The Revelation of Louisa May (14 page)

Perhaps there was an innocent explanation about Henry and Lidian being alone in that cabin, but Finch wouldn't look for it. As furious as she was with Henry—how dare he scold her when he was the one behaving badly?—the last thing any of them needed was for Finch to catch Henry in a compromising situation with his best friend's wife.

“Mr. Finch, your informant was mistaken,” Louisa said. “My father often wears black gloves and has a dark handkerchief wrapped around his face when he chops wood. He suffers from asthma.”

“Why don't we go ask him about it together?” Finch said. “I wonder if he'll tell the same story. And I wouldn't mind
taking a closer look at your barn and the outbuildings in your garden.”

Louisa schooled herself not to give away any hint that Finch's guesses were hitting their target. She stared Finch down, not blinking. “We could,” she said. “But my father isn't at home. We were just going to join him on the other side of Walden Pond. There's a hill there with an excellent vista. Why don't you join us?”

At her side, Fred shot her a surprised glance, but then he understood her plan was to lead Finch in the opposite direction from George's hiding place and away from Henry's cabin, too. “Louisa, we're supposed to meet him in just a few minutes,” he said helpfully. “We should go.”

“Not so fast, Miss Alcott.” Finch was scanning the woods as he spoke. “I can't help but wonder what you were doing on this side of the pond. I remember when I was a boy there were freed slaves living in these woods. Isn't it more likely that you are out here checking on my fugitive than you are having a picnic with your father? My man is close, I'm sure of it.” He watched her face closely to see if she reacted. Louisa kept a look of polite incomprehension on her face, but Fred couldn't control himself.

“George's not
your
man,” Fred burst out. “Slavery is an abomination, and you're the lowest sort of scum to be hunting fugitives.”

“Fred, don't . . .” Louisa snapped, but Finch was too quick for her. Eyeing Fred with speculation, Finch slowly grinned.

“Ah, so you've confirmed my man is here in Concord.”

“I did no such thing!”

“Yes, you did,” Finch said. “Otherwise how would you know his name? But don't feel badly; I was sure that my quarry was here anyway. And who might you be?”

“Fred Llewellyn. A friend and admirer of the Alcotts'. I warn you they are under my protection.”

Finch burst into raucous laughter. “Is that so?”

“Yes. So leave them alone or you'll have me to deal with.” Fred put his fists up. Louisa winced; she wished Fred wasn't such a chivalrous fool.

“And what, pray tell, my scrawny young friend, do you intend to do about it?”

Fred lunged forward, aiming a punch at Finch's nose. Finch saw Fred's move coming and ducked. Fred landed only a glancing blow, his momentum taking him past Finch, who shoved Fred's back to push him into the undergrowth. Fred sprawled amidst the ferns, his face in the dirt.

Finch held his hand toward Louisa. “Shall we explore these woods together, Miss Alcott?”

Louisa glared at him. “Never!” Turning her back on the slave catcher, she helped Fred to his feet.

“Never is a long time, Miss Alcott,” Finch said.

“The sharp words fly out before I know what
I'm about, and the more I say the worse I get,
till it's a pleasure to hurt people's feelings and say
dreadful things.”

F
red scrambled to his feet, breathing furiously through his nose. His face was smudged with dirt, and a bit of dark fern stuck up from his full head of hair. He looked ridiculous, and what was worse, he knew it. Louisa knew in her heart this was a humiliation that would stay with him.

“Miss Alcott, put your dog on a leash! He has terrible manners,” Finch said, his hands smoothing his slicked-back hair. “Stay out of my business, boy.”

Fred started forward, but Louisa grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him back. “Stop, Fred. You're making things worse.”

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.”