Free The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott by Kelly O'Connor McNees Page A

have had time to write on this of all days? But Bronson believed in the importance of self-discipline above everything else, and he often asked to read his daughters’ reflections to ensure they were adhering to the routine of writing each day.
    And in truth, this chore seemed small in comparison to what he had asked them to do in the past in the service of his philosophical searching. Years back, Bronson had dragged his wife and daughters into an experiment in communal living. He envisioned building a new Eden, where his natural family and new chosen family, Abba and the girls as well as other like-minded people, could live according to Transcendental ideals. As pioneers, they would abstain from commerce of any kind and spare animals the enslavement he believed they suffered. This meant no meat or milk or eggs, no leather, wax, or manure. No ox would work the plow, and Bronson forbade the planting of root vegetables for fear they would upset the worms in the soil. Though he spent a great deal of time searching for just the right site and participants, Bronson failed to plan for the practical aspects of such a harsh life. When the group was established at Fruitlands, a rocky farm fifteen miles from Concord, it became clear that keeping the children warm and free from hunger would be Abba’s burden. Several months into the experiment, as the winter descended, Bronson had to accept that the experiment had failed. Around Christmas, the Alcotts moved back to Concord.
    Devastated, Bronson began to contemplate the idea of setting himself free from his family obligations. He was interested in the ideas of free love, a philosophy that cast doubt on whether traditional marriage could or should be sustained. True to form, rather than leave in the night or hold a private conversation with his wife on the matter, Bronson called a family meeting to discuss whether the family should split up. Anna was only thirteen, Louisa twelve, Lizzie only eight, and May just a toddler. In the end he hadn’t left, though the knowledge that he had even considered it was a betrayal from which the Alcott women never quite recovered.
    After surviving this difficult chapter, keeping a journal now hardly seemed like something to complain about. Bronson began with May, whom they all freely admitted was already more beautiful than her three older sisters combined. Unlike the others’, her tawny hair held a natural curl, and she tied it back from her face with a ribbon.
    “May writes about a woman in our train car on the journey here,” he said, skimming over the pages. “She wore fine lace that ‘must have been from France’ and carried a basket covered with a cloth. May wondered what delicious treasures might have been inside.”
    Bronson smiled tolerantly at his youngest daughter. His full gray hair and wiry brows gave him a stern appearance, but his blue eyes softened his face. “You have an artist’s eye for detail, my dear, but your words reveal a covetous nature. Remember that fine things make us their prisoner. It is in having nothing that true freedom can be found, freedom as we are blessed to experience it.”
    May nodded, her blue eyes far away and a sweet smile on her lips that Louisa knew meant his warnings passed out of her head the moment they were issued. Louisa herself felt amused by her father’s claim that the hunger they had experienced on the train, the hunger that still rumbled unsated in their bellies, represented freedom.
    Bronson turned his attention to Lizzie, who rested her cheek on Abba’s shoulder. She stifled a small yawn as she sat upright and tucked a wisp of her fine hair back into its plain bun. Lizzie moved to retrieve her journal from the table but Abba clutched at her elbow.
    “Rest, child. You’ve had plenty of exertion for today.”
    “But Marmee, I’ve written something as well. Shouldn’t I read along with my sisters?” Louisa often had to remind herself that her younger sister was a woman of twenty.