Little Women and Me

by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

  “It’s that he always treats me like a child,” Laurie said.

  Ah, that I could understand.

  “When I am nearly a man,” Laurie said.

  Yes, he did look pleasingly masculine when he said that.

  “So I am thinking of running away.”

  And back to being a child again.

  Wasn’t Laurie seventeen now? What sort of seventeen-year-old boy talks about running away?

  I thought about the seventeen-year-olds I knew back home at Wycroft Academy. What would they be doing now? Nearly all of them would be driving, most would be thinking about which colleges to go to. Some would have part-time jobs. They’d have girlfriends. They’d have done a lot with those girlfriends.

  And what was Laurie doing? Whining about getting shaken by his grandfather and talking about running away.

  People were soooo retro back in this century.

  “I’m thinking of going to Washington,” Laurie said firmly. The way he puffed out his chest—just like that, I was finding him manly again.

  It was amazing sometimes, the seesaw effect Laurie had on my attraction toward him.

  “Will you go with me, Jo?” he said.

  Jo???

  Before I got a chance to say “Don’t you mean Emily too?” Jo was already speaking.

  “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard!” she crowed. Then she at least had the sense to look embarrassed at her outburst. “That is to say, of course I would love to go with you.”

  What?

  “But I’m afraid I cannot,” she went on. “It would be such fun to go to Washington with you—such a lark! But I cannot leave Beth and you must not leave your grandfather, not over some silly disagreement. Now then.” She headed for the door. “I will go speak to your grandfather and get him to apologize. Would that set everything straight?”

  “It would help,” Laurie said, still looking bitterly wounded, “but I cannot imagine you will meet with success.”

  “You’d be surprised how persuasive I can be,” Jo said. “Emily?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “I think you can handle this one yourself,” I said. “You’re so good at managing people. And anyhow, it’s hardly a two-person job, is it? Not like carrying a really heavy book.”

  I could tell she wanted to remind me of the pact, but she couldn’t very well do that in front of Laurie, so she slammed the door and off she went, no doubt fuming all the way.

  And then Laurie and I were alone.

  Laurie locked the door, causing me to raise an eyebrow at him. He shrugged. “Habit,” he said. “I hate it when the servants just barge in.”

  “Those barging servants can be so annoying,” I said, if only for something to say.

  “I can’t imagine that even Jo can get Grandfather to apologize,” Laurie said. “He’s never apologized for anything in his life.”

  “What will you do if he doesn’t apologize?”

  Laurie squared his shoulders. “I’ll run away. To Washington.”

  “By yourself? Mr. Brooke can’t accompany you because he’s already in Washington, with Papa, and Jo already said she wouldn’t. As for your grandfather, you can’t ask him to go with you since there’s no point in running away if you take what you’re running away from with you.”

  Laurie looked less sure of himself now, shoulders a little less square. Still …

  “I’ll go by myself then,” he said with a forced confidence.

  Suddenly a thought occurred to me and with it, a shyness I’d never felt in my life. What if I put myself on the line and got shot down?

  “I could go with you,” I offered.

  “You?”

  He looked surprised at my suggestion, but at least he didn’t look horrified. That had to be a good sign, right?

  “Yes. Me.” As I spoke, I grew more confident, more excited at the idea. “I could go see Papa while we’re there.” I liked the idea of meeting and getting to know this stranger parent for the first time away from the eyes of my sisters. “And it’s not as though we’d be away forever.”

  Although it would give us time to bond without Jo or Amy around, I thought.

  What an adventure this could be.

  Road trip!

  “I can’t believe you’d do this for me,” Laurie said.

  Hmm … Stick around here, or go on an adventure to the country’s capital with a hot boy who I knew wouldn’t put any moves on me I wasn’t ready for … Such a tough choice to make …

  I’d been to Washington on a field trip once in eighth grade, but I’d never been there during the American Civil War! Maybe I’d meet Lincoln!

  “I don’t know what to say,” Laurie said softly when I said nothing.

  Then he took a step toward me.

  “What are you doing?” Without thinking, I took a step back.

  He took another step forward.

  The way he was looking intently at my eyes … “Is there something in my eye?” I wiped at them with my hands as I took another step back.

  He took another step forward. “Stand still, please, Emily,” he said.

  Then he leaned toward me, his face slowly but steadily closing the space between us until his lips were just a breath away from mine and then he closed that space as well.

  I don’t know how long we stood like that, but it seemed like a very long moment, lips just touching lips, with no other movement.

  I can’t say it was unpleasant, but it wasn’t particularly pleasant either. It was just that, two sets of lips touching.

  At last, Laurie pulled away.

  “Thank you,” Laurie said formally. “Ever since that day you, um, threw yourself at me, I have been curious—you know, what that would feel like if I initiated it myself. And then when you said you would go to Washington with me, I was so grateful, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to try it.”

  I didn’t know what to make of this.

  “I hope I didn’t offend you,” Laurie said.

  What?

  “Oh. No. No. I wasn’t offended.”

  But did I want to do it again? Did he want to do it again? I wasn’t sure. Because as much as I had thought I wanted to kiss Laurie, something had been missing in that kiss, and not just on his part, but on mine as well.

  I did think the idea was nice, the idea of kissing someone who probably hadn’t already kissed a million other girls before just for the sake of kissing them.

  I was standing there wondering if he’d try to kiss me again—perhaps we could both try to put more feeling into it this time?—when there was an insistent pounding at the door, and Jo shouted:

  “Will you let me in? Oh, very well. I guess I’ll shove it under the door.”

  In the next instant a sheet of paper came flying through the narrow gap between door and floor.

  Laurie left me to go to the paper. He picked it up, turned it over, read. Then his face lit up and he unlocked the door, throwing it open wide.

  “I can’t believe you accomplished this, Jo!” he said. “You really are the most amazing girl! But how did you ever get him to apologize? And in writing!”

  Jo launched herself into a long-winded tale of her discussion with Mr. Laurence. I barely caught a word, still too busy thinking about that kiss.

  When Jo finally paused long enough to take a breath, I turned to Laurie.

  “So,” I said, “when do we leave for Washington?”

  “Washington?” he echoed.

  Odd. They both seemed so far away from me now.

  “Yes, Washington,” I said. “You know, our trip? Our adventure?”

  Laurie looked entirely puzzled by this.

  “I’m sorry, Emily,” he finally spoke, “but now that Grandfather’s apologized, in writing, no less—how did you do it, Jo?—there’s really no point in my running away, is there?”

  That night Jo found some paper covered with Meg’s handwriting. She’d written Mrs. John Brooke ove
r and over again.

  Jo grew extremely angsty over this, worried that the future was being hastened. I didn’t even bother trying to comfort her. She’d already loused up enough things for me for one day. And besides, I wondered, when would the future finally “hasten” for me?

  Twenty-Two

  Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents.

  Those were the words that had greeted me in this world, and a full year had passed since I first heard them spoken.

  It was Christmas again, only this time there were presents: a soft wrapper for Beth to keep her warm, books by authors no one would care about in another century and a half for Jo, an engraved religious picture for Amy, a silk dress from the Laurences for Meg. Marmee received a brooch made of her and her children’s hair: gray, golden, chestnut, brown. As gross as I found the peculiar item, I looked at it closely, having no recollection of being asked to contribute any hair to it. Where was the auburn? But then I glimpsed a single strand. Just one single strand? Oh, well. It wasn’t like I wanted to be strongly represented in such a disgusting way. But then I saw something interesting. All the other colors were looped over like the different-colored strands of embroidery floss that comes with a kit. But mine was the strand knotting them together. Mine was the only one touching all the others—coolio!

  And wait a second. Where was my present? Hadn’t anyone bought me anything?

  “Here, Emily,” Beth said from her position on the sofa in front of the fire. “I made you this.”

  I went over to her, took the tiny hand-sewn garment from her fingers. It took me a moment to figure out what it might be.

  “A new dress for Joanna?” I guessed.

  “Yes,” she said, pleased. “Since you and she have become such great friends, I thought you might like something of your own to dress her in.”

  I held it to my chest and smiled down at Beth. “I’ll treasure it always,” I said, and I meant it.

  And then the others surprised me by having presents for me too!

  Meg gave me a pair of white gloves. “For parties,” she said. “Soon you’ll be going to them too.”

  Amy gave me a drawing she’d done of herself in which she’d made her nose look seriously smaller.

  Jo gave me a large straw hat with a massive brim. “You’ll appreciate it come summer. And you know, you do look ridiculous in bonnets.”

  Even Laurie had something for me, a copy of a book he’d seen me admiring in his library.

  “I can’t believe you all got me things!” I said, still shocked. “Of course we all got you things,” Jo said. Then she snorted. “What do you think you are, old mutton?”

  Jo and Laurie had been excited all day. Ever since the plan for Laurie and me to run away to Washington had fallen through, he and Jo were tight again.

  Right before we were ready to sit down for our big meal—and this year it was a big meal, with a turkey and everything—Laurie, having disappeared briefly, poked his head into the parlor. He said he had a big surprise for us. Then he stood out of the way to let two men enter.

  One I recognized immediately: it was Mr. Brooke. Leaning on his arm was a tall man all muffled up in scarves. There wasn’t much of him that could be seen above the muffling. But when the others ran to him, I instantly knew who he was.

  This man was my father.

  He raised his head from where it’d been nestled in Marmee’s neck, looked at me over her shoulder, a quizzical expression on his face. But before either of us could speak, Beth entered the room, drawn by all the excited noise. She’d barely regained half her strength since her bout with scarlet fever but you’d have never guessed it now as she flew at him and the others parted to allow her flight. And then she was in his arms, happy as I’d never seen her, and then the two huddled in one big chair together, chattering away as if no time had passed, as if no one had nearly died.

  Christmas dinner that day was a happy one. Mr. Laurence and Laurie joined us, and so did Mr. Brooke. This last addition didn’t please Jo, who leaned over to whisper in my ear at one point.

  “Did you see how Mr. Brooke kissed Meg when they first arrived? He hurriedly explained that it was some sort of accident, but I am absolutely positive it was not. And did you see how she blushed?”

  I hadn’t seen any of that. I’d missed it because my eyes had been fixed on this new addition to the household, wondering if this man who was supposed to be my father recognized the one daughter who hadn’t huddled around him, if he even knew who I was.

  The Laurences and Mr. Brooke were sensitive enough to leave soon after the meal was done, allowing our family its first night alone together.

  As we sat before the cheery fire, and the man who was supposed to be my father and Beth huddled in the big chair once again, Amy urged him to comment on the changes in us girls since he’d last seen us.

  He commented first on Meg’s hands, saying how they weren’t so soft as they used to be but that he liked their rougher state. It proved she understood the need to work hard to make our world go round.

  His widest grin was for Jo. He said he’d left behind someone who had more in common with a boy but that now he had before him a young lady, one who would even give away her hair to benefit others.

  Beth, he said, was not as shy as she’d once been, but that if possible she seemed even smaller than he remembered her. His face briefly saddened when he spoke that last part, but then his expression lightened again as he turned his attention to Amy.

  He said that she seemed to finally be taking the importance of molding her own character seriously and he further observed that she had grown less selfish.

  HA! I hadn’t seen any less-selfish behavior in Amy!

  “What about Emily?” Amy asked. I shot a glance at her just in time to see a mischievous look briefly pass across her face.

  “Emily?” the man who was supposed to be my father said.

  “Yes, Emily,” Amy said with a chin jut in my direction. “You have not commented on how she has changed since last you saw us.”

  The man studied me for a long moment.

  What would he say? I wondered nervously.

  “Emily,” he finally said, addressing me directly. “Well, what is there to say really? You are the same as you have always been.”

  What a bizarre thing to say! All the others had changed, in ways he considered great and significant, while I hadn’t? How odd. And how insulting too on another level. It was almost as bad as Marmee’s Wherever you go, dearest Emily, there you are inscription in that book she’d given me.

  I didn’t know what to make of it, or him.

  A year here. A whole year. I was finally beginning to accept the fact that no matter what I did, I’d never leave.

  Twenty-Three

  It was the day after Christmas and we were all in the back parlor again. Now that Papa had returned from the war, not dead, and Beth had survived scarlet fever (also not dead), it was time for the family to turn its collective mind to other matters, to matters involving love rather than death:

  Meg and Mr. Brooke.

  Meg had a dopey, distracted look on her face, while Marmee and Papa studied her with curiosity, Beth looked at her lovingly, and Amy looked at her romantically. As for Jo, she did her usual practical Jo thing: she shook her head angrily at the umbrella in the corner of the room, the umbrella Mr. Brooke had accidentally left behind the night before.

  Yeah, shaking her head angrily at an umbrella—that was sure to solve all our problems!

  Still wearing her goofy look, Meg drifted out of the room. Jo took off after Meg and I tiptoed after Jo.

  Well, I didn’t want to miss anything that might turn out to be big excitement, did I?

  The three of us wound up in the front room.

  “I wish you’d just get it over with,” Jo told Meg. Meanwhile, I took up my position as a fly on the wall. “I hate waiting for things. Just do it.”

  “I can’t,” Meg said. “It’s not proper for me to speak to him abo
ut it before he brings it up first. And of course now he won’t bring it up since Papa already told him I am too young.”

  It was obvious from the way she said it that Meg didn’t think she was too young.

  But seriously, how crazy were these Victorian girls! Meg couldn’t talk about something to a guy unless he raised the subject first?

  I actually agreed with Papa that Meg was too young to be thinking about getting married, even if that seemed to be all there was to it for these crazy Victorians: Like someone? Marry the person! Me, I couldn’t imagine getting married at seventeen. I remembered reading an article once that said people born in the twenty-first century could expect to live as much as one hundred to one hundred and fifty years. So imagine being married at seventeen—you could wind up married to the same person for eight-three to one hundred and thirty-three years! Of course, the Victorians did die a lot sooner. Everyone knew that. But wait a second. Now that I lived here, did that mean I would die a lot sooner?

  “I’ll tell you what I’d say to him if I could.” Meg’s words cut into my thoughts. “That way, someday when you are in similar circumstances, you will know how to conduct yourself.”

  “HA!” Jo said. “I will never be in similar circumstances!”

  HA! Didn’t I know it! With her Peter Pan attitude, she really wouldn’t. If Jo had her way, she’d probably spend her entire life span writing bad plays and playing dress-up to act in those plays.

  But before Meg could get very far into her speech, there was a knock at the door and then the man himself was among us.

  “I came for the umbrella I accidentally left behind yesterday,” Mr. Brooke practically stammered. “I came to see how your father is doing.”

  Well, which one is it? I thought.

  I nearly snorted out loud but kept the snort to myself, not wanting to call attention to my presence. Seriously. We all knew why he’d really come over: to see Meg.

  Not that that pleased Jo, who flounced off to find the umbrella and Papa.