must write, write, write! My investors want only the best essays.”

Louisa's attention sharpened at the word “investors.” “Miss Whittaker, I hope you aren't expecting any financial contribution to your magazine from my father.” Thank goodness Marmee wasn't here to scold Louisa for her presumption. But Marmee had left her in charge—the sooner she started, the better.

“Of course not,” Miss Whittaker assured her. “His contribution is his name and reputation. And Mr. Emerson's and Mr. Thoreau's, of course. My investors are confident that they will recoup their money.”

“How much have you raised?” Louisa asked.

Miss Whittaker's eyes narrowed, and she answered grudgingly. “Nearly a thousand dollars so far. Enough to fund several issues of my new magazine.” She fingered one of her ringlets, almost purring with satisfaction.

“A thousand?” Louisa repeated faintly. “And how much of that will go to the writers?”

“At first, nothing. But as soon as we are established, then we will pay the writers very well indeed.”

“But without their essays, you have no magazine,” Louisa argued. “They should be paid from the start.”

“Mr. Alcott assured me that that would not be necessary,” Miss Whittaker said.

Louisa sighed. That, unfortunately, had the ring of truth.

Mr. Finch emerged from the alley alone and headed straight for Louisa. “Miss Alcott, I don't think we finished our conversation.”

Miss Whittaker turned to the new arrival and Louisa was surprised to see her porcelain complexion whiten like bone.

“Won't you introduce me to your friend?” Finch said, coming face-to-face with Miss Whittaker. He stepped back in surprise. “Edith? Is that you? Edith Climpson?”

Miss Whittaker touched Louisa's arm to steady herself. “Whittaker,” Miss Whittaker said hurriedly. “My name is Whittaker.”

“Of course. Edith Whittaker,” he said, a malicious smile on his lips. “It's been several years since I saw you last. It was in Washington, wasn't it?”

“The less said about Washington, the better,” Miss Whittaker said, with a glance at Louisa.

“Of course. Whatever you like. Tell me, what are you doing here?” he asked. “Were you looking for me? I was born and raised in Concord.”

“Certainly not!” cried Miss Whittaker. “I had no idea that you were from this area. I'm here on business.”

Louisa watched the two of them, feeling like a spectator at a masquerade. “Business?” Mr. Finch stressed the word. “Perhaps I can be of assistance?”

“Not likely!” Miss Whittaker spat. She saw the surprise on Louisa's face and became more ladylike. “I am perfectly capable of managing my own affairs.”

“Nevertheless, I'm at your service,” Finch said.

“It's completely unnecessary,” Miss Whittaker insisted. “Now Miss Alcott and I must escort Mrs. Alcott to the train.”

Marmee, May in tow, finally emerged from the general store and looked impatiently up and down the street. Midmorning was a busy time for the Main Street shops and at first Marmee didn't notice Louisa. Louisa whistled to draw her mother's attention, ignoring Miss Whittaker's scandalized look. Marmee turned and saw her, waving her arm for Louisa to come.

“I'm afraid we are in a dreadful hurry, Miss Whittaker,” Louisa said. “I'll just leave you here with Mr. . . .” She watched Miss Whittaker, curious to know if he too had answered to a different name in Washington.

“Mr. Jones and I have nothing further to say to each other.”

Mr. Finch's cheeks reddened, and he had the air of someone who could barely keep his temper in check. “Miss Whittaker,” he said with some emphasis. “You're confusing me with someone else. My name is Finch.”

“In Concord, I dare say it is,” Miss Whittaker replied. She seemed to have recovered her equanimity.

Marmee tapped her watch impatiently, so Louisa wasted no more time and ran toward her, away from a most uncomfortable reunion.

“Where have you been, Louisa?” Marmee asked as they set off at a brisk pace toward the train station. “Who were you talking to?” Although she could still read without spectacles, Marmee's eyesight was not good for long distances. Little May skipped ahead, clutching a bag of treats.

“Miss Whittaker,” Louisa answered, making a split-second decision not to worry Marmee about Mr. Finch. “She caught me on the street.”

“Miss Whittaker is very fast,” agreed Marmee with a wicked glint in her eyes.

With an answering grin, Louisa said, “You should see how quickly she can trap Mr. Emerson in his own study!”

“At least he tries to run. Your father surrenders willingly!”

“Marmee!” Louisa said, laughing, but disconcerted at the same time.

“None of that, young lady.” Marmee waggled a finger at Louisa. “You know as well as I do that your father's fatal flaw is not a woman but the promise of publication. Miss Whittaker is tempting him with this magazine of hers.”

Louisa nodded thoughtfully, and after a moment told her mother everything Miss Whittaker had said about her magazine. “Do you really believe she's raised so much money?” Louisa asked.

Marmee shrugged. “As long as we don't owe anything, I don't care. But I won't hold my breath waiting for her to pay your father. Louisa, in this world, you have to depend . . .”

“On yourself,” Louisa finished. “I know, Marmee. But
you
can depend on
me
. I'll make sure Father doesn't lose his head or his purse.”

The train depot was in sight now. Far in the distance, they could hear the whistle of the train to Boston. From Boston,
Marmee would take a stagecoach to New Hampshire. Louisa started to say something to her mother about the train being on time, when she realized that her mother was wrestling with some private concern. Finally she spoke. “Louisa, I don't know how to ask you this . . .”

“Just ask, Marmee. I'll do anything.”

“I trust your father completely, but . . . Miss Whittaker is persistent.” Marmee's back was rod straight, and a flush started at the hollow of her neck and went to her hairline.

Louisa impulsively threw her arms around her mother. “I'll make certain that Miss Whittaker's visits are always chaperoned. I won't give her the chance to compromise Father.”

Marmee clutched her close, then pushed her away, keeping her hands on Louisa's shoulders and looking her straight in the eyes. “My darling Louy. I ask so much from you. I'm so proud that you're able to take on all these challenges. I only wish you didn't have to grow up so fast.”

“Marmee, if I can lighten your burden, I don't mind.” Louisa lifted her chin, letting Marmee's praise buoy her.

A long, plaintive whistle announced the train's arrival. The next few minutes were a blur of loading trunks, presenting tickets, and lifting May into the train. Before Marmee climbed into the train car, she pressed a note into Louisa's hand. Then Marmee said her farewells and the train puffed away. May waved from the window. A small stream of disembarking passengers headed into town on foot or in carriages.

Louisa unfolded the note. Marmee had poured all her confidence in Louisa onto the page. She suggested Louisa write every day as a safety valve to her strong emotions. But above all, Louisa should have faith in herself.

Alone, Louisa walked toward home. Marmee was right: Louisa was
capable
. And it was time to show everyone, especially the ones who doubted her.

With the delightful enthusiasm of youth,
they took the solitary boy into their midst and
made much of him, and he found something very
charming in the innocent companionship of
these simple-hearted girls
.

L
ouisa took back paths home, picking her way across bogs. It would have been quicker to take the main road, but what waited for her at home except chores and responsibilities? As she walked, she thought about Marmee speeding toward adventure while Louisa had to stay at home. How was she to write interesting stories if she never went anywhere or met anyone?

She cut through Mr. Emerson's extensive orchards until she reached the Alcotts' stand of apple trees. From there she could just glimpse their house and the occasional traffic on the main road to Lexington.

Louisa heard the sound of chopping before she saw her father wielding an axe on an apple tree that had been struck dead by lightning a few months ago. She smiled, thinking how the wood would burn sweetly in the fire after it sat for a bit. Although her father refused to work for anyone else, he never shirked his duties at home. He loved farming and carpentry, welcoming the opportunity to put his theories into practice. This meant that their house was filled with unusual features, like indoor showers. On the other hand, Marmee and her daughters had to surreptitiously grow potatoes because Father mistrusted root vegetables. He preferred produce that didn't grow under the ground. Since apple trees reached for the heavens, he considered them a purer fruit.

The axe lifted high, then swung down to remove a large branch. Without a pause, the axe came up again. Another branch fell to the earth. She cocked her head, wondering at how quickly her father was working. She drew closer and saw with surprise it wasn't her father. It was George, dressed in her father's working clothes and leather gloves and even his floppy straw hat, a gift to Bronson from Henry Thoreau. Even if Finch were stupid, which he wasn't, George was just asking to be noticed.