Little Women
my fan, my linen collars and my new slippers if she can wear them being
thin when she gets well. And I herewith also leave her my regret that I
ever made fun of old Joanna.
To my friend and neighbor Theodore Laurence I bequeethe my paper mashay
portfolio, my clay model of a horse though he did say it hadn’t any
neck. Also in return for his great kindness in the hour of affliction
any one of my artistic works he likes, Noter Dame is the best.
To our venerable benefactor Mr. Laurence I leave my purple box with a
looking glass in the cover which will be nice for his pens and remind
him of the departed girl who thanks him for his favors to her family,
especially Beth.
I wish my favorite playmate Kitty Bryant to have the blue silk apron
and my gold-bead ring with a kiss.
To Hannah I give the bandbox she wanted and all the patchwork I leave
hoping she ‘will remember me, when it you see’.
And now having disposed of my most valuable property I hope all will be
satisfied and not blame the dead. I forgive everyone, and trust we may
all meet when the trump shall sound. Amen.
To this will and testiment I set my hand and seal on this 20th day of
Nov. Anni Domino 1861.
Amy Curtis March
Witnesses:
Estelle Valnor, Theodore Laurence.
The last name was written in pencil, and Amy explained that he was to
rewrite it in ink and seal it up for her properly.
“What put it into your head? Did anyone tell you about Beth’s giving
away her things?” asked Laurie soberly, as Amy laid a bit of red tape,
with sealing wax, a taper, and a standish before him.
She explained and then asked anxiously, “What about Beth?”
“I’m sorry I spoke, but as I did, I’ll tell you. She felt so ill one
day that she told Jo she wanted to give her piano to Meg, her cats to
you, and the poor old doll to Jo, who would love it for her sake. She
was sorry she had so little to give, and left locks of hair to the rest
of us, and her best love to Grandpa. She never thought of a will.”
Laurie was signing and sealing as he spoke, and did not look up till a
great tear dropped on the paper. Amy’s face was full of trouble, but
she only said, “Don’t people put sort of postscripts to their wills,
sometimes?”
“Yes, ‘codicils’, they call them.”
“Put one in mine then, that I wish all my curls cut off, and given
round to my friends. I forgot it, but I want it done though it will
spoil my looks.”
Laurie added it, smiling at Amy’s last and greatest sacrifice. Then he
amused her for an hour, and was much interested in all her trials. But
when he came to go, Amy held him back to whisper with trembling lips,
“Is there really any danger about Beth?”
“I’m afraid there is, but we must hope for the best, so don’t cry,
dear.” And Laurie put his arm about her with a brotherly gesture which
was very comforting.
When he had gone, she went to her little chapel, and sitting in the
twilight, prayed for Beth, with streaming tears and an aching heart,
feeling that a million turquoise rings would not console her for the
loss of her gentle little sister.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CONFIDENTIAL
I don’t think I have any words in which to tell the meeting of the
mother and daughters. Such hours are beautiful to live, but very hard
to describe, so I will leave it to the imagination of my readers,
merely saying that the house was full of genuine happiness, and that
Meg’s tender hope was realized, for when Beth woke from that long,
healing sleep, the first objects on which her eyes fell were the little
rose and Mother’s face. Too weak to wonder at anything, she only smiled
and nestled close in the loving arms about her, feeling that the hungry
longing was satisfied at last. Then she slept again, and the girls
waited upon their mother, for she would not unclasp the thin hand which
clung to hers even in sleep.
Hannah had ‘dished up’ an astonishing breakfast for the traveler,
finding it impossible to vent her excitement in any other way, and Meg
and Jo fed their mother like dutiful young storks, while they listened
to her whispered account of Father’s state, Mr. Brooke’s promise to
stay and nurse him, the delays which the storm occasioned on the
homeward journey, and the unspeakable comfort Laurie’s hopeful face had
given her when she arrived, worn out with fatigue, anxiety, and cold.
What a strange yet pleasant day that was. So brilliant and gay without,
for all the world seemed abroad to welcome the first snow. So quiet and
reposeful within, for everyone slept, spent with watching, and a
Sabbath stillness reigned through the house, while nodding Hannah
mounted guard at the door. With a blissful sense of burdens lifted off,
Meg and Jo closed their weary eyes, and lay at rest, like storm-beaten
boats safe at anchor in a quiet harbor. Mrs. March would not leave
Beth’s side, but rested in the big chair, waking often to look at,
touch, and brood over her child, like a miser over some recovered
treasure.
Laurie meanwhile posted off to comfort Amy, and told his story so well
that Aunt March actually ‘sniffed’ herself, and never once said “I told
you so”. Amy came out so strong on this occasion that I think the good
thoughts in the little chapel really began to bear fruit. She dried her
tears quickly, restrained her impatience to see her mother, and never
even thought of the turquoise ring, when the old lady heartily agreed
in Laurie’s opinion, that she behaved ‘like a capital little woman’.
Even Polly seemed impressed, for he called her a good girl, blessed her
buttons, and begged her to “come and take a walk, dear”, in his most
affable tone. She would very gladly have gone out to enjoy the bright
wintry weather, but discovering that Laurie was dropping with sleep in
spite of manful efforts to conceal the fact, she persuaded him to rest
on the sofa, while she wrote a note to her mother. She was a long time
about it, and when she returned, he was stretched out with both arms
under his head, sound asleep, while Aunt March had pulled down the
curtains and sat doing nothing in an unusual fit of benignity.
After a while, they began to think he was not going to wake up till
night, and I’m not sure that he would, had he not been effectually
roused by Amy’s cry of joy at sight of her mother. There probably were
a good many happy little girls in and about the city that day, but it
is my private opinion that Amy was the happiest of all, when she sat in
her mother’s lap and told her trials, receiving consolation and
compensation in the shape of approving smiles and fond caresses. They
were alone together in the chapel, to which her mother did not object
when its purpose was explained to her.
“On the contrary, I like it very much, dear,” looking from the dusty
rosary to the well-worn little book, and the lovely picture with its
garland of evergreen. “It is an excellent plan to have some place where
we can go to be quiet, when things vex or grieve us. There are a good
many hard times in this life of ours, but we can always bear them if we
ask help in the right way. I think my little girl is learning this.”
“Yes, Mother, and when I go home I mean to have a corner in the big
closet to put my books and the copy of that picture which I’ve tried to
make. The woman’s face is not good, it’s too beautiful for me to draw,
but the baby is done better, and I love it very much. I like to think
He was a little child once, for then I don’t seem so far away, and that
helps me.”
As Amy pointed to the smiling Christ child on his Mother’s knee, Mrs.
March saw something on the lifted hand that made her smile. She said
nothing, but Amy understood the look, and after a minute’s pause, she
added gravely, “I wanted to speak to you about this, but I forgot it.
Aunt gave me the ring today. She called me to her and kissed me, and
put it on my finger, and said I was a credit to her, and she’d like to
keep me always. She gave that funny guard to keep the turquoise on, as
it’s too big. I’d like to wear them Mother, can I?”
“They are very pretty, but I think you’re rather too young for such
ornaments, Amy,” said Mrs. March, looking at the plump little hand,
with the band of sky-blue stones on the forefinger, and the quaint
guard formed of two tiny golden hands clasped together.
“I’ll try not to be vain,” said Amy. “I don’t think I like it only
because it’s so pretty, but I want to wear it as the girl in the story
wore her bracelet, to remind me of something.”
“Do you mean Aunt March?” asked her mother, laughing.
“No, to remind me not to be selfish.” Amy looked so earnest and sincere
about it that her mother stopped laughing, and listened respectfully to
the little plan.
“I’ve thought a great deal lately about my ‘bundle of naughties’, and
being selfish is the largest one in it, so I’m going to try hard to
cure it, if I can. Beth isn’t selfish, and that’s the reason everyone
loves her and feels so bad at the thoughts of losing her. People
wouldn’t feel so bad about me if I was sick, and I don’t deserve to
have them, but I’d like to be loved and missed by a great many friends,
so I’m going to try and be like Beth all I can. I’m apt to forget my
resolutions, but if I had something always about me to remind me, I
guess I should do better. May we try this way?”
“Yes, but I have more faith in the corner of the big closet. Wear your
ring, dear, and do your best. I think you will prosper, for the sincere
wish to be good is half the battle. Now I must go back to Beth. Keep up
your heart, little daughter, and we will soon have you home again.”
That evening while Meg was writing to her father to report the
traveler’s safe arrival, Jo slipped upstairs into Beth’s room, and
finding her mother in her usual place, stood a minute twisting her
fingers in her hair, with a worried gesture and an undecided look.
“What is it, deary?” asked Mrs. March, holding out her hand, with a
face which invited confidence.
“I want to tell you something, Mother.”
“About Meg?”
“How quickly you guessed! Yes, it’s about her, and though it’s a little
thing, it fidgets me.”
“Beth is asleep. Speak low, and tell me all about it. That Moffat
hasn’t been here, I hope?” asked Mrs. March rather sharply.
“No. I should have shut the door in his face if he had,” said Jo,
settling herself on the floor at her mother’s feet. “Last summer Meg
left a pair of gloves over at the Laurences’ and only one was returned.
We forgot about it, till Teddy told me that Mr. Brooke owned that he
liked Meg but didn’t dare say so, she was so young and he so poor. Now,
isn’t it a dreadful state of things?”
“Do you think Meg cares for him?” asked Mrs. March, with an anxious
look.
“Mercy me! I don’t know anything about love and such nonsense!” cried
Jo, with a funny mixture of interest and contempt. “In novels, the
girls show it by starting and blushing, fainting away, growing thin,
and acting like fools. Now Meg does not do anything of the sort. She
eats and drinks and sleeps like a sensible creature, she looks straight
in my face when I talk about that man, and only blushes a little bit
when Teddy jokes about lovers. I forbid him to do it, but he doesn’t
mind me as he ought.”
“Then you fancy that Meg is not interested in John?”
“Who?” cried Jo, staring.
“Mr. Brooke. I call him ‘John’ now. We fell into the way of doing so at
the hospital, and he likes it.”
“Oh, dear! I know you’ll take his part. He’s been good to Father, and
you won’t send him away, but let Meg marry him, if she wants to. Mean
thing! To go petting Papa and helping you, just to wheedle you into
liking him.” And Jo pulled her hair again with a wrathful tweak.
“My dear, don’t get angry about it, and I will tell you how it
happened. John went with me at Mr. Laurence’s request, and was so