The Revelation of Louisa May (3 page)

“Whatever you say, Mr. Alcott,” George said.

“The barn is old; it goes back to before the Revolution,” Louisa explained. “It used to be across the road, but Father moved it nearer to the house. That's when he found a secret room where they used to hide guns. That's where you'll stay. We've made it ever so comfortable. Father put in a window for light, but it's up high so no one can see in.”

“You'll be safe,” Bronson interrupted Louisa's litany of amenities.

George held out his hand. “Thank you, sir. I can see I'm in the hands of a good man.” He and Bronson shook solemnly as though they were settling a bargain.

“A good family,” interrupted Louisa.

“We'll all be good together,” laughed Marmee. “Louisa, come with me and we'll prepare our guest's bed.”

Marmee made Louisa wrap a shawl around her shoulders. Holding a lantern, she opened the door outside and stepped into the rock garden. The night sky was full of stars, and despite the frigid air, they stopped to stare skyward for a moment.

“Brrrr, it's cold,” Marmee said, rubbing her hands together. “What on earth were you doing outside instead of in your room, where I told you to stay?”

“I was upset,” Louisa said, her eyes shifting to the ground. “I needed to be outside, where there was room enough for my temper.”

Marmee reached out and stroked her hair. “When I'm away, you'd best not let your father know how often you go outside at night.”

“You know?” Louisa asked, not really surprised. Marmee knew everything. That was why she was so necessary.

“Of course.” She leaned over and kissed Louisa on the forehead. “And how like you, Louy, to go outside in a fit of pique and find someone who needs our help!”

An idea occurred to Louisa—if Marmee wouldn't stay for the family, she would never abandon a fugitive slave. “Marmee, you can't go now. Who will take care of George? And his family when they get here?”

“I don't want to leave. But our finances . . . you're the only one in the family who knows how desperate they are. I have to do something.”

“But Marmee—you cannot go. Am I to take care of Beth, May, and Father? And now George?”

Marmee exhaled, and her breath hung for a moment in the air. “I hadn't counted on George. But I'll be taking May with me. And Beth will be a help to you.”

There was a silence. Louisa broke it. “And Father?”

“The two of you are so different,” Marmee said with a sigh. “But he loves you dearly. Just be patient and you'll be able to manage him.”

Louisa made a rude snorting sound.

A smile flitted across Marmee's lips. “I'll write you often. You won't ever run out of advice from your Marmee.”

“But . . .”

“Louisa May Alcott, please do as I ask. Take care of the family and the house while I am gone. You are the only one I can rely on.”

Miserable, Louisa nodded. It might be impossible, but she couldn't let Marmee down.

“Girls' quarrels are soon over,” returned her
mother, feeling a trifle ashamed of her own part in
this one, as well she might
.

L
ouisa sensed the thin sunlight of early morning on her face, but she refused to open her eyes. This was the best part of every day, when she was suspended between sleep and waking, before the press of chores and obligations usurped her time.

She stretched her legs, her feet draping over the end of the bed. Outside a woodpecker pecked on her wall, a familiar irritant. She banged on the wall and with a final indignant tap the bird moved on to another landing place.

Like tendrils of fog, the smell of one of Marmee's delicious omelets drifted under the ill-fitting door to Louisa's room. She inhaled deeply, anticipating how good they would taste. Suddenly, a weight landed on her chest and her eyes flew open.

Her latest acquisition, a tiger-eyed black kitten from a new litter at the Emersons', sat on her chest, preening himself. He nuzzled her chin and licked her cheek with his raspy tongue.

“Very well, Goethe,” she said, scratching his head. “It's time to get up. But you mustn't let Marmee see that you slept in here. She doesn't approve.” Louisa lifted the kitten off and dumped him on the floor.

A knock at the door was followed by Beth's gentle voice. “Louy, are you awake?”

Of Louisa's three sisters, Beth was the dearest to her and the one whose health she worried most about. This past winter had been particularly damp and Beth was still suffering the effects. How would fragile Beth take the news of Marmee leaving?

“Come in.” The door opened and Goethe made a beeline to Beth. She was a favorite with all the cats. She stooped to rub his chin, looking sidelong at Louisa. “Gracious! It's not like you to still be abed at seven in the morning.”

Beth was thirteen to Louisa's fifteen and a half, but her hair was always smooth and her light blue eyes never cried angry tears. The family called her the Angel in the House. As much as Louisa loved her, Beth made her feel more devilish than ever.

“I was up late, having adventures, while you were slugabed!” Louisa stretched her arms to the ceiling and yawned. “Did Marmee tell you about the slave I found?”

“From what I heard, he found us,” Beth scolded gently. Shrinking into herself, she asked, “What is he like? Does he speak roughly?”

“Don't be so timid!” Louisa hopped out of bed and hugged her sister. “George is very sweet. He can read and write. Ironically, that has made his lot worse. His master wants him back and has put a high price on his head!”

Louisa reached into her closet and pulled out a shapeless linen dress. “I suppose I shouldn't wear cotton, in deference to his feelings,” she said. Their father never wore cotton because it was the product of slave labor. In the past few years he had reluctantly agreed to let the girls wear secondhand clothes donated from relatives who didn't share Bronson Alcott's high-minded standards.

Beth wrinkled her nose. “Louy, I doubt that George will care. And that dress looks like a sack of potatoes.”

Louisa burst out laughing and grabbed her usual day dress. “The cotton it is. Father's principles be damned!” she cried.

“Ssssh,” Beth hissed. “Someone will hear.”

“So?”

Abandoning the finer points of fabric choice, Beth focused on the new risk to the family. “Is hiding George more dangerous than the other slaves we've sheltered?” Beth's charitable
nature was often at odds with her protective instincts about the family.

Louisa's words were smothered by the pinafore she was pulling over her head. “It doesn't matter, dear Beth. It's our duty regardless of the risk.”

“You can say that because you aren't afraid of anything!” Beth cried. “The rest of us are not so bold.”

Louisa's head popped up through the collar on her dress. “It's too early to disagree, Beth, so let's not.”

“It's not like you to avoid a fight.” Beth's smile was sly, almost a challenge.

“Let's argue after breakfast,” Louisa said. “It smells delicious!” She was almost certain that Marmee hadn't told Beth her plans to leave. If she had, Beth wouldn't be in here talking about George.

Beth hesitated, then said with an embarrassed look on her face, “One of us is supposed to bring George breakfast.”

“Ah, so now I see why you woke me up! You're afraid to do it!” Louisa said, with a mock glare at her sister.

“He's a stranger . . . and I'm . . .”

“I know, Beth.” Louisa relented. “You're shy around new people, and I'm a beast to make you feel badly for it! I'll bring George food to break his fast. I don't mind. And later I'll introduce you so you don't need to be nervous.” She pulled her nightcap off, revealing plaits so untidy and loose they could hardly be called braids.

“Oh, Louy, why don't you let me braid your hair at night? That's going to pull terribly when you try to brush it. Your hair is so thick and beautiful—and it's such a nice chestnut color, you should take better care with it.”

Twisting her braids into a messy knot and pulling a loose net over her thick hair, Louisa said, “Beth, hush. Let's go.”

Louisa pushed her sister out the door and followed her into the kitchen. Marmee stood at the stove, her back straight and her thick coils of hair fastened neatly about her head. Eight-year-old May sat at the table single-mindedly eating spoonfuls of cooked egg. Even though the family always began the day with the reading of a hymn, Father was nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning, Louisa,” Marmee said. Her penetrating look warned Louisa not to mention her mother's plans in front of the younger girls. “Sit down and eat.” She slid a large omelet from a cast-iron skillet onto Louisa's waiting plate.

Determined to show Marmee she had understood the unspoken message, Louisa made sure that May was preoccupied with her breakfast and asked quietly, “Should I take some food to the barn?”

“It's going to be a busy day, so you should eat first,” Marmee said, rewarding Louisa's discretion with a nod of approval. “What is in the barn must stay hidden until you and I can talk to the Conductor.”

“Me?” Louisa put her hand to her neck.

“It's time that you become more involved with our Railroad duties,” Marmee said. Beth was busy eating and Marmee whispered to Louisa, “While I'm gone, someone has to take care of George and send him on his way.” Louisa couldn't keep the dismay from her face. Marmee kissed her on the top of her head and said, “You're young, but you're also sensible.”

Louisa let out a sigh of long suffering as another responsibility settled on her aching shoulders. But deep inside she felt a twinge of pride that Marmee trusted her to help with such important work. She fell to the omelet with a fierce appetite. “I thank goodness every morning for your cooking, Marmee,” she said between forkfuls.

“You should be thanking the chickens,” came her father's deep voice. He had stolen up on them from the back door, carrying some kindling for the stove. “We eat their eggs because they are freely given in exchange for the shelter and food we provide to them.” Without ceremony he dropped the wood next to the stove. Marmee turned her back to him without a word and began cracking more eggs into a pan.

“Thank you, chickies,” May said with her charming lisp.

“Very good, May,” her father said.

“Well, Marmee makes the omelets taste delicious,” Louisa pronounced.

“Of course,” he said. He paused, then said in a deliberate way, his eyes fixed on his wife, “But when Marmee is gone,
who will cook for us? Louisa, your cooking skills have greatly improved, but they aren't yet of your mother's caliber.”

“Gone? What does he mean?” Beth asked, suddenly pale. “Where are you going, Marmee dear?”

Marmee turned slowly, glaring at Bronson. “Beth, don't be upset. I was going to tell you today.”

“So you
are
going?” Beth cried.

“Marmee's going away!” May began to weep.

“Girls, I need you to be brave!” Turning to May, Marmee said, “May, you'll be coming with me, so there's no reason for you to moan.”

Beth's words were nearly swallowed by her heaving sobs. “You're taking May and leaving us? What will we do without you?”

Marmee led Beth out of the kitchen, May following close on their heels, clamoring for more information.

Louisa stared daggers at her father. The brief alliance she had shared with him last night was shattered by the thoughtless way he had let the cat out of the bag. Marmee would have told Beth gently and helped her to accept the news.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded. “You should have known that Beth would be upset.” She'd never spoken so disrespectfully to her father before.

“It's your mother who should be sorry,” Bronson muttered. He sat down at the table and without warning he pounded his
fist on the table. “If she hadn't conceived this plan, then we'd be eating a happy breakfast together as a family.”