Fruitlands Read online

  I happened to look up, and there, with a storm cloud of anger on his face, was Mr. Lane and, with him, Father. Since we were hidden in the woods in a place no one but William knew, we guessed at once that William had given us away. Mr. Lane turned on his heel, but Father bore down upon us. I was roundly scolded for making fun of Mr. Lane.

  Father said, “Mr. Lane, with great unselfishness, has made this excellent experiment possible. He seeks to raise us up to a higher level, while you descend to a lower level than I had thought possible. Worse, you take your sisters with you. How are we to go forward with this noble experiment? We are here to help one another climb the ladder of excellence, and you behave in such a fashion and drag us all down. I cannot tell you how distressed I am.”

  By now I was perfectly miserable and sobbing out that I was sorry.

  Father said that I must apologize to Mr. Lane and that I must also choose my own punishment. Though I was very hungry, I said I would go without my supper.

  With red eyes and still snuffling, I approached Mr. Lane and humbly begged his pardon.

  “I accept the apology, for we must all forgive one another,” he said, “but I must tell you, Louisa, I am most disappointed in you. I had hoped for something better.”

  Worse was to come. Everyone at the supper table saw that I had no plate before me, and all understood my humiliation. Everyone looked the other way, and I believe that I could have gotten through the meal had it not been for what Father did.

  “Louisa has deeply saddened me today by her thoughtless actions,” he said. “I feel that as her father, I must take responsibility for what she has done. Therefore I, too, will go without supper.” With that, Father pushed his plate from him. I ran from the table to the attic, where I cried until the night darkened the windows. Mother tried to comfort me, but I would not be comforted. Anna wrote a little poem for me about not losing heart and trying to do better. Lizzie came with a piece of bread hidden in her pocket.

  I resolved to be good after this, but first I planned to get even with William. I told Mother how angry I was with William for telling tales on me to his father. Mother said that if I had not done something of which I was ashamed, there would have been nothing for William to tell. She also said if I got to know William better, I wouldn’t be so angry with him. She reminded me that William has no mother to go to with his problems and receive wise counsel as I do. Later Mother sent me a note urging me to ask Father’s forgiveness. She said Father loved me very much and would be so pleased. I did as she said, though it was very hard. Afterward I felt better.

  Though he seldom said a word and we cringed under his dark glances, we were sorry to see Mr. Wood leave. We have lost two members of our little family, and winter is still far away.

  AUGUST 3, 1843

  I took care of Abby May all afternoon while Mother and Anna changed the bed linen, washed it, and put it back, for we have only one set for each of the beds. Now that Abby May is three, she can take walks with me. She follows me about just as I followed Henry Thoreau, and I show her things just as he showed me. We found a small garter snake the same color as the grass. I held it and Abby petted it, saying, “Nice snake.” I made a bracelet for her of dandelion chains. We caught tadpoles that already had their back feet. We ate mulberries, and I played “Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush” with her. There were mushrooms in the woods, and we made a table and chairs with them for elves. I taught her some lines in French about the bridge in Avignon. Abby is good-natured and smiles all the time. Everyone loves her, even William, who drew her a picture of a cat and a mouse having tea together.

  In the evening Father and Mr. Lane and the rest of the men had their evening discussion. Anna, Lizzie, and I sat on the porch steps and read as long as it was light. Mother sewed and listened to the men talk.

  AUGUST 3, 1843

  William came by while I was taking care of Abby May. I told him I thought it was mean of him to tell his father on me. He looked sheepish, which is easy for him to do because he has smallish eyes, hair that hangs down over his forehead, and a meek way about him. I only wish he had a bell around his neck like some sheep do. That way you could tell when he was nearby.

  “I’m sorry you got in trouble,” he said with such a mumble I could hardly understand him.

  “If you’re so sorry, why did you go to your father with tales in the first place?”

  “Papa is paying for most everything here. I don’t think it’s fair that you should make fun of him. Papa gave up a good job in England to come here. We had to sell our house so there would be enough money for Fruitlands. Now we have no place to go back to. Your father has friends nearby to help him, but Papa doesn’t have anyone. Anyhow, Papa said I was right to tell him and I must tell him every time I see something like that.” He looked even more sheepish than usual. “Papa said I was a good boy to go to him.”

  I was very cross with William. “If you mean to keep telling on us, I’d just as soon you stayed away.”

  William hung his head and began to walk away. I thought of what Mother had said about his having no one to confide in. I called him back. “It’s all right to stay now. I’m not doing anything your father would disapprove of except maybe that I’m having fun with Abby May. He doesn’t like people to amuse themselves.”

  “That’s just the kind of thing you shouldn’t say about Papa,” William said.

  “It’s true your father doesn’t seem to have a lot of fun.”

  William sighed. “I know.” His shoulders sagged as if he were carrying a heavy burden. How much he reminded me of Christian in John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress. Christian had to make his journey to the Celestial City carrying a heavy burden on his back. He lived in the City of Destruction and was condemned to death and judgment. Surely that is what it would be like to have as a father Mr. Lane, who is quick to judge and condemn people. In a way I can sympathize with William. William wants his father to think him a good boy, and I wish my father would approve of me instead of always pointing out my faults. But I wouldn’t tell on anyone just so Father would say I was good.

  “Why don’t you stay and help me amuse Abby May?” I asked.

  William smiled. “I could get my notebook and draw her a picture,” he offered.

  When Abby May giggled at his picture of a cat with long whiskers and a mouse with a curly tail, William actually smiled.

  In the evening Anna and Lizzie and I played cards while the men talked and Mother sewed. The men never think to ask Mother’s opinion.

  Worse, they make schedules for Mother as to what she should be doing each hour of the day, but they do not consult her wishes. If she raises a question, Mr. Lane’s eyebrow goes up and he says they ought not to be interrupted. If she asks the question anyhow, he takes out his pocket watch and consults it while she is talking. Mother must cook and sew and do the laundry for the men, but the men will not allow her to speak her mind. Surely that is not right.

  Tonight Mother lost her temper, which she almost never does. She told the men, “I have a mind and a soul just as the rest of you do.”

  After that there was a long silence until Mr. Lane said, “I am sure that you do. If you listen quietly to these discussions of ours, both your mind and your soul are sure to grow, at which time you will be welcome to join our discussions.”

  I could see that Mother was trying hard to get her temper under control, and she did. If it were me, when I laundered Mr. Lane’s trousers I would put so much starch in them that he would not be able to sit down. I would put sand in his bed when I made it. When I cooked for him I would leave the little worms in his cabbage.

  AUGUST 8, 1843

  A woman, Ann Page, came to Fruitlands today to see what we are doing here. She is rather old and a little fat and had too much to say. Mother and the men were busy showing her about, so Anna, Lizzie, and I were given leave to do as we pleased until she left. I wrote a story about a fairy kingdom, and we went out into the woods and acted it.

  When we came
back, Mother told us Miss Page might come and stay with us. She would help Mother and would give us piano lessons.

  AUGUST 8, 1843

  In my play Anna was the queen of the fairies, Lizzie was the good fairy, and I was the bad fairy. I got to cast evil spells and turned everyone into toads and lizards. Lizzie turned them back. We made dresses from Mother’s old petticoats and wings from paper. We pinned the wings onto our dresses and flew by jumping off a tree stump.

  Today Lizzie asked me why I’m always the villain and the bad person when we act out our plays. I think it’s because that’s how I feel. Anna is Father’s favorite. First of all she takes her problems to Father and asks for his advice. The trouble is her problems are all such little ones because she is so good. I have lots of faults and some of them are not so small. Anyhow, Father points out my faults without my ever mentioning them to him. Anna doesn’t mind being punished for her faults. When I am punished I only become angrier, and that makes Father sad.

  There is something else as well. Anna is blond and light-complected like Father. But I have dark hair and also I am dark-complected like Mother. Father believes that the lighter-complected you are, the higher up you are on the spiritual ladder. I think that is a cruel idea and wrong, for no one could be better than Mother. She thinks of everyone but herself, whereas Father hardly thinks of anyone but Father.

  After supper I went out and watched the hills turn purple and the nighthawks drop. When other birds are on their nests, the nighthawks are still flying about. They fly up into the twilight sky and then plunge down as if they had been dropped from the heavens. Just before they reach the ground, they swoop upward. I think I am like the nighthawks. I have moods and a bad temper and I’m selfish, but I never quite fall onto the ground. I catch myself, or Mother catches me, and I rise.

  AUGUST 10, 1843

  Each morning after we have our breakfast and our showers, we all sing together. This is my favorite time of day. Mr. Palmer’s long beard goes up and down with the words. Mr. Lane has a fine voice, and Father sings with enthusiasm. William, Samuel Larnard, and Abraham join in. Mother’s voice is rich and my sisters’ voices sweet. Miss Page does not exert herself to sing. We can even hear Mr. Bower humming along with us in his room. All the songs we sing are uplifting. After the singing we go to our labors with light hearts.

  AUGUST 10, 1843

  I wish that we might preserve the friendly lighthearted spirit of our singing all day. After the songs, our problems and disagreements return. I do not see how we are ever to be made perfect.

  Here is what happened only an hour after our songs.

  Mr. Palmer to Mr. Lane: You ought to be in the field hoeing the corn. The weeds are nearly as high as the cornstalks.

  Mr. Lane: We are engaged in a serious discussion as to how work in the fields might be made more edifying. Might we not read aloud from a philosopher so that pure thoughts would accompany the work?

  William (who does not like to work): I could be the one to read.

  Father: What if we abandon the barley and wheat and the corn altogether and live upon the fruit from the orchard? The orchard requires little in the way of labor. We would therefore have more opportunity for discussion.

  Abraham (putting down his hoe and wiping the sweat from his brow): It will be ten years before those trees produce enough fruit to satisfy our hunger.

  For once his soft brown eyes were flashing.

  Mr. Larnard: That is no matter. If I lived for a year on nothing but crackers, I do not see why we might not all do the same.

  Of course with all the talk no work gets done.

  Mother was inside and took no part in the discussion. She said to Miss Page, “Ann, I have all I can do to put up the raspberries. You might help out by sweeping the floors.”

  Miss Page replied, “You know the dust from sweeping settles in my nose and makes me sneeze. I have found a most interesting book in the library, Sacred Writings of the Ancient Persian Prophets. I believe I will just take it outside under the trees and read a bit. You should do the same, for our purpose is to expand our minds. I do believe that you work too hard.”

  Under her breath Mother said, “I work that we may not starve, especially those of us with a large appetite.”

  Miss Page is always the first at the table and takes the largest helpings.

  Anna and I looked at the broom, each of us waiting for the other. Lizzie took it up and began to sweep. The broom was too big for her and I finally took it, but I was cross with Anna for leaving it to me to do.

  Perhaps we should sing all day!

  AUGUST 12, 1843

  We spent the afternoon carrying water from the spring to Mother’s kitchen garden. We have had no rain for a week. The cabbage is bolting, and the beans are freckled with brown spots. In the field the ears of corn we pick are wormy with borers. We put the borers in a jar and walked them to the other side of the river to join the potato bugs. We cooled off as we waded across the stream. Afterward I wrote a story about how the opposite side of the river was full of bugs waiting for a log to float by so all the bugs could make their way back to us.

  It has been hot all week. The attic is so stuffy at night that Lizzie and I sleep under the window, and still it feels like we are in a glass bottle with the stopper in. Even the spiders that live in the attic are too warm to spin proper webs. I made friends with one of the spiders and leave his web alone. Tonight there were two small flies caught in the web. I let the flies escape, but what will the spider have to eat now? If the animals and insects did not eat one another, they would starve. On my scrap of paper today I asked if it would it be possible to have a kind of Fruitlands for animals and insects where they were more kindly to one another?

  Father scolded me, saying I was making fun of our noble project. I cried and apologized.

  Anna now has her very own room.

  AUGUST 12, 1843

  Father has taught us to use our heads and reason out everything, so I have reasoned out why Anna should have her own room. Here are the reasons. 1. She is older than I. 2. She is bigger than I am by an inch and therefore needs more room. 3. She is better behaved and more thoughtful of others and ought to be rewarded. 4. Father thinks her a better person than I am.

  Setting down the reasons does not make me feel any better. I would have given anything to have my own room where I could think my own thoughts and scribble away whenever I wished. Reasons are all very well, but there are ever so many inches between my head and my heart.

  AUGUST 14, 1843

  This morning at the breakfast table Father asked, “What is the purpose of imagination?”

  Anna said, “To reach for things more beautiful than those we see in the world.”

  I said, “To amuse ourselves when we are bored.”

  Father said Anna’s answer showed more spiritual growth than mine.

  William and I picked the wild mint that grows by the river. We crushed it and let it soak in water to make a refreshing drink. The tadpoles have their front feet now. The jewelweed that grows along the river’s edge has gone to seed. When you touch the plant, the seeds jump out at you. I wish Henry Thoreau were here so I could show him.

  Mother is teaching us how to knit. We will be able to make our own wool stockings against the winter.

  Today Samuel Larnard left. Also there was trouble with Mr. Bower.

  AUGUST 14, 1843

  Because he does not believe in clothes, Mr. Bower keeps to himself in his room during the day. At night he dons a long, loose white garment that is very like a nightgown and wanders about so that looking out the window you think you see a ghost. Last night he wore no garment at all but went wandering down the path in a state of nature. A neighbor saw him and chased him with a broom through a blackberry patch. Today he is sulking in his room, much wounded with scratches. Mr. Lane is afraid Mr. Bower’s behavior will make people believe Fruitlands a strange place.

  I do believe that even Mr. Lane’s strict rule was not strict enough for Sam L
arnard. It was Mr. Larnard’s greatest pleasure to do without. We all stood at the door to see him off and waved him on his way. I believe as he got ready to leave, he began to regret his going, but he is a stubborn man and would not turn back. As he left he clasped Mother’s hand and held it tenderly, a gentleness I would not have expected in so rough a nature. Father is troubled because we have lost three people now and there are no new prospects.

  I felt downhearted and asked Mother what would happen if Fruitlands was a failure.

  “Whether we succeed, or whether we fail, Louy, does not matter,” Mother said. “It is the attempt that is important. Who can fault us for aspiring to so noble a dream?”

  AUGUST 16, 1843

  William, Lizzie, Anna, and I found a patch of wild grapes. They were only a little sour. We made wreaths of the vines and togas from sheets and played at being Romans. When Father saw us he was much amused and made us sit down and discuss whether the Romans or the Greeks had the greater civilization. With the sheets wrapped around us and the vines on our heads it was very hot. We all cooled off in the river, Father as well. While in the river Father asked us to consider how the settlement of America has followed the course of rivers. We stood in the river and talked of geography until our toes were wrinkled and numb.