The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott (23 page)

“Are you awake?” she whispered anyway, not knowing what else to say. He did not answer but brought his hand to hers and began tracing circles on it with his fingers.

She had convinced herself that they had somehow fallen out of time, that she could lie in the grass in her shift, every inch of her skin alive with sensation, forever. She thought once again of that strange poem that seemed a cord binding the two of them together.
Press close magnetic nourishing night!
All her yearning to suspend the darkness was telescoped in that line. But as her consciousness began to return and she drifted from her body back into her mind, she saw that the moon had crossed the sky and hung above the horizon. Though dawn was only an hour away, the moon was so bright she noticed how uncovered she was for the first time. She reached for her dress.

“What time do you think it is?” she asked, sitting up, suddenly anxious. Anna would be waiting for her. They all would be. She hoped perhaps they’d have concluded that she decided at the last moment to choose a night of solitude rather than face the noise of society. She had been known to do such things.

Joseph sat up too. “I don’t know.” She was attempting to turn the twisted dress right side out, but he clutched her hands. “Louisa, I think I know what to do. If we leave right now they’ll all still be at the party.” He stood and flung his shirt over his head, attempting to button it and tuck it into his trousers at the same time. “We can walk over to Bellows Falls—it isn’t far—and rent a coach. We could be in Boston just after dawn, maybe take the train to New York tomorrow. My cousin Edward—the one who sends me all the books—he could help us find accommodations, I’m sure of it.”

Louisa’s eyes widened. “Leave here? For how long?”

“For good.” He pulled her to her feet and helped her pull her dress over her head, turning to her back to fasten it. “Don’t you see—it’s the only way. I can’t go through with this wedding. I simply can’t. I want to marry
you
, Louisa.”

She took a long breath as his words penetrated her mind. Her heart wrenched within her chest. “But what about your family? What about your sister?”

“I can’t think of that now. We all have to make our own way in this world.”

“Joseph!” Her voice was scolding. “How can you say that? Catherine is only fifteen and a girl. How is she supposed to make her way on her own? You and I both know what can happen to girls without any means of support. She could end up a servant—or worse. I cannot let you abandon her this way!”

He stood in front of her and grabbed her shoulders hard. “Listen to me!” he shouted. His voice echoed across the empty field. “I . . . won’t . . . do . . . it.” With each word he shook her, his voice a low growl. Louisa grimaced with fear, her eyes swimming. Joseph seemed suddenly to realize that he was hurting her and jerked his hands away, his palms splayed open in front of him. He spoke in a meek whisper. “I’m sorry.” He sank to the ground and she lowered herself down beside him.

Louisa shook her head. She knew some things about rage, for her own temper could overtake her like a hurricane when she least expected. Feeling there was something she yearned for desperately but could not have, feeling she was at the mercy of forces outside her control, forces that were determining the course of her life: these were the times she felt that hollowing anger. And she felt it now, but it was tempered by a calm that had descended on her when she looked out from the stage to see the placid, scandalous Fanny Kemble perched in the front row, a living symbol of fearlessness.

“Listen to me,” she said, taking his hand. They did not look at each other but instead faced out in the same direction. “If you feel you must go away, I cannot stop you. But I will not make myself your accomplice. And if you are the person I believe you to be, you won’t go at all.” She was quiet a moment, measuring her words carefully. “You have to help your family, and I have to help mine. As you surely know, my own father has no grasp of or interest in finances. We only came to Walpole because my cousins were offering us a home for the summer. I can make five dollars a story in Boston, and I intend to go as soon as I can.”

She glanced at Joseph but he continued to look out across the field. She saw a shadow along his jaw as he clenched it tight, and she braced herself for another angry outburst, but none came.

“And I have to go alone,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The next words were heavy in her mouth, like marbles, for she doubted their truthfulness. “I don’t think I could be married, not to anyone.”

“You don’t mean that.” His voice broke and she realized he was not fighting back rage but tears. “It wouldn’t have to be the way you think.”

Louisa took a deep breath and spoke the words she believed but didn’t quite own in her heart. “But it would be marriage nonetheless, and therein lies the problem. Marriage is conventional because it gives order to families, order to society. It is an exchange of property, as you well know,” she said, thinking of Nora Sutton and her family’s money. “Marriage does not account for love. It does not account for friendship, for independence. But what we feel for each other lives in these very things: independence of mind and spirit, ideas, each of our interests and achievements.” She placed her hand against his cheek and turned his face toward hers. “Do you understand? Agreeing to marry would mean agreeing to give up everything between us that matters.”

“So you would have me marry
her
? Have children with
her
?” He glanced at Louisa, gauging her reaction to the insinuation: Nora, naked in his arms.

Louisa slammed shut a door inside her mind against this image. “Your family is depending on you. You have given your word. I have seen inside the deepest part of you, and I know you are not one to go back on your word.”

“If you don’t love me,” he said, “afford me the dignity of telling me so.”

Louisa looked at him, sorrow laid bare on her face. “How dare you say this—after what happened between us just now?” She touched his arm. “How can you possibly think I don’t love you?”

“I don’t think it. I know it. I think you don’t know what love is. If you did, you would come away with me—or let me come with you to Boston. If you loved me, you would know that nothing else matters but being together.”

Louisa stared at him in disbelief. “I have been waiting my whole life for the day I would have my freedom. How can you ask me to cast it away as soon as it’s finally come? Besides, it seems I am the only one who might be relied upon to earn an income for my family. I think this
real love
you talk about is only an excuse for selfishness. It is the love of an impatient boy, not a grown man. A grown man knows that in life we may not always simply have whatever we want.”

“Well, you certainly had what
you
wanted tonight.”

Louisa let out a cry of a wounded animal and her open palm struck Joseph’s cheek with all the force in her strong shoulder. He nearly lost his balance, and a wild look came into his eyes that made her recoil. Joseph leapt to his feet. She thought he might hit her back, but instead he stood stiff with his fists clenched at his sides. He felt she was grinding his heart under the heel of her boot, and it made him want to hurt her.

“As you wish, I will marry Nora. Soon, if I can. And you will see her on my arm; you will see her cradle our children.” He pointed his index finger at her face. “And you will know regret. But I will have forgotten you by then.”

Louisa looked at him with something almost like pity and in her exhaustion nearly chuckled at his words. It was impossible either of them would ever forget anything about the other, no matter how much relief it would bring them. Even then they both knew that this night would haunt them the rest of their days.

She gathered the shawl from the costume trunk around her shoulders and pulled herself to her feet, a dull pain radiating from every joint and muscle. “I cannot wish you love, for you do not love her. But I wish you the peace of duty fulfilled. Which, sometimes, can be a little
like
love.”

And with that she turned and strode up the hill, her chin tipped high. Joseph followed, walking into the pitiless light of the descending moon.

 

 

 

L
ouisa walked slowly up Wentworth Road toward Yellow Wood. If she was going to have to explain to her parents where she had been all night, ten extra minutes wouldn’t change that. She reflected on how successful she’d been at convincing Joseph of the right path for him to take; her acting skills had come through for her again—or were they standing in the way of her happiness? In truth she felt nothing of the calm certainty she’d expressed to him; rather, it seemed an explosion had gone off inside her, and now tiny shards stuck all throughout her body, causing unrelenting pain. How would she ever bear it?

As the house came into view she saw that she would have to face the questions she feared right away. Anna and Nicholas sat on the front step engaged in intimate conversation. They did not see Louisa coming, so she scuffed her feet and coughed to garner their attention. She didn’t want to take them by surprise.

“Louisa!” Anna exclaimed, immediately distressed to be seen so late at night alone with a caller, even if it was only by her younger sister. Anna believed deeply in the importance of propriety and would die a thousand deaths before she endured her own reputation being compromised. Women could not own property and sometimes could not even control when or whom they married or when they became mothers. Reputation was the only possession a woman had under her own control. It meant everything.

Nicholas stood up, equally embarrassed. “Well, Miss Alcott,” he said, stiffly. “Now that I have seen you safely home I must be off, for the hour is late.” Their eyes connected for a moment and something passed between them Louisa recognized. But their longing was tempered by a kind of tranquillity she did not know—for Anna and Nicholas looked forward to the time when they would be together, for good, in the conventional way that would cause no strife. Louisa felt her temper flare like a match. It was all so unfair! She turned away to let them have a private good-bye. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nicholas clasp Anna’s hand, which she held down at her side, and pull her toward him. He whispered something that made her giggle. Then she sighed.

“I plan to meet the boys in the morning. Which is in just a few hours, I’m afraid. We’ll be working on the roof if the weather is good. But perhaps I will see you tomorrow evening.”

“Please be careful,” Anna said. “I’ve seen the way you climb around like monkeys on that roof.”

“As you wish, my dear,” Nicholas said, turning to Louisa and clearing his throat. “Good night, Miss Louisa.” He tipped his hat in her direction.

The sisters waited until he had safely exited the front gate before speaking. Louisa steeled herself for what would come next. She could see in Anna’s face that her initial embarrassment about her own circumstances had been overtaken by shock at Louisa’s wandering around in the early morning hours. “Where the devil have you been?” Anna hissed, her hand at her throat. “I thought for certain you’d arrived home and were upstairs in bed.”

Should she simply tell her sister the truth? Louisa wondered. It pained her to lie to Anna, the person she was closer to than anyone else in the world. And why should she lie? Nothing could be truer than what she felt for Joseph, and its truth made it an almost sacred thing. To lie about it denied this fact.

And yet she knew Anna would not understand. She would be devastated on Louisa’s behalf, that her sister had behaved so foolishly and ruined any chance of future happiness with a proper husband. People talked. A young lady who was less than pure was not a suitable choice for a bride.

“I have been . . .” Louisa stalled. “. . . walking.”

“All night?” Anna was incredulous. “Alone?”

Louisa nodded. Perhaps if she did not say the words aloud she would not actually be lying.

Anna examined her carefully, taking time to choose her words. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Believe what you like.” Louisa’s voice was sharp. “It matters not to me.”

“And so
angry
too, when I merely asked a simple question, a question clearly called for by your waltzing up the path at this hour with no explanation. I certainly think I have cause to question whether you are truthful.”

“Perhaps I should be asking what
you
are doing with Nicholas Sutton, alone at this hour?” Louisa felt anger overtake her sensibilities. She knew this feeling—once it came on, it was difficult to turn back, no matter how much she wanted to.

Anna’s eyes filled with tears. That her sister would accuse her of something improper, knowing full well that Anna would never dream of violating her modesty outside of the safe confines of marriage, seemed a mean-spirited brutality. “Louisa, when the party at Birch Glen dragged on and you did not come . . . and Joseph Singer was noticeably absent . . . I began to fear . . .” She seemed unsure how to ask the question that burned on her lips. “I pray to God you have not done something that cannot be taken back.”

“Don’t worry,” Louisa seethed. “I won’t sully your good name in society.”

“Please!” Anna began to cry. “You think that is what I care about? It isn’t—I only worry that my sister will have her heart broken.” She placed her hand on Louisa’s arm. “Nothing good can come of it, Lou. Don’t you see that? Nothing good. He is
engaged
to someone else. He will not marry you.”

Louisa looked away, her own eyes brimming with hot tears, but her relentless temper flared. “And you are so certain
Nicholas Sutton’s
aims are honorable? As far as I know, he has yet to speak to our father about his plans. Perhaps he does not intend to at all.”