Louisa and the Crystal Gazer by Anna Maclean Read Free Book Online

practical look entered those pretty blue eyes. “And I will sew with you. My stitches are finer and faster, and I can take some of your work to leave you more time for writing.”
    We set about unpacking her travel case and chatted cozily, as sisters do, about Marmee’s health, Father’s expectations, the news from Anna, who was nursing in Syracuse, and of May, the youngest, also known sometimes as Abby, usually in those moments when she most resembled our mother, Abba. She, still at home with Mother and Father, was our artist in the family and was painting lovely watercolors of the gorges and ravines of Walpole, where we had all summered.
    A different thought soon preoccupied me.
    “Lizzie, did you tell anyone of your surprise visit to Boston?” I asked when the many folios of her sheet music had been brought from the bottom of the old cloth valise.
    “No. Else how could it be a surprise? But wait.” She frowned, making a tiny wrinkle between her pale winged brows. “I may have said something to Uncle Benjamin’s housekeeper. I did. She packed me a lunch for the train.”
    Had Agatha Percy made a lucky guess? Or had she access to our very private household in Walpole? The thought made me uncomfortable.
    I slept well and woke early. Quietly, without waking Lizzie, I sat at my little writing desk and opened the inkwell.
    Boston, December 4
    Dear Marmee,
    Walpole’s loss is my happy gain. Lizzie arrived safely last night, and both Auntie Bond and myself opened our arms to her. We are to share a room, and sweet Lizzie has offered to share my work as well. Auntie Bond’s music room is open to her, and our angel shall practice scales and études to her heart’s content. Do not fear for her; she is in a loving home and shall be well cared for. I admit, a sister’s company helps ease my own ache for you and Father, and May, and Anna.
    I am sure Father has shared my letter with you, and so you are informed of Sylvia’s most recent enthusiasm, attending séances. I rather wish she had persevered longer with her Confucianist phase, but Sylvia is Sylvia. I do have a question, Marmee. Would you ask Uncle Benjamin’s housekeeper to whom she might have mentioned Lizzie’s secret plans for departure? There is no problem; I am merely curious.
    Love to all of you there in Walpole. I am writing quietly, as our dear Lizzie still sleeps. Do you wish any supplies sent up from Boston? Good-bye, from your ever loving child,
    Louisa
    I placed a kiss on the paper, sealed it into an envelope for the post, and then lifted the volume of Dickens that served as paperweight to my barely begun story.
    I was poor and plain, with no accomplishments or charms of mind or person, yet Philip loved me.
    I had written before the séance. Now, having met Mrs. Percy, her imagined presence took firm hold in my mind. Her voice grew more assured as I imagined a story to fit the face and personality. Mrs. Percy, judging from her face powder and padded hair, knew the arts of adornment, yet even in the dim light I had seen the wrinkles about her eyes, the dry thinness of the skin on her hands. She spoke again, even as I dipped my pen into the ink.
    Years of care and labor had banished all my girlish dreams. I never thought to be beloved, but tried to stifle my great yearning for affection. So when the knowledge came to me that I was dear to a human heart, it was like a…
    I stopped and frowned, thinking.
    …like a magic spell changing the cold, solitary girl into a fond and hopeful woman. Life grew bright and beautiful. The sad past seemed to vanish, lost in the blissful present.
    “Are you writing a story, Louy?” Lizzie sat up in her little bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Her lace sleep cap was askew.
    “Yes, dearest,” I said, putting down my pen and going to her. “It is still early. Why don’t you sleep longer?” She looked pale. I put my hand to her forehead. It was warm. “Spend the entire day in bed,” I suggested. “Travel has