The Revelation of Louisa May by Michaela MacColl

quietly at her door. Pressed against the door on the other side, her heart beating so loudly Louisa was sure he must hear it, she had not answered. She had touched her lips, tender from her first kiss. It was a moment she’d not even dared to dream about. But Louisa wouldn’t fall in love with a poor man like Marmee had. Not for kisses, not for love, not for anything.
    Finally Fred had gone to his room and she had listened to his pacing, as regular as the ticking of a clock, until she had fallen asleep. When she woke, her dreams had left faintshadows of Fred, etched just below the surface of her thoughts. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember what she dreamed about.
    Louisa told herself she was not listening for Fred, but when she heard his deep voice talking with Beth, her stomach leaped. What would he say to her? Would he be cross? He had no right to be; he had acted the thief and stolen a kiss from her. Perhaps he would expect her to be angry? Or contrite? Would he understand if she told him that she was more confused than anything else? Did this dizzy feeling mean she cared for Fred as more than a friend? Was love like flying on the back of a leaf in a storm?
    â€œUgh! I’m all discombobulated!” She threw the porridge spoon across the room, where it stuck to the wall next to the door.
    â€œThis doesn’t bode well for breakfast,” Fred said, filling the doorway. His thick red hair was tousled about his head and his blue eyes were bright with mischief. He had to tug hard to pull the spoon away from the plaster, then he handed it to her. “Good morning, Louisa,” he said. “I hope you slept well.”
    She nodded, not trusting her voice to respond. His smile was charming; his crooked teeth lent his face a dash of imperfection that was appealing. She wished she could look somewhere besides his mouth, but it was impossible. She recalled every detail of his kiss and felt the warmth color her cheeks.
    Beth followed Fred into the room and went to the icebox to get the milk.
    â€œI slept well, too,” Fred said. “Although I had the strangest dream of wandering out in the garden with a lovely sprite. She floated out of my reach and then disappeared altogether.”
    Louisa beamed. What a clever way to air the subject without any embarrassing details and in a way that naïve thirteen-year-old Beth wouldn’t understand. Louisa took up the challenge. “Isn’t it strange how one’s imagination plays tricks on one?”
    â€œClearly.” His eyes glistening with mischief, he said, “Because I thought my sprite was a beautiful maiden—but it turns out she was just a tomboy in disguise.”
    Louisa couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” asked Beth.
    â€œNothing,” Louisa and Fred replied simultaneously.
    â€œGood morning.” Father came in and sat down. He looked well rested, and Louisa wondered that he had spent his first night away from Marmee with so little strain. Didn’t he miss her at all? With a pang of remorse, Louisa remembered how miserable he had looked before dinner the night before.
    He took a spoonful of the porridge that Beth put in front of him. “Raisins? Your mother never puts raisins in the porridge. And so much sugar.”
    Louisa bristled. “We’re celebrating Fred’s first morning with us.” She put a pitcher with cream on the table.
    â€œ
And
cream? Louisa, it’s unnecessary. Fred didn’t come to us for gluttonous meals.”
    Fred brought his bowl to be filled by Louisa and whispered in her ear, “Gluttony would be the
last
reason to come to the Alcotts’!”
    With Fred at her side, Louisa felt as though her father’s scolding was bearable. Father went on, “He came for reflection and high thinking. It’s a waste of time dressing up plain porridge.”
    â€œFather, it’s breakfast, not a philosophical