The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott by Kelly O'Connor McNees Read Free Book Online Page B

permanent about those sentences on the page. The world could take an awful lot from her, but it couldn’t take those words. As long as she had her ink, her paper, she told herself, she was content with her lot and yearned for nothing.
    She stalked to the river, her shoulders back, her head held high. The other girls stood in the river, the water lapping at their waists. The echoing chatter halted as she approached, and Nora, a few tangerine curls poking out along the edge of her swim cap, stared at first Louisa’s hair and then down to her bare feet, white and cold, like two stones. Nora pointed a slender finger; the skin on her hands was nearly translucent. “Your feet—” she began.
    “It’s simply too warm—I just couldn’t bear to put on my swimming boots,” Louisa replied, too loudly. She forced herself to slow her pace, though she longed to rush into the water before anyone else looked too closely at her feet. Anna watched as Louisa’s thick hair floated away from her torso where it met the surface of the water, then Anna closed her eyes, willing her mortification down deep in her chest, away from her face where everyone would see it.
    A girl with fine black hair like moss and round toad eyes gasped. “Aren’t you going to turn up your hair?” she asked in a superior tone. There was one in every group, Louisa reflected, who relished rules and the chance to police those who dare to defy them. It seemed this one had generously volunteered for that task.
    Louisa shook her head and shrugged. “I don’t mind if it gets wet. I’m Louisa, by the way.” This time she didn’t offer a handshake.
    “I know. I’m Harriet Palmer,” the girl said, eyeing Louisa like she might be daft. Harriet stood with her shoulders hunched severely forward, her back curved like a lady’s fan. Louisa tried to conjure some compassion for the unfortunate girl but felt only irritation.
    An uncomfortable silence fermented as the others looked away and tried to gather the fragments of their interrupted conversations. A sharp whistle came from the top of the hill and they all turned to look.
    “Ho, swimmers!”
    Joseph Singer waved his arm above his head, descending the hill on his heels, a paper sack wedged between his elbow and ribs. Louisa felt her chest tighten and was glad for the river’s cold swell against her torso, glad to turn and face the opposite bank long enough to arrange her face in bemused calm. Turning back she saw Anna’s eyebrows climb and a social smile unfold.
    Margaret’s cheeks were full of color. She whispered to Anna and Louisa as Joseph made his way to the water. “That’s Joseph Singer. His father owns the dry goods store on Washington—”
    “Yes,” Anna cut her off. “He is very charming. We met him last week on our errands. Remember, Louisa? ”
    “Of course I remember,” Louisa replied. “He seemed like quite the dullard to me.” She felt instinctive dislike for Joseph as she heard her sister praise him, but she hadn’t intended to speak quite so loudly. Joseph stood shaking hands with Nicholas, but his face whipped in the direction of her voice. When he saw Louisa, he broke into a wide grin and waved.
    Anna and Margaret whispered in unison: “Louisa!” Nora and Harriet moved closer and the five girls stood in a cluster, their hands undulating in the river’s miniature whirlpools.
    Margaret rolled her eyes and continued softly. “The Singers are one of the oldest families in this town. But people are saying the father—”
    Splash . Louisa tucked her feet beneath her and plunged her head into the river’s murky surface, feeling her scalp tingle as the water spread through her hair. She didn’t want to hear Margaret’s gossip, didn’t want to watch her sister prudently cataloging details about Joseph’s suitability as a prospective match. Louisa’s own impressions were enough for her. He was skinny and smug, and anyone who married him would have to suffer his company for years