My sisters and I talked long into the night. Anna said, “We must do all we can to help Father’s dream come true. I don’t mind being a little hungry.”
I said, “Mother is so unhappy, even if we don’t mind being hungry, she minds that we are.”
Lizzie said, “Even if this dream of Father’s doesn’t come true, he is sure to have another one.”
DECEMBER 10, 1843
Mr. Lane and William are away. There is a blizzard outside so that we don’t know when they will return. When you open the door, the snow blows into the house as if it were trying to move in. The springs are still flowing. Father says the water comes from a place so deep it cannot freeze. I wish I were in that place. The darkness comes by late afternoon.
I am writing a poem about a summer’s day. I close my eyes and imagine a bright June afternoon with the sun dancing on the surface of the river. I imagine green and leafy trees and birds singing and the smell of lavender. I write it all down. After a while I hardly mind the cold.
This evening Father and Mother said they wished to have a serious talk with us. We all cried. I have resolved to be good and to give Mother and Father no trouble, for they have trouble enough.
DECEMBER 10, 1843
This is the worst day we have ever had. It is not just that we are cold and hungry, but Mother says she is going to take my sisters and me and all the furniture and leave Fruitlands. The furniture belongs to her, for she brought it with her when she was married. Father refuses to leave. Mother pleaded with him, showing him how little food is left, only a few moldy turnips and some frozen squashes. There is too much snow to dig the carrots and parsnips, and mice have gotten into the barley.
“Full stomachs make for sluggish brains,” Father said.
It was then that Mother said she would take the furniture. She has friends who are looking for a place for us to stay.
“Then you must go your way and I must go mine,” Father said. We all cried, even Abby May, though I don’t believe she knew what was happening. I begged Mother and Father not to part. I promised that I would mend my ways and be more cheerful and helpful. I sometimes feel everything is my fault. Though we talked for many hours, Father will not give up his dream and Mother will not see us starve. At last Mother promised that she would not leave until after Christmas.
Later when we were alone in the attic, Anna, Lizzie, and I talked and cried a lot. Anna said, “If Mother and Father separate, I’ll stay with Father. He could never get along by himself.”
“Anna,” I pleaded, “what about Mother? We are everything to her. I could never leave her.”
Lizzie said, “Father and Mother will never part. I am sure of it.”
DECEMBER 25, 1843
Father has gone to Boston to a meeting, walking the entire thirty-five miles through the cold and snow. Mother, my sisters and I, William, and Mr. Lane celebrated Christmas as best we could. Outside, the snow fell without a sound, but what a difference it made. Swaths of snow hang over the tops of the windows, and snow piles up on the ground so that nothing is familiar. Mr. Lane cut a small pine tree, and Anna and I decorated the mantel with pine boughs. Pine fragrance fills the whole room so that it is like living in a forest.
Lizzie cut paper dolls and hung them on the tree. I helped Abby May string the dried cranberries we picked this summer in a nearby bog. Mr. Lane is generous with the wood, so that the room is warm and bright. Our gifts were pincushions, pen wipers, scarfs, socks we knitted, and poems and stories we wrote for one another.
Later Mr. Palmer and the Lovejoys drove over on the Lovejoys’ sleigh. The Lovejoys are neighbors of Mr. Palmer. They brought a Christmas pudding, which we all ate, even Mr. Lane, though I fear it was full of forbidden things. Mr. Lane brought out his violin and we sang the ballads of Thomas Moore and our favorite carols. It would have been a merry Christmas if only Father had been here.
DECEMBER 25, 1843
William told us a secret. Mr. Lane has been visiting the Shakers. He is planning on leaving Fruitlands to join them. William does not want to go but thinks he will have to. Though he cannot bring himself to say so, I believe he will miss us. I told him that there were friendly people at the Shakers’ and a warm bathtub besides. He only sighed a great sigh.
It will just about kill Father if Mr. Lane leaves Fruitlands. In truth, I shall be sorry to see him go. Since William was so ill, Mr. Lane has been more mild, not even scolding us when we come unprepared for lessons. Today he said nothing when Mother used a great deal of wood to warm the room. Nor was anything said when the table was heaped with the last of the barley and nearly all of our apples. While we are finally warm and our stomachs are full, I believe such generosity can only mean we will soon leave Fruitlands.
In spite of all of our worries we sang loudly and with much spirit. We had a game of blindman’s buff which even Mr. Lane joined. We all laughed when with his blindfold on he could not tell the difference between Anna and me until he felt Anna’s curls. William looked rather sad, and I know he was thinking there would be no games of blindman’s buff at the Shakers’.
Before the Lovejoys left they took Mother aside, and I heard her accept their kind offer of three rooms. I told Anna and Lizzie what I heard. We are afraid to ask Mother if Father will live with us in those three rooms.
When I looked out of the attic window I saw that the snow had ended. The moon was shining, striping the snow with black tree shadows. An owl settled down on the granary roof. I believe it was looking for some small creature to pounce on. I felt sorry for that small creature. I felt sorry for Father all alone on Christmas.
JANUARY 6, 1844
Father has returned, only to have to say farewell to Mr. Lane and William, who left today. We all embraced William and wished him well, promising to come to see him. We shook Mr. Lane’s hand and thanked him for helping us with our lessons. After they left, Father went to his room and has not come out, not for dinner or for supper. Mother took a tray with food to him, but when we went to say good night, the food was still on the tray.
JANUARY 6, 1844
I never did see such misery. Father sat in a chair watching as William and Mr. Lane carried out their books and loaded them onto Mr. Palmer’s wagon. I don’t know who was the more upset, Father watching or Mr. Lane being watched.
Mother and I and all of my sisters cried when the Lanes left. Abby May hung on to William and did not want to let him go. When at last they were gone, Father went into his bedroom and lay upon the bed. He turned his face to the wall.
When Mother begged him to take some food, he repeated Christian’s words from The Pilgrim’s Progress, “I see myself now at the end of my journey; my toilsome days are ended.”
What can Father mean? Mother has been crying.
Now that William is gone Lizzie and I have a room of our own. We put up some pretty pictures, and Mother gave us a dresser scarf with real lace. Lizzie’s dolls sit on her bed. My journal (the public one) lies open on our desk next to the pens and ink. The room looks very nice, but I would gladly give it up to have William back.
JANUARY 9, 1844
Father has had nothing to eat for three days. He lies in bed, pale and weak. Mother keeps food by his bed but he does not touch it. He lies there staring at the ceiling. Mother pleads with him. She says he is starving himself. Mother read aloud to him the part from The Pilgrim’s Progress that says “For one to kill himself is to kill body and soul at once.”
Father did not listen, but only turned his back. He whispered that all of his dreams have come to nothing and there is no reason for him to continue on the Earth. He spoke only of his failures. Words of encouragement have come from Mr. Emerson, but Father will not hear them.
Anna and I crept up to Father’s bed. Anna told him all that he has accomplished, reminding him of the schools where he taught and how his kindness and his respectful treatment of students have made him famous all over the world. His teachings have changed the way children are taught in schools.
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sp; I pleaded as well, but it was Lizzie’s question that reached him. “You won’t leave us all alone, Father?” she pleaded.
He gave a great sigh. “No, Lizzie, I won’t. Even in my worst days your mother and you and your sisters have have not deserted me. I must not desert you.”
Mother walked into the room. When she heard Father speak, she gave him a bit of bread and barley water, which he ate and drank. He closed his eyes and we tiptoed out. An hour later, when we returned, Father was sitting up in bed and making plans.
“I must write the history of Fruitlands,” he said. “We cannot allow the lessons of this grand experiment to be lost. We were so close to our goal and it was such a noble one.” When Father asked for pen and ink, I knew all was well.
JANUARY 9, 1844
We are all to leave Fruitlands in two days’ time for the Lovejoys’ house. I wonder if I could have done more to help Father’s dream come true. Perhaps so. It was hard to see Father so sad. Is it possible that he expected too much and was bound to be disappointed? Still, who else can boast of so strange and wonderful a year. I would not change it for anything.
From the window of my room I can look out at the woods where we celebrated Lizzie’s birthday. The river where we had our shower baths is nearly iced over. The hills I ran over are white humps. In the orchard the tops of the new trees stick bravely out of the snow. I cannot think Fruitlands will be happy without us.
JANUARY 11, 1844
My sisters and I gathered together all of our things. They fill only one box. The last of the wood burns in the fireplace. Mother is packing what food is left and Father is filling a box with his letters and papers.
In the afternoon Mr. Lovejoy will come for us. We have no money to pay them, but Father, who is a clever carpenter, will turn his hand to building and repairing in exchange for room and board. Mother will help out with her sewing and embroidery.
Fruitlands’ empty rooms seem haunted by all those who lived here this year. Lazy Miss Page, Mr. Bower sulking in his room, Abraham wringing out the clothes for Mother, and William, who became our friend. Everywhere we look I see the ghost of Mr. Lane, who shared Father’s dream but none of Father’s joy in it.
JANUARY 11, 1844
When I asked Mother if Father’s dream for Fruitlands was a failure, Mother said it was not. With a gentle smile she said, “Think how much our efforts have taught us about ourselves this year. The failure, if failure it was, is only in how your father’s dream of a happy, useful community was carried out. The failure was not in your father’s dream.”
That made me feel better, but I resolved that after this I will have my own dreams.
AFTERWORD
This is what happened to everyone after they left Fruitlands:
Wood Abram published a book entitled My First and Last Book.
Samuel Bower stayed with Mr. Palmer, but longed to travel to a warmer climate where clothes would be less necessary.
Abraham Everett worked at his cooper’s trade.
Isaac Thomas Hecker became a Roman Catholic priest and founded the Paulist Fathers.
Mr. Lane and William returned to England, where Mr. Lane opened a school.
Samuel Larnard returned to Providence.
Ann Page was active in the women’s suffrage movement.
Joseph Palmer purchased Fruitlands from Mr. Lane. For twenty years anyone in need found a welcome and food and shelter there.
Louisa and her family had many more adventures, but in our hearts we will think of them forever as we know them in Little Women.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Alcott, Louisa M. Louisa May Alcott: Her Life, Letters, and Journals. Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1889.
Bedell, Madelon. The Alcotts: Biography of a Family. New York: Clarkson N. Potter, 1980.
John Bunyan. The Pilgrim’s Progress. Uhrichville, Ohio: Barbour Publishing, 1993.
O’Brien, Harriet E. Lost Utopias: A Brief Description of Three Quests for Happiness. Brookline, Mass., 1947.
Saxton, Martha. Louisa May: A Modern Biography of Louisa May Alcott. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977.
Sears, Clara Endicott, ed. Bronson Alcott’s Fruitlands. Philadelphia: Porcupine Press, 1975.
Willis, F.L.H. [Frederick Llewellyn Hovey]. Alcott Memoirs. Boston: R. G. Badger, 1915.
About the Author
GLORIA WHELAN is a distinguished poet and award-winning author. She has written many books for young readers, including HOMELESS BIRD, winner of the National Book Award; ANGEL ON THE SQUARE; THE IMPOSSIBLE JOURNEY; ONCE ON THIS ISLAND, winner of the Great Lakes Book Award; FAREWELL TO THE ISLAND; RETURN TO THE ISLAND; MIRANDA’S LAST STAND; and THE INDIAN SCHOOL. Ms. Whelan lives with her husband, Joseph, in the woods of northern Michigan.
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Praise for Gloria Whelan’s Fruitlands:
“A marvelous companion for the 19th-century author’s semi-autobiographical Little Women.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Whelan ingeniously imagines both public and private versions of the seven months then-ten-year-old Louisa May Alcott spent at Fruitlands. Gratifying.”
—The Horn Book
“A wonderful writer. Whelan takes on an American icon with vigor and wit.”
—Philadelphia Inquirer
“A rich evocation of a fascinating experiment.”
—Kirkus Reviews
Also by Gloria Whelan
ANGEL ON THE SQUARE
HOMELESS BIRD
THE IMPOSSIBLE JOURNEY
THE INDIAN SCHOOL
MIRANDA’S LAST STAND
THE ISLAND TRILOGY:
ONCE ON THIS ISLAND
FAREWELL TO THE ISLAND
RETURN TO THE ISLAND
Credits
Cover art © 2002 by Michael Koelsch
Cover © 2004 by HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
Copyright
FRUITLANDS. Copyright © 2002 by Gloria Whelan. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition NOVEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780061975813
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Gloria Whelan, Fruitlands
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