CHAPTER THIRTY
I love luxury, but freedom and independence better.
Johanna
NATHAN CAME TO OUR ROOMS that evening earlier than expected. Louisa and I had cut our time short, as I felt a fierce need to rest my mind and body to prepare for my husband’s return, to face him in his unfaithfulness.
I heard the door open from where I lay on the sofa, then soft whistling and the gentle drop of a newspaper upon the table. I opened my eyes to see him come toward me and kneel beside the sofa. He ran a hand over my forehead, and it being the gentlest gesture I’d received from him in a long while, I leaned into it even as tears welled beneath my lids.
“It is a treat to see you here, my love. Perhaps we should spend more time in the city like this, go to the country when we need rest.” He kissed me sweetly, but I did not respond, for my pregnancy had served to heighten my sense of smell and I did not think I imagined the very feminine scent of rose water that clung to his jacket.
He did not seem to notice. “How do you feel?”
I moved to sit up, and he assisted me. “Rather poorly, in fact.”
“Miss Alcott has traipsed you around the city, no doubt. You have overdone yourself.”
“No, I was feeling splendid until we stopped for dinner at the Parker House Hotel.”
I watched his expression carefully, did not miss the nervous flick of his tongue over his lips, the rapid blink of his eyes. “Did you have their famous pie, then? It is quite well done.”
That sentence, more than anything else, seemed to prove his guilt. For had he been at the restaurant on business or felt no need to be ashamed of his actions, he would have surely said something along the lines of “I was there! How did I not see you?” or “I wish I had known. I would have loved for you to join us.”
But he did not.
“Who were you dining with?” I whispered, trying to tame my tone for I did not want to be cross. Somewhere deep down, despite Louisa’s warnings, I still wanted an explanation. Shamefully, I was fast realizing that any—even a pitiful one—might do.
He stood. “I was going to tell you tonight,” he said, and I wished I believed it. “Her name is Gladys Saucier. She’s the daughter of a Philadelphia publisher. We’ve been discussing a new business venture.”
“With a woman?”
“Her father is entirely unorthodox and lets her handle details. She is in Boston often and he requested we meet.”
My breaths came shallow. My explanation. Could it be so simple? But who ever heard of a woman handling such a venture?
I rubbed my temples. “If you could have seen what I saw . . . Nathan, you were entirely too familiar with that woman.”
“I am familiar with her. We’ve been talking for months. I didn’t want to tell you because I wanted to surprise you.” He took my hands, and I found myself wanting to believe his excitement, wanting to trust his words. “I am leaving my uncle. How would you like to start a new adventure? One in Philadelphia, near your family?”
My head spun. This was too much. Was what I saw truly innocent?
“I admit I charmed her a bit in order to get us the best deal possible. But nothing more untoward than a couple of dinners and a friendly pat on the arm here and there. Johanna, I am finally to realize my dream. Miss Saucier’s father has no interest in the publishing aspect, only the business and its profit. He plans to leave all the decisions to me and, with my experience, is quite willing to do so. Can’t you just see us in Philadelphia, building a future for our children, building a legacy for our family? And your poems . . . Uncle never showed particular interest, but I am thinking of having an entire magazine devoted to women. Miss Saucier thinks it a marvelous idea and I’ve already talked to her of your interest in writing.”
My thoughts churned slowly. In many ways I felt like a little Louisa, going along in the Common with my hoop and then splashed with cold water at the course and change of my path. Only this was a pleasant change. Like a skein of yarn that unwinds into a pattern—knit and purl, knit and purl, row by row—my world seemed to right itself.
And I wanted to believe it so very badly.
Nathan had acknowledged he’d been a bit too friendly with this woman. Was that the way of things in matters of business sometimes? Was I just to accept it?
“Do you . . . you do not have feelings for this woman, then?”
“No, of course not.” He said it like it was the most preposterous thing in the world, like I was a fool to even voice it. I couldn’t help but be comforted by the tone. He stroked the side of my face, the same spot that had been wounded by this same hand months ago but had long since healed. Healing was possible, wasn’t it? I must cling to that truth. “How could I care about anyone when I have you and our coming babe? I am a most blessed man.”
He sounded so sincere and more excited and full of passion than he’d been in a long while. Perhaps this would be the beginning of good things for us.
“But she would be there . . .”
He stared blankly at me, then seemed to realize. “Miss Saucier?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose, but she travels so much she would be no more than a fly on the wall here and there. Darling, please believe that you are the only woman for me.” He cupped my face with his hands and kissed me deeply. I sank into it, chose to cast aside my doubts and cling to something better—love. My marriage.
“Why don’t I get some dinner for us and we will have a celebratory evening together?”
“I—yes, of course.” Hadn’t I just been wishing for more time with Nathan? And now all seemed right with the world. All fell into place.
“Nathan?”
“Yes, dear.”
“When would we leave?”
“As soon as possible. Mr. Saucier has rooms available for us and wishes to start right away. We could get settled before the babe arrives.”
It would be wonderful to be closer to Mother and the rest of the family, especially when my birthing time came. But all I could think on as he helped me into my cloak was telling Louisa of this turn of events. I wondered if she would disapprove or be happy for me.
Then again, I wondered why it mattered so very much.
December 5, 1868
Dearest Louisa,
It is an absolute joy to write to you of the birth of our daughter, Cora Grace Bancroft, on the very day of your own birth, this past November 29. She is a healthy, vibrant girl, and though Nathan made it no secret he wished for a boy, he has become absolutely smitten over his little daughter.
Please accept this bookmark and poem as my rather belated thirty-sixth birthday gift to you. I hope it was a pleasant one and that you had success in finishing the second part of your Little Women.
Nathan greatly enjoys his new work and talks to me much more freely about it and even seeks my ideas. I do believe this change of scenery is exactly what we needed, though I do miss you much.
Mother was here for the birth of our Cora and was a great help. She has only just left, and we are quickly settling into our time as a family of three.
I look forward to your letters when you are able.
Yours,
Johanna
December 26, 1868
Dear Johanna,
I was so pleased to receive your letter and news of your sweet Cora! Please accept this blanket Marmee made on behalf of us all as a congratulatory gift. I am certain you are a most wonderful mother, and I am honored to share a birthday with your firstborn.
It was odd to close up Apple Slump this winter, to know that you are gone also. Father goes west and Mother to Anna’s. May and I took a sky parlor at the new Bellevue Hotel on Beacon Street. It was a queer time, whisking up and down in the elevator, eating in a marble café, and sleeping on a sofa bed. It did not suit me, and when a hard storm caused the steam pipes to explode, we went hungry. I am tired with all the writing this year. My brains need a rest so they might continue to work.
I have dug out my old “glory cloak” and am creeping along with the sequel of Little Women and plan to send it to Mr. Roberts on New Year’s Day. I always thought the trials and triumphs of the Pathetic Family would make a capital book, and I do hope the second will do as well as the first, despite my having to marry Jo off.
I am quite looking forward to seeing your contributions to your husband’s publications. Please do send them on.
I hope things are truly well with you, Johanna. If you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to write.
Yours,
Louisa
April 29, 1869
Dear Louisa,
You sounded tired in your last letter, but I am so thankful you have finally paid off all the debts of your family! I have been praying a lot lately, as I am awake with Cora a good deal. I often pray for your health—particularly for your headaches and cough.
Please do give my love to your mother.
Things are quiet here. Quiet and when Cora chooses to have a say, quite the opposite of quiet! She is a demanding little bundle, but I take her for a walk every day, which she enjoys. I long to get out, as Nathan is busy with work and I am finding keeping up with the house and chores and dinners with a baby no small challenge.
Nathan is hesitant to hire help around the house until he is certain his venture will prove profitable. He has lost some of his initial excitement, it seems, but I am trusting it will return with the publication of his boys’ magazine, coming out next month. I write poems in my mind only, for I am often too tired to get them down on paper, though I long for a creative release and wonder if Philadelphia has a women’s club. If so, I would like to join. If not, perhaps I should start one. Can you imagine me, with my baby daughter in my arms, organizing such a venture?
Now what I’ve been waiting to get to! I just finished your sequel while Cora napped and, dear, you have amazed and left me speechless all at once. I cried many tears over little Beth and liked your ending quite well. I could scarce believe when I read of Meg’s jam incident, for it sounded so very familiar (though I liked Meg’s ending a bit better, even if mine does not seem so terrible now).
At first I was heartbroken for poor Laurie, but I must admit, things wrapped up in quite a satisfying way. I did not expect him to marry Amy, and yet how very fitting it all turned out to be.
I am sorry for the affliction you suffer over your newfound fame. Being lionized, not being able to live at peace within Orchard House, is certainly a new kind of slavery that I hope you can find a way to be free from.
I pray for you often, my friend.
Affectionately yours,
Johanna
Louisa and I kept up with our letters, though I could never quite manage to divulge the true state of affairs in my life. Even when she shared the sad news of John Pratt’s death a year and a half later, how she felt responsible for her nephews now and would start a book titled Little Men, from which all the proceeds would be kept for their future and education, I could not open up my own grief to her.
Cora grew splendidly. A new decade turned, and though I was quite happy home with my little one, who was beginning to run me ragged with her boundless sprightly energy, that old ache started in my chest again. That feeling that life was missing something meaningful.
Nathan left the house early and often came home late. More than once I smelled the familiar scent of rose water on him, but I hadn’t the heart to broach the subject. In many ways, it felt safer to simply pretend all was well. And I hated myself for it.
When he was home, he often retreated into his study. One Sunday afternoon, after I put Cora down for a nap, I knocked at his door.
“Yes,” came his voice, even the one word despondent.
I saw him sitting in his chair, staring at a paper upon his desk. I could not miss the half glass of whiskey by his side, the open snuffbox on the other.
Dejection seemed to cling to him. I hadn’t the heart to harp on him about the alcohol just at this moment. Instead, I went to him, placed a hand on his arm.
“Dear, let me bear your burdens with you. Tell me what is the matter.”
He picked up the paper on his desk, fisted it in his hands. I saw a list of numbers, the bottom one with a circle about it. “Saucier gave me our numbers for the last quarter today. They are not good.” He crumpled the paper and threw it across the room. “I’ve done everything right. I can’t understand why we aren’t selling.”
“Perhaps it just needs a bit more time—”
“We started more than a year ago now. We should at least be making a small profit.” He reached for his glass, chugged it down.
I wished I could say something to help. This was his dream, and it was failing fast before his eyes. Yet he didn’t share the details of the business with me as he had when we first came to Philadelphia. So how could I offer suggestions? And while he seemed all too willing to try Miss Saucier’s ideas, I had the notion he wouldn’t welcome mine.
“Let’s go sit out on the porch in the sunshine, shall we? A little nature will cheer you.”
“No.”
“Remember our carriage rides to Walden Pond when we courted? The good they did you? Do you remember telling me that you had a story to live? A journey? That is still true, my dear. Perhaps we should find a spot like Walden here. Or we could fly the kite I gave you last Christmas.”
He shook his head, and I thought I saw tears shimmering near his eyes. He didn’t seem to hear what I’d actually said. “I will not go groveling back to my uncle.”
My hand froze on his arm. “Is Mr. Saucier suggesting you do so?”
Nathan closed his eyes, and I noticed the lines around his eyes and mouth, the first touch of gray within his short-cropped curls. “He is giving me one more month to turn things around. I must come up with something brilliant. Eye-catching.”
I tried to rack my brains for such an idea. Then it came to me. “Miss Alcott has become quite successful. We write often. Perhaps she would be open to an interview of sorts for your adult publication?”
“That woman has always gotten under my skin . . . but it could prove promising. And probably our best chance at boosting sales.”
My heart soared that he had seen value in one of my ideas. “I could write her right away. Ask if she’d be willing to answer a few questions?”
He was already sitting up straighter. “Yes, please do. I’ll ask Miss Saucier what kind of questions readers would be interested in. Dear, this just might work.”
At the same time that I felt an active participant more than I ever had, I also begrudged the fact that he should have to seek out Miss Saucier for questions.
“I’m certain I could come up with some suitable questions and have it all sent out tonight, wasting no time,” I said.
He wavered but eventually shook his head. “No, I’d best run it by her. She knows what readers want.”
“If that were true, then perhaps your publications would be selling more.”
I knew the moment the words left my mouth that they were a mistake. But I didn’t like this woman, and I didn’t like the hold she seemed to have on my husband.
He clenched his fists together, and I took a step back, for I had never quite gotten over the fear that he would hit me again.
“You have one good idea and you think you can tell me how to run my company now?”
“Nathan, I—”
“Leave me.”
I did. Yet despite everything, I still wished to please him, so I began my letter to Louisa. I knew she would hate the notion of an interview, for she hated anything that drew attention to herself. But I also knew she would agree to it. Not because it would sell more books or make her more famous, but because it would help me, her friend.