The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott (3 page)

“Good afternoon, Miss Daniels,” the clerk said. “Is that a new bonnet? It’s awfully becoming.”

Miss Daniels tilted her head to the side and preened with a demure smile. “Why, thank you, Mr. Singer. It was a gift.”

He clutched theatrically at his chest. “Not from some wealthy suitor, I hope. Don’t tell me you’ve gone and given your heart away. After I’ve been waiting here pining for you all these years!”

She giggled, clearly enjoying the attention, Louisa noted, and touched the curls that hung beneath her bonnet. “You know very well Mr. Ross and I are to be married in a few months’ time.”

He gave a dramatic sigh, then narrowed his eyes at her. “I’d swear all you beautiful women are in on the conspiracy. The way you break hearts for sport—it’s cruel and unusual!”

“Joseph Singer!” Miss Daniels pretended to be scandalized. “Does your father know what a terrible flirt you’ve become?”

Joseph chuckled. “He should—he taught me himself.”

Miss Daniels rolled her eyes. “Well, if you are quite recovered from your broken heart, might I trouble you for six yards of that gray gabardine? ”

The clerk chuckled and walked over to the bolts of fabric, glancing at Louisa as he passed. “Still deciding?”

Young men like this were the worst sort, Louisa thought. Flippant and casual, utterly amused with themselves.

“I only
just
arrived,” she snapped.

His eyes widened with surprise and he pressed his lips together to conceal a grin. “Of course, take your time.” He carried the gabardine back to the counter to fulfill Miss Daniels’s order. A few moments later the bell on the door gave a cheerful ring as she exited the shop and Joseph took up his post near—but not too near—where Louisa browsed.

Anna appeared at her side. “Oh, Louy, you must come see this yellow silk. It’s just divine.” Anna noticed the young man waiting patiently and took a step toward him. “Oh, how rude of me. Good afternoon.” He returned Anna’s demure nod. “Is this your store?”

“My father’s. But I help from time to time and . . .” He trailed off for a moment. “Well, he has been ill. So here I am.”

“I’m Anna Alcott, and this is my sister Louisa. We just arrived in town.” Louisa felt a sting of envy at Anna’s bravery. “I’m sorry to hear about your father’s health, but I’m happy to meet you,” Anna said.

“Joseph Singer,” he said, nodding. “Yes, it has been a difficult time for my sister and me. We want to keep the business in the family if . . . You see, I haven’t any brothers. I’m doing my best for now and hope he will soon recover.”

Anna nodded sympathetically. “Well, I’m glad to see that you stock grains and spices as well as the dry goods,” she said, gesturing to the barrels in the corner. “That must help your business.”

Joseph nodded. “We just began selling those in the spring. Used to be people ordered the spices from Boston and the deliveries came once a week. But when the Boston train started running all the way to Bellows Falls—that’s just across the river there into Vermont—” he said, gesturing vaguely west, “people in town came around asking about them more often. And we like to keep our customers happy.”

“Well, you’ve just earned some new ones. Our family has let a house down the road,” Anna said, the lie tumbling easily from her lips.

“Is it Yellow Wood? That place is a beauty.”

Anna smiled. “It is, though the windows seem quite bare.”

“Ah, so it’s drapes you’d like to make? I tried to inquire with your sister here, but she seems a bit shy.” Louisa felt Joseph’s eyes on her again and fixed her face into an indisputable scowl.

“Louy, shy? Wait until I tell our mother you said so—we’ll all have a good laugh about that. Won’t we, Lou? ” Anna nudged Louisa with an elbow and she forced a smile.

Louisa tried to think of something clever to say in response, but charm had abandoned her for the moment. She kept her eyes safely trained on her sister’s face. “Nan, what do you think of this one?” Louisa said, pointing out a blue floral print.

“Oh, I don’t really care for cornflowers. Isn’t there anything with lily of the valley? It’s my favorite.”

“We just got some of the new designs in this morning. They’re in the back.” Joseph walked around the counter and through the open door of the stockroom. Louisa watched his back arch as he tilted his head back and reached for a wooden crate on a high shelf. His face didn’t have a hint of a beard, but as he eased the heavy shipment from the shelf his shirt pulled taut across the muscles in his back. He was older than she’d first suspected, but only just.

“Lou, do you think that room will have much of a draft?” Anna rubbed the fabric between her thumb and index finger. “Will we need something heavier than these cottons?”

Louisa stared out the window to Washington Street, which was empty except for a few pigeons fighting over an abandoned crust of bread. Her fingers grazed the bolts of fabric, as if they contained some message only discernable through touch.

“
Louisa
—I’m talking to you.”

She looked up, blinking. “Sorry, Anna. What was that? I drifted off for a second.”

“What were you thinking about just then?” Anna looked at her sister and then at the stockroom door, where Joseph crouched inside, removing brown paper wrappings from the new fabrics.

“A story I’m working on,” Louisa blurted. This was her standard excuse. When her first book had been published the year before, her family was quite taken aback that all Louisa’s dreamy afternoons holed up in her room with a stack of paper had actually led to something—and they’d all been a bit penitent ever since.

Anna looked her over carefully. “I thought perhaps you were thinking that Joseph Singer is handsome. That’s what
I
was thinking.”

Louisa looked her dead in the eye and whispered her reply as Joseph approached them, the lily-of-the-valley print atop a pile of fabric in his arms. “No. I was thinking about people who aren’t even real. As always.”

“What do you think of this one?” Joseph asked, holding the sample out for Louisa to touch. Before she thought to stop herself, she looked up and met his eyes. They were a pale smoke blue but seemed to change even as she looked at them.

Her eyes darted to the fabric. “It’s up to my sister, really.” Louisa turned to Anna.

“This is perfect,” Anna said. “We’ll need five yards—what’s the price?”

“I’ll have to check the list,” Joseph said, turning back toward the counter. “If you’ll just follow me over here . . .”

While Anna went to settle the payment with Joseph, Louisa hovered near the door contemplating her sudden skittishness as she pretended to assess the selection of ribbons and trim. She was simply tired, she supposed, and unaccustomed to meeting new people after many safely predictable years amongst friends in Boston and Concord. She heard Anna’s footsteps on the broad plank floor and pulled open the door without turning around. The bell mounted on the frame announced their departure.

“Very pleased to meet both of you,” Joseph called out as they left. Only Anna turned back to wave.

 

 

Back outside,
the sun was blinding once again. Anna clutched the package of fabric to her chest.

“Well, so far this seems like a friendly town.”

“Nice enough.” Louisa touched one of the pins that held her raven mane in place to make sure it was secure.

“Oh, Lou, be reasonable. I think Mr. Singer was friendly, though not for any reason I can see—you were quite rude. What’s come over you?”

“
I
was rude to
him
?
He
was rude to
me
. I was simply trying to browse in peace. It’s startling to be spoken to by strangers. We
knew
everyone in Concord,” she muttered.

Anna rolled her eyes. “Well, we aren’t in Concord anymore.”

“That’s right—we aren’t. We never would have been buying fabric for drapes in Concord, because we wouldn’t have had any windows to put them in.” Louisa could feel her speech taking a turn toward the dramatic. “We would have been homeless, cast out by debtors. If only Father would have tried a
little
harder to find work.”

Anna stopped dead and turned to Louisa, her face a mixture of astonishment and an older sister’s reproach.

Louisa put her hand on Anna’s forearm. “Of course, you
know
I think Father is more brilliant than just about anyone else. But aren’t you tired of worrying about money? I would say we see it differently now that we are older, but doesn’t it seem like we’ve always worried about the debts more than he has? And, of course, Marmee has worried too. God only knows how much.”

Anna nodded and took her sister’s arm. “It won’t always be this way. It’s lucky we’re girls, I guess.”

Louisa furrowed her brow in confusion and Anna smiled. “What do you mean?” Louisa asked.

Anna leaned against her sister and for a moment rested her cheek on Louisa’s shoulder. “Well, my dear, it’s not as if we’ll be living with Father and Marmee forever.”

A short hard laugh escaped from Louisa’s lips. “Well, I certainly don’t intend to do
that
.” She thought again of Boston, rolled the calendar forward in her mind to the date when she might be able to leave.

The two strolled in silence up Main Street and then east along the woods at the edge of the square, taking the long way back to Yellow Wood. Louisa continued to brood. They were in this unfamiliar town, Louisa knew, because her father was a man of many grand ideas and little common sense. As a child, she had revered him, and never doubted that the problem lay with a world unwilling to comprehend his brilliance. But eventually she had come to see him in a different light, one that revealed his flaws. For a time, in response to Emerson’s urgings, Bronson had worked at becoming a writer, but he found the public either wouldn’t or couldn’t accept his ideas. His affected prose had earned many polite nods and one harsh critique that his writing conjured an image of fifty boxcars rattling by containing only one passenger. After that he abandoned literary pursuits, though he continued to journal extensively and focused his efforts on teaching. A great lot of money was invested by others in his schools, which promised to transform children’s minds and souls through Transcendental teachings. Each had temporary success, but ultimately Bronson would reach too far outside acceptable boundaries and offend a wealthy contributor. The Quakers had influenced his philosophy and he came to believe that no religious ritual or temple could substitute for direct communication with God. Bronson was reluctant to accept dogma of any kind and told his students that Jesus was a great teacher but was not divine. None of this sat well with the Episcopalian and Unitarian ministers who contributed to his school fund. But the theological disagreements were nothing compared to what came later on, when Bronson tried to engage his young students in a discussion of where babies came from. It was brave for Bronson to speak his mind to Boston’s powerful interests, Louisa knew, but he had never learned how to choose his battles.

Of course,
he
believed the world did not understand what he was trying to tell it. His ventures would fail and the family would soon be back to living in poverty. In Bronson’s estimation, his family’s money troubles weren’t his fault—they were the fault of a world too cowardly to consider new ways of thinking. After all, Louisa thought bitterly, what would we have him do? Put his philosophy aside and
work
?

They passed a cluster of white pines, impossibly tall and sturdy on their slender trunks. Anna pointed toward a bench nestled beneath the outermost trees. “Let’s rest a moment.”

Louisa looked worriedly at her. “Are you well, Nan?” All the Alcotts worried constantly about illness since Lizzie had become so frail after her bout of smallpox.

Anna rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. I just want to sit a moment and look at these trees.”

They pulled their skirts up at the knee to keep the hems out of the dirt. The pale blue of Anna’s dress made Louisa think of a robin’s egg in a nest of dark leaves and branches. They shared the same dark hair. All the sisters swapped clothes, particularly the older two, which contributed to Louisa’s feeling that she was looking into a mirror when she looked at Anna. A prettier, sunnier mirror, she thought, but in truth while Anna was noble, measured, and plain, Louisa’s deep-set eyes were magnetic, appraising the world with brazen intensity.

“Lou,” Anna began in a serious tone, then laughed out loud.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

“I just realized the futility of the conversation I was about to start.”

Louisa felt a burning in her chest as she strained to withhold her frustration. “Am I really so predictable?” As a young girl she’d been given to angry explosions and had to work hard to keep her sudden changes in mood concealed from the people around her. A fiery twelve-year-old was amusing, perhaps even charming, but a woman of twenty-two wasn’t given nearly so much license. “Perhaps I will surprise you,” Louisa said weakly.

Anna grinned. “Louy, do you ever think about getting married?”

Her eyes widened and she drew in a sharp breath.
“Married?”

Anna laughed again. “Yes, married. Don’t act as if you’ve never heard of it.”

“Oh, I’ve heard all about it. I’ve watched it my whole life.” She pictured their mother, straining over the arm of her chair toward the oil lamp as she mended the heels of their father’s stockings, her shoulders tense from hours at the washtub. When Abba wasn’t tending to her family’s endless needs, she spent her time knitting or baking bread or collecting medicine for Boston’s poor. Bronson was deeply committed to one man’s charity for another, though practical implementation of the notion seemed to escape him.

“I suppose no one is lamenting our prospects just yet, but it’s about time we start thinking about it—we’ve reached the conventional age.” Anna looked down. “It wouldn’t have to be like Marmee and Father, you know.”