CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I like to help women help themselves, as that is, in my opinion, the best way to settle the Woman question.
Johanna
NOVEMBER 17, 1865
Dearest Johanna,
I was so very glad to receive your long scribble, to hear that Marmee and my dear old Plato are doing well. Please do not fret over my parting comment about keeping on top of their spending—it was wrong of me to make it. I will settle things when I return, which I am not quite ready to think upon yet!
Still, it touches me to see how they miss me, think of me, and long to have me back. I begin to realize how much I am to them in spite of all my faults, and knowing this sort of love lightens my spirit all the more.
The boredom I felt at Schwalbach is gone. I think I’ve had enough of spa life to last me quite some time. I try to be patient with Anna, but we are an amusing match—she who can’t stand the thought of books and spends her time doing nothing but playing backgammon and cribbage. I am not even sure the patience of an angel will be enough to see me through the rest of my time with her.
Ah, but Vevey! This small spa town should not be underestimated. The Alps stand tall and proud, white spectral shapes towering above the green hills and valleys they lie between. Lake Leman was beyond comparison, and the Pension Victoria houses not only comfortable rooms, but a cast of characters fit for any book I might write—and I find myself again quite amused, even as I know that I, a thirty-three-year-old Yankee spinster, am but one of them.
There is a Frenchwoman who offered me French lessons but grew most impatient with me after two lessons. I am not as discouraged as I perhaps should be. A pleasant Englishwoman and her daughter have been a welcome distraction, and two Scottish ladies who have met Sir Walter Scott have refreshed me.
If there was to be an evil character in this play of Vevey, it would be Colonel Polk. A Confederate commander, he travels with his family but turns his nose up at Anna and me—two Yankee women who certainly disgust him, though I can’t say I wouldn’t like to pluck a feather or two from his cap if I had the chance, either.
The last character is one who has completely intrigued me—Ladislas Wisniewski. Don’t fear on the pronunciation—two hiccups and a sneeze will give you the name quite perfectly! He insists we call him Laddie, and I have to admit it hasn’t been since your brother that I’ve come to admire a man so. He is young, a Polish refugee who fought against Russia in the insurrection. He has come to Vevey to attempt to heal his failing lungs. The poor thing cannot seem to get rid of a brutal hacking cough, but ah, when he plays the piano and has a peaceful break from his coughing fits, there is nothing more lovely.
Listen to me—a spinster turned into a simpering girl! But you know as well as anyone, that I like boys and oysters raw—and Laddie is just so. He does not put on airs, and when I once asked him to play the Polish national anthem, which Polish villagers had sung while under the attack of the Cossacks, my dear friend hesitated, fearful to offend any Russian guests at the boardinghouse.
I insisted. “I should rather enjoy that insult to your bitter enemy,” I said.
And do you know what he returned? “Ah, mademoiselle, it is true we are enemies, but we are also gentlemen.”
I am not sure I will ever learn what it is to be noble and good, but I feel blessed to have angels in my path—such as your brother and Laddie—to show me the way. We enjoy ourselves by taking long walks, sailing on the lake, and giving one another English and French lessons, to which Laddie often becomes frustrated, slapping his forehead and lamenting, “I am imbecile. I never can will shall to have learn this beast of English!”
I feel both young and old when I am with him. He brings me flowers at every dinner and tucks sweet notes beneath the door of my room, and I look forward to our long conversations in the evening. If I were in my right mind, I would burn this letter before I send it. I’ve spoken of him to such extent not even with May, for I know she will think me foolish, having feelings for one so much younger. Soon I will have to put them in my pocket, as it is a romance that is never meant to be, but for now, they are flying free.
I suppose I haven’t much of a right to caution you about Mr. Bancroft, as I’ve thrown caution to the wind these last couple of months. I see now how the heady feelings of love can do that to us, and yet I wish we could better heed the lesson of my Sylvia in Moods and not be ruled by them. How hard it is, though!
You are a grown woman, Johanna. My opinion of Mr. Bancroft—Nathan, as I noticed you called him in your last letter—should not matter. I only wish you to not be hasty in making any future plans, especially without your family close by. I imagine you may feel lonely, and Nathan has filled that longing, as I feel the same when it comes to Laddie. I know Concord must be preparing for husking parties about now, and I trust you will enjoy yourself with the company, the cider, the dancing red ears of corn. Please send my regards to all.
I’ve an idea for a new novel, and though it is a bit sensational, I cannot keep it from my head. It’s about a young girl who is duped into marrying a less-than-worthy fellow and who comes to regret it. I think it will take place in Europe, for I feel I can further enjoy this time if I can conjure up characters in my head who will bask in this beautiful setting along with me.
Give my love to the family, as I know the letters are sometimes few and far between.
Yours,
Louisa
January 7, 1866
Dearest Louisa,
What a pleasure to receive your letter and hear of your adventures! Vevey sounds breathtaking and your companions—particularly Ladislas—most delightful.
Orchard House is well. Christmas was warm here—not warm in temperature but in spirit. A simple affair in which your parents invited the many needy into their home for cider, pumpkin pie, and gingerbread. Nathan joined us, and though he seemed a bit taken aback by the company kept, he ended up having as jolly a time as the rest of us and even sang as I coaxed some carols from Elizabeth’s old piano. Your mother said that if Lizzie could have looked down from heaven, she surely would have been pleased. I do hope so.
Nathan continues to court me and has even read some of my poems and is showing them to his uncle to see if he can use any in his publications. He is away in Boston much and it’s a wonder that he doesn’t permanently reside there, but he says he likes to get away from the city and rest in the country. He certainly does have much on his plate and does not seem to enjoy the shorter winter days. They can be trying, though when he is home, we have a capital time jingling about in his sleigh or ice-skating on Goose Pond. We even rode about on horseback before the snows came and enjoyed the cattle show, which I found very pleasing.
Your new idea sounds fascinating, and yes, sensational. Can’t you write a sweet little love story just one time? Always such heavy subjects with you! But I know you have heavy thoughts—they must come out best in a story. I will look forward to reading it.
I can’t wait to hear more of your adventures, my dear friend. Write soon.
Yours,
Johanna