The Revelation of Louisa May (4 page)

Louisa's jaw trembled with the effort of not saying what she wished to say. A sizzling on the stove and the briefest wisp of smoke distracted her. She rushed to save the burning omelet.

“Is that for me?” Bronson asked. “Your mother wouldn't feed me earlier.”

Louisa couldn't resist. “No, Father. This is for our guest. You wouldn't eat your meal at his expense, would you? He has suffered so much more than you.” She wrapped the plate in a cloth and deposited it in a basket.

“Since I'm not wanted here,” Bronson said, pushing himself slowly up from the table, “I'll be in my study.”

“Of course, Father,” Louisa said, concentrating on packing George's meal. A few biscuits, some apples, and a jar of water completed the basket.

“Fasting is a good tool to focus the mind,” he muttered. “I might write about that.” His shoulders slumped, he ducked his head to go through the low doorway.

“Another essay that no one will buy,” Louisa said under her breath. She banked the coals on the stove and slipped the handle of the basket over her arm.

Outside, the spring air was cold and there was frost on the grass. Louisa hurried through the garden to the barn. She unlatched the barn doors and dragged them open.

Inside the barn was dark. Although stalls lined the back of the barn, there were no animals here. Her father did not agree
with keeping animals in captivity. He likened the use of animals for work to slavery. Louisa wasn't sure she agreed, and she had often reflected that whenever the Alcott family moved her father had accepted the use of cart horses.

The stall at the end of the row was much narrower than the others, but no one would suspect that it concealed a hidden room. She stepped inside the stall. “George!” she called softly. “It's me, Louisa Alcott.”

After a moment, a hidden door swung open. It was so cunningly disguised that even if you knew it was there, you might not find the secret way of unlocking it. Inside it was cramped but adequate for a grown man. The ceiling was very high, to the height of the barn roof. A bed, a small set of drawers, a chamber pot, and a stack of books were the only amenities.

“Good morning, Miss Louisa,” George said. He looked exhausted, and Louisa feared he had not slept. He was wearing a discarded shirt of her father's, and even though Bronson was a powerfully built man, the shirt was stretched across George's shoulders.

Cheerfully she said, “My mother's omelets shouldn't be eaten cold, so eat up!”

George took the basket and began to eat Marmee's food with relish.

“I hope you were comfortable last night,” she said.

“Yes, thank you,” George said, swallowing his food.

“My mother has to talk to the others on the Railroad. Will you be all right here for a few hours?”

“I'd rather be useful to your family.” He nodded eagerly. “I can help around the farm.”

“I know. But you need to stay out of sight. Get some rest. Maybe you would like something to read?”

“It's awfully dark in here.”

“Ah, you haven't seen the windows yet,” Louisa said. She showed him a crank attached to the wall. When he turned it, a set of shutters opened near the eaves to reveal three narrow windows. Light poured in, illuminating the small room.

“That's clever,” he said.

“My father invented them,” Louisa said. “When my parents began helping fugitives, we added the furniture but my father couldn't imagine a space without light. Or a night that you couldn't spend reading by candlelight without fear of discovery. No matter how bright your candle or lantern, if the shutters are closed, it can't be seen from the outside. We've tested it.” She paused a moment, then said, “Would you like me to lend you a book?”

He reached into his knapsack and brought out a well-used Bible. “I have one, Miss.”

“An excellent book,” Louisa agreed. “But I also have some novels, if you prefer a change.”

“I would like that, Miss.”

Louisa smiled at him. “I have a perfect one in mind. I'll bring it when I come back with your dinner. I'm not sure how you ate in Virginia, but here we have our main meal around
noon. You can go out into the barn, but don't go outside yet.” She waited until he nodded his promise.

She let herself out of the barn. A farmer was passing by on the road and he waved a cautious greeting. With the exception of their philosopher friends, the rest of the inhabitants of Concord were farmers who didn't trust men who thought for a living. Or, in Bronson Alcott's case, for no living at all.

Louisa waved back, careful to seem casual as she shoved the barn doors closed. No one must suspect that the Alcotts had a secret in their barn. She hated to think ill of their neighbors, but George had said there was a price on his head. Who knew what people might do for money? Or to show how law-abiding they were? Or even just to make trouble for the eccentric Bronson Alcott?

She returned to the kitchen and found her mother standing by the sink lost in thought, her eyes fixed on the terraced hillside behind the house. “Marmee?”

Her mother didn't answer.

“Marmee,” Louisa repeated. “Is Beth all right?”

“Ah, Louy, I'm sorry. I didn't hear you come in.” Marmee started scrubbing at the frying pan as if it were the most important thing in the world. “Beth is fine. She has the gift of acceptance.”

“Maybe she could teach it to me,” Louisa said.

Marmee smiled ruefully. “A lesson I too could learn. How is George this morning?”

“He's fine. He liked your omelet.”

“That's good.” Marmee nodded in satisfaction. “Now, help me with the dishes. I still have a dozen tasks to do if I am to leave on tomorrow's train.”

“Tomorrow!” Louisa staggered back. “But that's so soon.”

“ ‘If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly,' ” she said with a hint of her usual dark sense of humor.

“You're no Lady Macbeth,” Louisa said hotly.

“This morning your father might disagree.” She sighed. “We're out of sorts with each other. I've not been tactful with him, I'm afraid. Last night I picked that quarrel. How I wish I could control my temper!”

Louisa rubbed a dish dry with a rag, then picked up another. “Marmee, I was very rude to Father myself a few minutes ago,” she confessed. “I know he didn't mean to shock Beth like that, but it was poorly done.” She braced herself for the scolding Marmee was sure to administer. Criticizing her father was something her mother never tolerated. To her surprise, Marmee dropped the heavy iron pot into the sink. It landed with a reverberating thud and water sloshed over the sink rim onto the floor.

“He knew exactly what he was doing,” she said. “He thought I would change my mind rather than see Beth cry.”

“Marmee! He wouldn't!” But Louisa was running the scene over in her head. He had deliberately dragged Marmee's
departure into the conversation. And Father rarely said anything by accident.

Mopping up the spilled water, Marmee's eyes filled with angry tears. “Now there, I'm doing it again. I must have more compassion. Your father will miss me terribly, I know. But he's acting as though I have a choice.” She glanced up at Louisa, so forlorn that on impulse Louisa put her arms around Marmee and held her for several moments. It was the first time Marmee had let Louisa comfort her. And while Louisa was proud, it was unsettling to be Marmee's support instead of the other way around.

“Marmee, don't worry,” she murmured. “You go earn money to keep us and I'll take charge here.”

After a few moments, Marmee regained her self-control. Sniffing, she said, “Louisa, thank you, dear. I knew I could count on you.” She kissed Louisa on the forehead and assumed her usual businesslike air. “Now, about our guest. First you must go to Mr. Emerson and tell him about George.”

Louisa's jaw dropped. “Mr. Emerson is part of the Railroad, too?” Ralph Waldo Emerson was a world-renowned philosopher and writer. He was Bronson's closest friend and had often lent the family money when his largesse had meant the difference between starving and eating. He also possessed an excellent library from which Louisa was at liberty to borrow.

“Mr. Emerson supports the cause even if he does not participate in the actual work of the Railroad. But he must know
about George—if only so that he can be careful about visiting the house. His work is too important for him to compromise himself. He has a reputation to maintain.”

“Not like the Alcotts,” Louisa retorted.

“No,” Marmee agreed. “I am proud to say that principle will always trump social respectability in this house.”

Louisa watched her mother's face closely, unable to decide if she were serious or not. In a small voice, she said, “Marmee, I rather like that about us.”

“I do, too.” Marmee lowered her voice. “Louy, while I'm away, you must know that whenever Mr. Emerson visits, he leaves money on the mantelpiece behind the clock. If he comes, you have to get the money before your father does. You'll need it when I'm gone.”

Louisa stared at her mother in consternation. “I knew Mr. Emerson lent us the funds to buy this house, but he gives us money, too?”

“But very tactfully. He doesn't want to embarrass your father.” Marmee shrugged. “Now off with you, because after the Emersons' you'll need to find Henry.”

“Henry?” Louisa's heart beat a bit faster.

“Yes, he'll be of the greatest help to you while I'm gone. There's nothing he wouldn't do for the Railroad.”

“Of course. We'll have to work closely together, I'm sure,” Louisa said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. But she could see from Marmee's indulgent smile that Marmee wasn't fooled.

“Henry is fifteen years your senior,” Marmee warned. “He's too old for you.”

“Mother!” Louisa felt the flush rise in her cheeks and she wished for one moment that Marmee's eyes weren't so sharp.

“Never mind, my dear. Your calf-love is safe in his hands. Henry's a good man, not one to tease you. You're only young once.” She kissed Louisa on the cheek. “Now go.”

As Louisa pulled her shawl around her shoulders, she thought how her youth was mostly being devoured by hard work and poverty. But not today.

Today she was saving a fugitive.

And she would have the chance to talk with Henry David Thoreau.

The dim, dusty room, with . . . the wilderness of
books in which she could
wander where she liked, made the library a region
of bliss to her
.

D
eep in thought, Louisa stepped into the road without paying attention.

“Watch out!” A man on a black horse cantered along the road directly in her path. Louisa fell against the gate into the dust. The rider pulled back on the reins and his horse wheeled to a halt, rearing, its front legs pawing the air above Louisa's head.

Cursing, the rider dismounted and threw his reins around the gatepost. “Are you blind? I could have killed you!”

Louisa patted herself and realized that she was bruised but not broken. However, her sharp tongue had not suffered any damage. “You should look where you are going! What kind of idiot rides that fast along a main road in town?”

Squinting her eyes against the sun, Louisa tried to get the measure of the stranger. She couldn't see his face clearly, but she had earned enough money as a seamstress to know his clothes were expensively tailored. He wore a top hat covered with dust from the road and his pale hair spilled out from beneath the brim onto his thick neck. Not young, but not old, perhaps in his early thirties.

“I was in a hurry,” he replied tersely. In his voice, she heard a hint of the South.

“Hardly an excuse for running me down,” Louisa replied. She knew she was being impertinent, but her bottom hurt from the fall. With dismay, she saw her skirt had a rip.