Little Women
‘exert’ myself for anyone. It’s like a man to propose a bone and vulgar
bread and cheese for company. I won’t have anything of the sort in my
house. Take that Scott up to Mother’s, and tell him I’m away, sick,
dead, anything. I won’t see him, and you two can laugh at me and my
jelly as much as you like. You won’t have anything else here.” and
having delivered her defiance all on one breath, Meg cast away her
pinafore and precipitately left the field to bemoan herself in her own
room.
What those two creatures did in her absence, she never knew, but Mr.
Scott was not taken ‘up to Mother’s’, and when Meg descended, after
they had strolled away together, she found traces of a promiscuous
lunch which filled her with horror. Lotty reported that they had eaten
“a much, and greatly laughed, and the master bid her throw away all the
sweet stuff, and hide the pots.”
Meg longed to go and tell Mother, but a sense of shame at her own
short-comings, of loyalty to John, “who might be cruel, but nobody
should know it,” restrained her, and after a summary cleaning up, she
dressed herself prettily, and sat down to wait for John to come and be
forgiven.
Unfortunately, John didn’t come, not seeing the matter in that light.
He had carried it off as a good joke with Scott, excused his little
wife as well as he could, and played the host so hospitably that his
friend enjoyed the impromptu dinner, and promised to come again, but
John was angry, though he did not show it, he felt that Meg had
deserted him in his hour of need. “It wasn’t fair to tell a man to
bring folks home any time, with perfect freedom, and when he took you
at your word, to flame up and blame him, and leave him in the lurch, to
be laughed at or pitied. No, by George, it wasn’t! And Meg must know
it.”
He had fumed inwardly during the feast, but when the flurry was over
and he strolled home after seeing Scott off, a milder mood came over
him. “Poor little thing! It was hard upon her when she tried so
heartily to please me. She was wrong, of course, but then she was
young. I must be patient and teach her.” He hoped she had not gone
home—he hated gossip and interference. For a minute he was ruffled
again at the mere thought of it, and then the fear that Meg would cry
herself sick softened his heart, and sent him on at a quicker pace,
resolving to be calm and kind, but firm, quite firm, and show her where
she had failed in her duty to her spouse.
Meg likewise resolved to be ‘calm and kind, but firm’, and show him his
duty. She longed to run to meet him, and beg pardon, and be kissed and
comforted, as she was sure of being, but, of course, she did nothing of
the sort, and when she saw John coming, began to hum quite naturally,
as she rocked and sewed, like a lady of leisure in her best parlor.
John was a little disappointed not to find a tender Niobe, but feeling
that his dignity demanded the first apology, he made none, only came
leisurely in and laid himself upon the sofa with the singularly
relevant remark, “We are going to have a new moon, my dear.”
“I’ve no objection,” was Meg’s equally soothing remark. A few other
topics of general interest were introduced by Mr. Brooke and
wet-blanketed by Mrs. Brooke, and conversation languished. John went to
one window, unfolded his paper, and wrapped himself in it, figuratively
speaking. Meg went to the other window, and sewed as if new rosettes
for slippers were among the necessaries of life. Neither spoke. Both
looked quite ‘calm and firm’, and both felt desperately uncomfortable.
“Oh, dear,” thought Meg, “married life is very trying, and does need
infinite patience as well as love, as Mother says.” The word ‘Mother’
suggested other maternal counsels given long ago, and received with
unbelieving protests.
“John is a good man, but he has his faults, and you must learn to see
and bear with them, remembering your own. He is very decided, but never
will be obstinate, if you reason kindly, not oppose impatiently. He is
very accurate, and particular about the truth—a good trait, though you
call him ‘fussy’. Never deceive him by look or word, Meg, and he will
give you the confidence you deserve, the support you need. He has a
temper, not like ours—one flash and then all over—but the white, still
anger that is seldom stirred, but once kindled is hard to quench. Be
careful, be very careful, not to wake his anger against yourself, for
peace and happiness depend on keeping his respect. Watch yourself, be
the first to ask pardon if you both err, and guard against the little
piques, misunderstandings, and hasty words that often pave the way for
bitter sorrow and regret.”
These words came back to Meg, as she sat sewing in the sunset,
especially the last. This was the first serious disagreement, her own
hasty speeches sounded both silly and unkind, as she recalled them, her
own anger looked childish now, and thoughts of poor John coming home to
such a scene quite melted her heart. She glanced at him with tears in
her eyes, but he did not see them. She put down her work and got up,
thinking, “I will be the first to say, ‘Forgive me’”, but he did not
seem to hear her. She went very slowly across the room, for pride was
hard to swallow, and stood by him, but he did not turn his head. For a
minute she felt as if she really couldn’t do it, then came the thought,
“This is the beginning. I’ll do my part, and have nothing to reproach
myself with,” and stooping down, she softly kissed her husband on the
forehead. Of course that settled it. The penitent kiss was better than
a world of words, and John had her on his knee in a minute, saying
tenderly...
“It was too bad to laugh at the poor little jelly pots. Forgive me,
dear. I never will again!”
But he did, oh bless you, yes, hundreds of times, and so did Meg, both
declaring that it was the sweetest jelly they ever made, for family
peace was preserved in that little family jar.
After this, Meg had Mr. Scott to dinner by special invitation, and
served him up a pleasant feast without a cooked wife for the first
course, on which occasion she was so gay and gracious, and made
everything go off so charmingly, that Mr. Scott told John he was a
lucky fellow, and shook his head over the hardships of bachelorhood all
the way home.
In the autumn, new trials and experiences came to Meg. Sallie Moffat
renewed her friendship, was always running out for a dish of gossip at
the little house, or inviting ‘that poor dear’ to come in and spend the
day at the big house. It was pleasant, for in dull weather Meg often
felt lonely. All were busy at home, John absent till night, and nothing
to do but sew, or read, or potter about. So it naturally fell out that
Meg got into the way of gadding and gossiping with her friend. Seeing
Sallie’s pretty things made her long for such, and pity herself because
she had not got them. Sallie was very kind, and often offered her the
coveted trifles, but Meg declined them, knowing that John wouldn’t like
it, and then this foolish little woman went and did what John disliked
even worse.
She knew her husband’s income, and she loved to feel that he trusted
her, not only with his happiness, but what some men seem to value
more—his money. She knew where it was, was free to take what she liked,
and all he asked was that she should keep account of every penny, pay
bills once a month, and remember that she was a poor man’s wife. Till
now she had done well, been prudent and exact, kept her little account
books neatly, and showed them to him monthly without fear. But that
autumn the serpent got into Meg’s paradise, and tempted her like many a
modern Eve, not with apples, but with dress. Meg didn’t like to be
pitied and made to feel poor. It irritated her, but she was ashamed to
confess it, and now and then she tried to console herself by buying
something pretty, so that Sallie needn’t think she had to economize.
She always felt wicked after it, for the pretty things were seldom
necessaries, but then they cost so little, it wasn’t worth worrying
about, so the trifles increased unconsciously, and in the shopping
excursions she was no longer a passive looker-on.
But the trifles cost more than one would imagine, and when she cast up
her accounts at the end of the month the sum total rather scared her.
John was busy that month and left the bills to her, the next month he
was absent, but the third he had a grand quarterly settling up, and Meg
never forgot it. A few days before she had done a dreadful thing, and
it weighed upon her conscience. Sallie had been buying silks, and Meg
longed for a new one, just a handsome light one for parties, her black
silk was so common, and thin things for evening wear were only proper
for girls. Aunt March usually gave the sisters a present of twenty-five
dollars apiece at New Year’s. That was only a month to wait, and here
was a lovely violet silk going at a bargain, and she had the money, if
she only dared to take it. John always said what was his was hers, but
would he think it right to spend not only the prospective
five-and-twenty, but another five-and-twenty out of the household fund?
That was the question. Sallie had urged her to do it, had offered to
lend the money, and with the best intentions in life had tempted Meg
beyond her strength. In an evil moment the shopman held up the lovely,
shimmering folds, and said, “A bargain, I assure, you, ma’am.” She
answered, “I’ll take it,” and it was cut off and paid for, and Sallie
had exulted, and she had laughed as if it were a thing of no
consequence, and driven away, feeling as if she had stolen something,
and the police were after her.
When she got home, she tried to assuage the pangs of remorse by
spreading forth the lovely silk, but it looked less silvery now, didn’t
become her, after all, and the words ‘fifty dollars’ seemed stamped
like a pattern down each breadth. She put it away, but it haunted her,
not delightfully as a new dress should, but dreadfully like the ghost
of a folly that was not easily laid. When John got out his books that
night, Meg’s heart sank, and for the first time in her married life,
she was afraid of her husband. The kind, brown eyes looked as if they
could be stern, and though he was unusually merry, she fancied he had
found her out, but didn’t mean to let her know it. The house bills were
all paid, the books all in order. John had praised her, and was undoing
the old pocketbook which they called the ‘bank’, when Meg, knowing that
it was quite empty, stopped his hand, saying nervously...
“You haven’t seen my private expense book yet.”
John never asked to see it, but she always insisted on his doing so,
and used to enjoy his masculine amazement at the queer things women
wanted, and made him guess what piping was, demand fiercely the meaning
of a hug-me-tight, or wonder how a little thing composed of three
rosebuds, a bit of velvet, and a pair of strings, could possibly be a
bonnet, and cost six dollars. That night he looked as if he would like
the fun of quizzing her figures and pretending to be horrified at her
extravagance, as he often did, being particularly proud of his prudent
wife.
The little book was brought slowly out and laid down before him. Meg
got behind his chair under pretense of smoothing the wrinkles out of
his tired forehead, and standing there, she said, with her panic
increasing with every word...
“John, dear, I’m ashamed to show you my book, for I’ve really been
dreadfully extravagant lately. I go about so much I must have things,
you know, and Sallie advised my getting it, so I did, and my New Year’s
money will partly pay for it, but I was sorry after I had done it, for
I knew you’d think it wrong in me.”
John laughed, and drew her round beside him, saying goodhumoredly,